A/N: I really shouldn't be up till 2am posting this haha... ^^" Whatever. Anyways, here's another chapter. I think I'm going to do a "every other day" sort of thing. As it is, I didn't expect to get that much of a response with posting the last chapter. ^^"
Well, that's basically it. :)
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock
Chapter 15: Mottled
The glass beaker shattering into infinite pieces on the tiled floor filled my ears with a heavy ring. The liquid in it – copper (II) chloride and sodium chloride – splashed across my feet but I didn't feel it. A few stray shards gathered in my foot with, a pang of pain but I ignored it. It was pointless to cry out in pain. It doesn't lessen it any more than jumping on said injury.
Such humane emotions that have no effect on myself personally. Yes, it seems my body would flinch but that is the stupid vessels fault more so than myself. I am a machine after all and a machine doesn't reckon emotions such as pain.
Besides, it wasn't nearly as interesting as the cause of this reaction.
I've never encountered a cause such as this for the following events. It was different and enthralling to witness personally. A shock that vibrated throughout my entire being was the generalized sentence of what occurred. It was sickening and utterly fascinating although I couldn't even fathom why my shoulder was hurting now since it seemed rather redundant.
As far as I am aware of, I have not maimed my shoulder between leaving John and arriving here. The only reasonable ache should be the stiches still pulling annoyingly at my skin every so often and those are specifically around my abdominal area, not the shoulder.
Contradictions aside, I was completely engrossed in this new phenomena.
It was distinctive and an aspect I had yet to understand. Was it a human vessel reaction that was preventable or was it something else? Something logical on a different plane? So many questions. So little time. I was certain if I were to broach this topic of appeal to John he would brush it aside and say it was my fault for not consuming some sort of meal or beverage.
Speaking of which, he has been gone for a while now, hasn't he?
I paused, observing the shattered glass through my goggles. My mind was elsewhere however.
Why did I suddenly go from an experiment to John? It makes no sense. These are two different specimens of an even more diverse subcategory. John isn't even necessarily something that I should be dropping all of my attention to diagnose, is he?
He is only an individual of whom I have found noteworthy in my peculiar gaze. Somebody to relinquish myself of boredom with something more unbearable and seemingly constant. Annoyance.
Still, cognizance was quick to go from something as scientific and beguiling as the pain blossoming in my shoulder to a personal plane as John and… whatever he stands for in my mindset.
Stepping over the glass, I walked over to the couch and plopped on it, my drive for experimenting dismissed. Sadly. Now all my attention wished to thrive in is John.
What of him? He is merely an acquaintance to shut Mycroft up on participating in getting a flatmate that is one of his security idiots. Nothing more than someone to accompany me to cases and make Anderson almost nonexistent. Just an extra piece to the chess board. Just somebody who is there. He doesn't play that much of a significant role in my deductions, does he?
Certainly not.
Preposterous.
A sigh escaped my mouth in an angry burst as I curled into the couch.
He's just someone who makes enduring the Yard and Mycroft and all the idiots in the world more bearable.
That being said, why did I think of him so soon after the shock? I should have been immersed into the shock like it was an animal for me to dissect but instead I think of John. Doctor John. Monochrome John. Did he hold some unseen line to this reaction? Was he the cause of it?
I groaned and brought my knees to my chest. Too many questions and nobody certain enough to consult! Ugh the difficulties of a consulting detective. Why can't John be here to give me advice? Certainly he would be able to guide me into the right direction even if he will brush it aside. Something is better than nothing and his opinions seem more validated than most I have heard.
Why isn't John here?
Right, he is helping that child. Why couldn't he just take him to a hospital? He's needed here and I doubt he has his actual phone on him (partially because I have it on the end table but that was beside the point) for me to contact him with. He's needed here. In that chair. Listening to my deductions and giving me little bits of praise or advice in between or even the frequent scolding of being "dense".
He needed to be here because I needed him to be here.
I froze.
I'm relying on John too much. He's nobody important and no doubt soon enough he will leave me for some broad that I would find completely unsuitable. He'll eventually abandon me to my own devices to move on with his life.
And now I feel… bitter? Emotions are useless and confusing, yet here they are plaguing me with satisfaction. They all revolve around John as much of my thoughts have been for the past half hour. Why does his words weigh so much in my head compared to the others? It makes no logical sense and that alone irritated and scared me.
Closing my eyes, I gathered all information regarding John and his importance and placed it in a room, shutting the door.
A later time. I can't be configuring this right now. In fact, I shouldn't ever have to configure this. I'm a machine. I'm not some human flesh thing that feels all of these emotions and struggles with understanding them. I'm a machine that analyzes them with a certainty.
This is confusing and I hated it with every fiber of my being.
A vibration on the cluttered end table close to John's arm chair caught my attention. The phone.
"John can you get that?" It wasn't until after I uttered those words I realized how utterly ludicrous that was. He wasn't here. In fact, he was out aiding in some nonsense he didn't have to help at all as mentioned before.
Sighing, I got up and grabbed the phone, flipping it open to view who had the decency to contact me. Perhaps it was Lestrade stuck with another elementary case. Oh how I craved a case at this moment. Something to alter my mindset on John and these regrettably baffling human emotions that follow him so adamantly.
My fingers paused on the automatic motion of deleting the text when the contact appeared.
Mycroft.
A part of me was rather curious why brother dear would want with me now. Would it even be favorable in my instance? Another case as blackmail? A chance to escape from dinner with mummy? All of it was laughable, really. To think he held himself on the pedestal of power and still has to resort to "peasant" methods, as they say, to get what he wants.
Whatever the reason may be for his abrupt fancy, he clearly had a purpose for doing so that was more amiable than most. Besides, if I choose to, I can just ignore his prodding. With that I clicked the button to see the text.
Isn't it odd how your recent acquaintance hasn't returned home? It seems you can't keep them long, can you? – M.H.
I bristled at his message and quickly replied. What did he know? He found relationships to be rather… pointless and not useful in any situation possible where as I took the full competence of people to my advantage.
What do you possibly have for me, Mycroft? Unless you wish to be your lovely brother self then I shall gladly decline any future replies. – S.H.
Oh, please. I would assume you would be more pleasant to speak with considering this pertains to you. Common deduction, brother dearest. – M.H.
It pertained to me? What could possibly pertain to me besides my doctor?
Of course. John.
I would go visit St. Bart's Hospital when you get the chance, Sherlock. You will find the answers about your doctor there. I hear he got quite the advancement, for lack of better terms, back at the Grime Zones. – M.H.
I didn't bother replying how he knew this for it was obvious with how he observes the cameras constantly. It's almost like he has no life besides tormenting myself and anybody in acquaintance.
I did bother, however, to think about John a little more. The door in my mind opened a crack and a smidgeon of his information and all that is associated with him slithered through. John was in the hospital. Additionally, he no doubt was entered after personally meeting the man responsible for the inflicted child. I suppose the fact that he didn't return home with this said injury implies that his medical… friends forced him to go to the hospital, or his injuries were too severe to allow him to come home in the first place.
On top of that, if he was lucid and/or conscience, he would have borrowed a phone from said friends to contact me. If anything, John was somewhat punctual.
Therefore, he is probably at the hospital presumably due to blood loss from some sort of wound. I doubt Mycroft would be so amiable if he sustained worse than that.
Without a second to think it over, I was up with my coat swinging over my shoulder, my scarf following suit soon enough. I didn't understand why I was suddenly out of the door and in a cab for the simple measures as John being in a hospital. It made no sense and I found it rather annoying really. I could stay home and simply await his return. I did not have to go chasing a hospital bloke to find my flat mate.
John was merely a… friend of mine. Would friend even cover us or would it be less? I have never appreciated nor encountered any true emotions related to friendship. That being said, how would I know the difference between acquaintanceship and friendship? Blast it all. I could never apply those terms as concretely as needed.
Nonetheless, I was currently in a state of frantic disarray and the cab driver kept looking back at me with a raised brow. I wasn't doing anything to drag his attention. Why was he looking at me? Scoffing, I glanced out the window, not satisfied with the slow advancing street lights along the darkened streets of London. It was too dawdling for my taste and I would have been happier had it advanced at a faster speed.
Great, I'm getting irritated. Oh this is absolutely grand. More emotions, except this one seemed to appear more often than not. Irritation is the blossom of all my combined annoyances and uncertainties. All of these little reservations all circle John. John Watson. Army doctor in the past, now resorted to the usual clinic.
At first, having him around was merely for my own personal experimental purposes. That's all it was for. I was curious about that dull spark that shocked my when he brushed my skin. I was enthralled in something I wasn't used to feeling. That's all it was and that's all I wished it to remain.
An experiment.
Because that's what I understand most: science, logic, and rationality.
What I had just acted upon was not in any of those categories therefore I couldn't rationalize it. I had the vocabulary, the diction, the language, but it all abandoned me and left me with no strings to grasp on.
One of those strings that continued to elude me was my current dilemma.
Why did my form bend beyond my normal habits to go to him?
There were many reasons that could be so and none of them were appreciated in my eyes. They were completely superfluous. Almost as outmoded as the necessities of emotions.
After all, I am a bloody machine. I am a sociopath, high-functioning or otherwise. This… virus is contaminating me and I would rather have it gone than to indulge it. Relationship status, emotions, hierarchy, and color. All of these things mean nothing to me unless presented of use in my line of work.
And yet a specific sub-virus, relationship status, is continuing to prod me like a mosquito in my skull.
Perhaps I was going at this the wrong way.
What would John think of this problem? What would he dub all these conflicting emotions as? He was far more moral and humane than I was. He would understand these better.
Companionship. Perhaps not that exact description, but it would be in the same category.
Companions… that sounded amiable and correct than blindly assigning a noun such as friends. That word was the only rational explanation for my actions; the only one I was willing to consider. It has to be it. Every other possibility was not even probable in my case.
"Going to see your mate? In some heaty event I'd reckon?" I flickered my gaze over to the curious cabbie driver. He was young but happy. Not overly anxious or ambitious. He was content. It was rare finding people like him in this city. He would be worth considering and possibly listening to.
He shifted under my gaze and his skin darkened to a dark grey. "You know, you seem to be experiencing what I went through when I found my own. So, how long have you two been together? A few months?"
My body froze when I realized what he was hinting. He assumed John and I were… soul mates.
Not possible. Not even the smallest percentage could give it merit.
Sighing, I met the driver's eyes before looking out the window again and said nothing.
Why didn't I deny it? Why did my tongue turn to lead?
Too many questions.
With little to no more advances in conversation, I arrived at the hospital quickly and efficiently.
The second I walked in, a doctor spotted me. She appeared familiar, possibly one of John's coworkers I haven't the pleasure of meeting. Rushing over to me, she grabbed my hand and shook it real quick before addressing me. It was rather out of order for the hospital standards, wasn't it?
She was definitely of a higher status than most of the nurses and receptionists here. So she would be the one to enforce the entire code of conduct. It was clear she was not concentrating on her work. In fact, she was placing her personal feelings before her work.
Frantic. She was frantic. She was experiencing worry but it also seemed, judging from her expression, that she might have seen more than my doctor. If she had remained here, she would only be worried since she would have not witnessed first-hand what happened. She was well aware of what John went through and it was forcing her into overdrive from possible left overs of adrenaline. Her pulse and respirations are almost abnormal and even her little movements – twitching of fingers and quick tapping of her heels – expressed the anxiety.
She had been there obviously. In that case, this must be Sarah. Common deduction.
"Sherlock Holmes I assume? John's so- flat mate?" she corrected herself quickly, looking me over.
Only raising a skeptical brow at the woman, I nodded my head once and she gave a sigh of relief.
"Wonderful. Follow me please." I did as she asked, seeing no relativity in postponing the visit.
Once again I was at the room 221, and I grimaced before walking in.
John was unconscious, lying peacefully on the cot. Sarah seemed to be speaking but I didn't pay attention, merely observing the many cords and fluids coursing in and out of John along with the vitals beeping beside him. On his shoulder was a thick bandage and when I narrowed on it, a phantom pain consumed my own shoulder and I rolled it on reflex.
A door clicking shut sounded through my ears before silence followed. This was only for a second before it buzzed once more with new questions and old ones left unanswered. The strange phantom pain certainly associated with John was on the top priorities of said questions.
I needed to perform an experiment. That was necessary at this moment.
It was the only way I could make sense of this rather unorthodox problem.
Sitting down in the uncomfortable, worn cushions of the seat, I narrowed on John's face. He was ordinary. He was plain, as plain as they could come. Yet, he was somehow causing weird changes in my system that I could not discern as something my own mind conjured.
Soul mate.
That phrase. Those two words that the man uttered. He thought we were soul mates. While I fail to see his logic, it was worth checking out I supposed.
In a way, I suppose it wasn't nearly fair. At this moment, John is sleeping silently and yet… peacefully while I am here trying to figure out what exactly I felt for him. I wonder if he has even noticed or if he has and has been hiding it the entire time? If that was the case than he was causing more problems for himself than necessary!
He was a doctor so he should know. Soul mating didn't always have to be love. It just meant you were very compatible. That's all.
We could remain in our companionship.
Nothing would change if we were to acknowledge this apparent bond, surely?
Experiments, Sherlock. Abandon this numbing emotional banter and focus on something worthwhile.
My thoughts quieted down to a purr in the back of my mind as I vaguely noticed his even breathing and lift and fall of his chest. He was sleeping. Reaching over, I snapped my fingers a few times loudly for good measure. He didn't stir. He wouldn't notice if I were to experiment how far this soul mating atrocity went certainly.
Besides, I was interrupted by an experiment at the flat so I doubt he will mind. He is in a deep sleep and on top of that, a thick coat of medication is running through his system. It's not like he will know and even if he did know, he wouldn't argue with me if I said it was purely scientific and experimental.
Probably.
Therefore, it wouldn't be awkward to perhaps intertwine fingers with his own, correct? No. Experimentation. Pure experimentation. I could use this for future cases. This was not at all for personal reasons. I was not doing this for my own personal advantage.
Definitely not. That would be absurd and against my morals as a consulting detective.
Glancing at those stilled, course fingers long accustomed to a weapon and surgical scalpels, I decided to approach something smaller before the pure impact. I needed to advance in increments. Jumping immediately to the big spark would end rather poorly and it wouldn't be good evidence or information.
I will have to be patient (ugh) and increase my potency in augmentations. Jumping to conclusions will only lead to mistakes and I will not have the time to redo this experiment under the same conditions.
Perhaps pain stimuli would be the best approach for now. This is mainly due to the observation that the area in which his shoulder was injured is the same spot, roughly speaking, that my vague pain is conjuring from.
Standing, I leaned over the doctor carefully. He was sleeping deeply, yes, but precautions must still be made.
I gently poked the wound and waited. I didn't have to wait long for the same pain to come over me swiftly. The same that had previously caused me to ruin my own experiment earlier by dropping the beaker.
My hand retracted as I checked my own shoulder for a wound I knew I wouldn't find. I hadn't been injured. John had. Therefore, logic seemed to be completely incapable at the time. He has the injury and yet I have the faint pain of it. Perhaps it's proximity? But if that was the case the nurse would have felt the same, not to mention I felt it all the way across London.
Furrowing my brows I decided to jump ahead and grab his hand. Just touching it gently to initiate contact.
One pulse echoed through my entire form. One very loud pulse that seemed like a light switch turning on.
And then a light hue of every color I had never seen before filled the room. Most of the hospital walls were already white, so there wasn't much there, but I was finally able to see John for how he was. Blonde hair coated his head with a tan complexion. His lips were tinged pink and the wound around his shoulder red and angry. But this was only a faint color scheme.
What happened if I…?
Intertwining my fingers with Johns, I glanced around the room and colors were vibrant. They were so differential and unique. This color. This was what soul mates were supposed to see, correct? It was… nice seeing color I soon realized. Not just for John! But just because it was a different taste of schemes.
In the back of my mind I felt John stir but was too focused on the colors generating themselves pixel by pixel in front of me. His hand that was once relaxed grew rigid as the rest of his form. The colors seemed to waver because of this. Fascinating!
But of course, John had to wake up. And question my motives. It was what John did, not that I minded.
"Sherlock?" I glanced down at John for a moment and noticed his eyebrows were furrowed. It didn't appear to be confusion. It felt as if he was suppressing something. Something that was clearly bothering him and not me while in this arrangement. "What are you doing?"
I scoffed in his direction and went back to the colors, "Experimenting obviously."
"Experimenting?" John repeated softly. Wait. No, not just softly. He had uttered this with a tinge of sadness. But why would he feel sad? Gah! Human emotions! This is why I am a machine for I never have to worry about these distasteful feelings.
But… it did bother me. Not in that soul mating way, I assure you. No. Just out of mutual companionship for a friend and case follower/blogger. If John were to have to follow me to a case later on, I didn't want his thoughts elsewhere when he is clearly needed in the present. That was my mindset. Not soul mating. Disgusting, annoying verbal to be honest.
"John, if you are-"
"It's nothing," he cut off, gently pulling his hand away from my hold with a smile. It didn't reach his eyes but I decided not to prod at it. The sigh he released appeared to express his appreciation of that action.
After a second of uncomfortable silence, John spoke again, "So, I suppose you would like to know exactly how I had gotten in this predicament, yes?" Change of topic, but it isn't a boring one.
I chuckled lightly, "Yes, if you would so enlighten me."
As I listened to John recount his memories and events regarding Jim and Sebastian, I could feel my body respond tensely. It was not by my own regard, but in reaction to the danger and pain John had succumbed to. I – as in I mentally and logically – didn't like this visible change in atmosphere due to humane feelings. I – as in my body – didn't like the danger John was placed in. I, overall, didn't like being protective and oddly obsessive. It wasn't me… entirely.
"…so they basically want you to back off of the case, Sherlock," John concluded. He rolled his eyes when a curse escaped my lips.
"It's nothing, Sherlock. I'm an army captain. That was nothing compared to what I have-"
"But you got hurt, John. And, at that, by my actions. How could it be nothing?" I retorted sarcastically, glaring at the wound like it was its fault it had manifested itself on the doctor's shoulder.
John's expression changed from surprise to flabbergasted, "And why does it pertain to you, Sherlock? Why does it really matter? You're always saying you a machine so why does my getting hurt bother you so much?"
"I don't know!" I exclaimed, running a hand through my hair, "It's just something I feel and can't understand. I am a contrivance, John, an engine or mechanism of some sort. I know I am. This is simply a virus being conjured and I want it to be gone. I don't… perform well with attachments."
I froze, bitter at my own outburst. Why did those words come off my tongue so readily, the same words that I resent mentioning at all. The infamous saying of "I don't know". It was foreign in my mind and even rarer in public. I saying I don't know is against my ability to always harbor the air of knowing. It revoked my commonly known personality of not confiding my own personal issues with others.
It was against what I would usually perform. The reply I meant to say was ready in my mind. It was a simple reply, even shorter than the surge I expressed early. It was a snipped "It doesn't matter".
What I said was not what I meant to say. It was the cursed heart I concealed with layers of resentment and lashes. The same heart that is not at all logical or rational. The same organ that pushes me to these weird emotions with John. The same object that is changing me and ruining my own routine.
Scoffing, I looked away. John didn't remark on the words I spoke, but he did certainly hold a good amount of shock.
"Sherlock…"
"It's nothing John. Just forget about it," I snapped at him and glared at the unappealing floor.
John was about to reply when the door opened. Two of John's friends, Mary and Sarah, walked in. Both women were a mixed bowl of annoyed and relieved of his situation.
Almost as quickly as the spread of anger came over me, it was gone. I hid it behind a mask and while John still offered me pitying looks, I merely avoided their intentions. It was nothing. I wasn't going to contradict the only pride I have left in this moment.
"Hey," John greeted with a bashful smile although it was forced. I rolled my eyes at the display but said nothing.
"Hey?" Mary deadpanned, "Hey? Really? You come in all bloodied and hurt from God knows what and all you say to me is 'hey'?" John cringed a little but his smile still stood. I didn't know if he was brave or if he was being foolish in the likes of the worried and angered woman.
"I'm glad I'm okay too, Mary, thanks for asking," he replied with a smirk and Mary's resolve fell into a soft smile of her own. Sarah chuckled close to her and proceeded to adjust John's vitals expertly.
As Sarah changed the bags, she added her own input, "Well, I'm sure Lucille will be glad to know you're okay, John if anything. She has been worried sick since the moment we found you, you know. Gave the girl a heart attack. Shame on you. I know you like being a brave soldier and all, but you're not in Afghanistan anymore, Captain. You kind of have to put that bravery away for another day."
John laughed a little and then froze when it seemed he actually thought of what she said. I sensed his distress and tensed as well before forcing myself to relax. This was getting out of control. Really. Stupid body. Ignorant, malfunctioning, poor excuse of a vessel.
"The others," he looked pointedly at Sarah, "Are they okay? The others I mean. Toby and his brother? They didn't get involved did they?" His hands were clenching and unclenching as he spoke this. Tendons sticking out of his hand like his skin was pinched that way on purpose.
Sarah crossed her arms, "Define involved. I mean, no they weren't harmed. Both of them are recovering from their injuries effectively and should be out by tomorrow at the latest. As for being involved in that scare you performed-" John waved his hand dismissively, visibly relieved.
"I don't care of my own injuries, Sarah. I'm a doctor and a bloody good one I'd like to think! I'm pretty sure I can tell what injuries and maladies I suffer from." He smiled at her. I chuckled softly but John didn't hear me. Good. I didn't want his attention diverted back to me after our previous exchange. That was… tedious. And unnecessary.
Then again, it seemed he was purposely avoiding me. I found this more in the field of interest rather than the insidel emotion of dejectedness.
All this time he never looked at me but kept his hands away from me. I suppose he didn't like my experiment. I don't see why that would be the case. Did he not enjoy seeing colors as I did? His hobby, as I remember pointing out back when I first became acquainted with him, was art, or at least the past time of simple sketching.
My lips fell into a small, confused frown.
…Why of all things do I remember that? It is useless information. It will never aid me in a case. Why did my mind palace stick it somewhere where I won't be able to delete it? It was irrelevant! Still, I can remember everything he said in that conversation as well as what I replied clearly. Both are unimportant. Both don't mean anything.
This is completely stupid. I hate this feeling of not knowing or – even worse – not understanding something placed on my platter for observing.
Something wasn't right with me. Something was altering my mechanical parts into crashing or breaking.
And I would like it to stop before it rusted my capabilities.
These emotions were like rain to my metal exterior. Each wave of the dreaded onslaught was another coat of water on my iron defenses. Too much of it and I will rust. Too much of the emotional, human rain and I will crumble and fall apart.
When I came back from my reverie, it seemed the female doctor that was speaking to John earlier, Sarah, was now leaving. John looked significantly more at ease and even spared me a smile. No, my heart did not skip a beat nor did that metaphorical notion of time stopping occurred. That would be absurd just as the creation of such presumptions.
However, Mary was another story altogether. She was observing me. How long had she been watching me? Did she notice my internal debate or was it merely the fact that John smiled at me? She was discerning me almost like I would perceive from anybody else. If anybody else were to narrow in on her gaze, they would only detect suspicion. No, she held more than suspicion. I sensed protectiveness, concern, and all those petty emotions that come with caring for someone.
Did she think I was going to harm John? I must admit my argument against that factor is rather weak, but only a fool would assume that a goal as mine would infer harm to the doctor. I was not a psychopath nor any sort of sadistic ignorant. No, I was a high functioning sociopath and she greatly needed to understand such differences.
"Sherlock, is it?" When she spoke, I blinked at her slowly, waiting for another response, "May I speak with you?"
I glanced at John and he was watching me. I sensed worry in his gaze and felt the need to offer a small, almost snide, smile in his direction for his reassurance. I couldn't explain why. I really couldn't. It was… difficult to place.
Oh the glory of all these emotions.
That was entirely sarcasm.
Maybe leaving the room would be good for the both of us. For him to think over whatever bothered him and for I to have a substantially cleaner environment to rationally sort through this… nonsense.
When I stood up, I realized John may not have jumped to the same conclusions as I as to the benefits of this.
"Mary! It isn't his fault that I am like this. I told him to leave me. You have to be crazy to chew him out for something that was clearly my fault!" he whined in her direction and a soft chuckle escaped my lips before I could pull it back.
"Calm down, John. I just want to have a simple conversation with him. Is that so illegal? Or do you want to keep him all to your lonesome?" She smirked in his direction while John reddened significantly. Or, well, I suppose it would be reddened if color existed right now, wouldn't it? No, it didn't get those vibrant hues at all. It was only a boring deeper grey.
Silently, I followed Mary out the door. Closing the door softly behind me, I sat down in a bench close to the room. Placing my hands together, I brought them to my lips as I awaited her scrutiny.
I made no quip towards how open she actually was considering the fact that it would have lessened this impromptu and useless conversation.
"As you know, Sherlock, John was hurt saving a boy. He sent the little girl to get Sarah while sending the younger sibling brother to get water for cleansing the wounds. He was left alone with the boy and as far as I am concerned you were there at first and then gone the next. John got severely hurt and Sarah arrived just in time to save him from blood loss." She took a deep breath and met my curious gaze head on, "Now, I'm not going to recount everything up to this moment, Sherlock. That would be tedious, wouldn't you say? No. What I want to know is where you were?"
I didn't hesitate. "John told you I wasn't there. You could infer that I was at the flat, yes?"
"Yes, but I want to hear it from you."
Closing my eyes briefly, I opened them and stared ahead at the white walls. "He sent me away. I assumed I was deemed unnecessary for I am not in the medical field nor am I socially capable of speaking with children effectively thus making the area John was excelling in contradictory to myself. I went back to the flat and awaited his return."
Mary paused, "When you left, and I'm ranging from the moment you left the home of the siblings until now, did you feel anything strange? Like a pull?" She glanced back at John's room, almost like she was worried he might overhear. Then she pointed at her shoulder, exactly where John got stabbed. "Or even a phantom pain?"
How did she know? How would she know? She had not found her mate and I doubt she is knowledgeable in the circumstances.
My lips thinned. Lying seemed significantly easier than facing the music she was about to play. "I felt nothing."
Mary glared at me, "You are lying. I know you are, Sherlock. Fibbing is not exactly your area."
"Neither is your ability to extract information effectively," I scoffed, "Accusing me of lying won't get us anywhere mutually, therefore I believe our conversation is done, correct?"
I was about to get up when Mary sighed, "No. Wait. There is one more thing I would like to tell you."
Sparing a glance in her direction, I noticed a small grace of humor in her features. She was amused and yet a little concerned. Clearly not for me – the concern – but for John. The amusement was obviously in my direction. What I failed to see was what was so amusing.
"You are quite the observant fellow, Sherlock. I will give you that dignity. That being said, you are possibly the most dense and utterly blind man I have had the pleasure in meeting personally and indirectly. And for that I have some advice for you. Stop dissecting every detail in your high definition mind and look at the something… or someone… in a general, vague view. Trust me, you will be surprised with what you have found and it will be worth it. I promise you."
With that, she smiled at me and walked away down the hall. I heard her give farewells to John on the way but I didn't move to follow her. I couldn't move.
View things generally? Wouldn't that cause you to miss something? It is… defective thinking, is it not?
If it isn't, then what have I been missing by not switching back and forth?
Ah, I was reading this a bit before I posted it on here, and I realized that Sherlock is a bit OOC I fear. I apologize for that dearly. I think when I was editing this a few months back I could never get him right this chapter. I edited it at least 6 times (a lot *sigh*). His point of view does not appear often, but I still want to do well whenever he does appear.
Expect a chapter in a day :) So, basically, Thanksgivings!