CHAPTER 16: HOUSTON, WE HAVE A THREE-PATCH PROBLEM

It's been a week since Giulia's release, and everything is back to normal at Baker Street. As normal as it gets, anyway.

Sherlock has been consistently in a bad mood and has become even more unmanageable than usual. It isn't utterly surprising, though, given that he has just solved a crime—meaning he is eager to find another mystery. However, the latest case was surely an intricate, fascinating one, and John hoped it would appease him for a while. But it looks like it had the opposite effect: the consulting detective is more restless than ever.

Surprisingly, at the moment, he is experiencing one of his rare quiet pauses, lying peacefully on the couch while Giulia reads a book curled up on John's armchair. Suddenly, he presses the palm of his right hand on his left forearm and lets out a deep moan.

Giulia snaps her head up and frowns at him. She stares at his arms and nods at the strange sticking plasters.

"What are those?"

"Nicotine patches," he replies absent-mindedly.

She gives him a side glance. "I thought you'd quit smoking."

"I am not smoking," he objects captiously.

She narrows her eyes at him. "When?"

"When what?"

"I've never seen those patches before, so it must be a recent habit or maybe a relapse. When did you resort to nicotine?"

"When you had the brilliant idea of getting yourself arrested. I needed to find a way to let you out," he tries to justify himself.

"Don't even try to pin this on me."

"I was simply recalling the facts: if you hadn't got yourself locked up by Scotland Yard officers, I probably wouldn't have needed them. Nicotine just helps me think, and it came in handy in such a situation." His tone sounded more scathing than necessary.

She doesn't skip a beat and rebuts ironically, "I bet your lungs are so immensely grateful."

"Lungs are not the organs for thinking. Do study a bit of anatomy." He kills her mood.

She rolls her eyes. It's impossible to talk to him these days. He hardly ever addresses her, and when he absolutely needs to, his tone is harsh and angry. It looks like he hasn't forgiven her for something, though she hasn't the slightest idea what for.

At that moment, John emerges from his bedroom and heads toward the kitchen to make some tea. He comes out a moment later with an expression of pure hatred. He takes a deep breath to control his anger and orders peremptorily, "Sherlock, take your coat. We're going out."

He springs to his feet in a rush of enthusiasm. "Really? Have you found a case?"

"Sure. An irresponsible madman who starved his two flatmates to death," he snaps back sarcastically. "It was your week to do the shopping."

"No, I can perfectly remember that it was two weeks ago."

John gives him a glacial look.

"Yeah, that's right. But two weeks ago, you didn't do it, and Giulia swapped places with you to help. Last week, I asked you to go (more properly, begged), but you ignored me once again, so I had to fill in for you. I won't allow it anymore. We're going shopping today." He turns to Giulia and his tone softens when he addresses her. "Giulia, you can come too, of course, if you need anything."

"Or she could give us a list, and we simply buy what she wants. She doesn't have to come; she's not our shadow," Sherlock retorts with an unmistakable trace of bitterness, leaving her speechless and incapable of reacting.

"I asked her to come. What's the matter with you, Sherlock?" John squints his eyes at him, vexed.

"I need some items, and I'd like to come if it's not too much trouble," she interjects hesitantly. She is dying to know why Sherlock seems to have a problem with her, but is terrified of the answer.

John kindly smiles at her. "No problem at all. Let's go."

They get out in the icy air of early December. Giulia and John walk side by side on the pavement, while Sherlock follows them, a few steps behind.

"John, why is he mad at me? Did I do something wrong?" She drops her voice to a whisper, turning her coat collar up against the wind.

"Don't worry and don't take it personally. Sherlock Holmes is simply mad at the whole world."

She chuckles, then changes the subject to lighten the mood.

"I don't think I've ever asked you; do you have a girlfriend?"

"Any interest?" Sherlock jumps abruptly into their conversation, getting in pace with them.

"It's just a question: human curiosity."

"No, I haven't. Not at the moment," John clears his throat awkwardly. Personal topics aren't his strong suit.

"Oh, sorry." She lifts a hand to her mouth, mortified. "When did it happen?"

Watson frowns. "What?"

"The breakup. You said not at the moment, so I suppose it is a recent thing, and it might still hurt," she tactfully says.

"You have to excuse him but giving that he lives with a man and isn't currently in a relationship, he felt the need to let you know that there has been a girlfriend, sometime in the past," Sherlock scoffs at his friend and his ridiculous concern about other people's insinuations.

She laughs and shifts her glance from one man to the other.

"Is that so? I wouldn't have implied anything, by the way."

"Or perhaps I just suffered because of it," John interjects, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"No, you didn't," Sherlock retorts. He doesn't have to ask John about his emotional state; he is confident he can perfectly deduce it by simply observing him. Emotions and feelings might not be his department, but he has always had the presumption of being able to rationally analyse the effects they have on other people. After all, the head can always rule over the heart, right?

John shakes his head. "Anyway, no, I'm not in a relationship. What about you? You've been in London for a few months now. Have you been dating?"

"No, she hasn't," Sherlock quickly replies for her.

John glowers at him. "I asked her."

"No, I haven't," she confirms, smiling at the two fighting kids.

"But she's met a guy who fancies her yesterday at the university café. He plays football," Holmes adds casually.

"How do you know that?" Giulia stares at him with eyes wide open.

"Oh, please, it's fairly obvious. First clue: there's a napkin with a name and a phone number on it peeping out of your coat pocket."

He lets his tapering fingers glide into her pocket and swiftly extracts it. She fights to grab the napkin from his hand, but he waves it up in the air well beyond her reach. She surrenders and lets him keep it. He rolls it between his fingers.

"It's not from a tissue box; it is made in the rough paper typical of food shops or similar. How do I know you were in the university café? Easy: yesterday, you didn't come home for lunch, and you only do that when you have too little time. You're a practical woman, and food is hardly ever at the top of your priority list—which I frankly approve of. So, I reckon you went for a quick snack or a sandwich at the café when taking a break from your research. And that's where a boy approached you."

"Thanks, Sherlock, we can imagine the rest: he sat at her table, and they had a little chat, probably." John intervenes, trying to save her from the embarrassment of that x-ray.

"No, my dear Watson, things went a bit differently. He didn't sit," Holmes affirms, spreading the small sheet of paper to make it perfectly visible for them both. "From the pressure that he applied to the pen when he wrote his number and the angle of his wrist against the paper, we can infer that he was standing."

"He saw a beautiful woman sitting alone in a café and went to talk to her, but didn't sit to look her in the eyes? He is not very smart, then," John snickers, casting a timid glance at her.

Giulia blushes slightly and adjusts her coat collar to cover her flushed cheeks, flashing him a half-smile, while Sherlock imperceptibly narrows his eyes at their exchange of looks and keeps talking scornfully, "And yet he was interested in her since he quickly wrote his contact on a napkin. What does it say about him?"

"He was in a hurry, perhaps?" John ventures.

"Precisely. And where was he rushing to in the early afternoon? Something he couldn't miss, obviously. Given the moment of the day and the unlikely possibility of a lecture (we can assume that he would have no trouble skipping it for a nice little chat), his rush was probably related to some sports activity. As far as I know, the university football team is not bad, so we can deduce he is a player," he concludes with a shrug.

The three of them walk into the supermarket, and Giulia looks dazed at him.

"You never cease to amaze me."

"Yeah, he always does that, but this time, his explanation is flimsy and vague. It's like a shot in the dark, really," John protests, squinting at him. He knows better than to be blinded by his friend's peculiar capabilities.

"It isn't. I am 100% certain of the accuracy of my information," Holmes rebuts.

"How so?"

"I simply read the texts they exchanged," he confesses in the most natural tone possible.

"You what? You mean you've just invented your deductions to justify that you already knew every detail?" Giulia almost cries out, outraged by his invasion of her privacy.

"I can deduce, but I can read as well. You ought to remember that I know the password of your phone. You messaged him to say hi, and he texted back: Hi! I'm sorry I couldn't stay and sit today at the café. I had to go to practice. Big game tomorrow. Hope to see you again. It was nice meeting you," Sherlock recalls nonchalantly, trying to hide a hint of contempt. Is something bothering him? Absurd. Why should he even care? The appearance of an inconsequential man in one of Giulia's days is devoid of any importance.

"No way." She jokingly punches him on the arm. "You cheated. I should definitely change the password."

"You should definitely move out," Sherlock shoots back, a deep, strange tone in his voice.

She freezes, and her confused eyes remain fixed on his back as he roams around the display racks of the supermarket. He was just joking, wasn't he?

"I'll take care of fruit and vegetables. You two just try to find some non-perishable food. And please, behave." John gives them a stern, fatherly look and disappears down one of the corridors.

The two of them rummage silently through the shelves.

"Sherlock, would you mind helping me?" Giulia groans, standing on her tiptoes and stretching her arms up towards some cans on the top shelf. He comes to her rescue and easily reaches up to grab the cans. When he lifts his arms, his sleeves slide down, letting her glimpse his bare forearms.

"What's on your arm?" She immediately asks, staring at him with wild eyes.

"You have a terrible memory. I already told you: nicotine patches."

"No, I mean the red punctures right on your veins," she clarifies, grabbing his arm and pushing up his sleeve to get a closer look.

He instantly breaks free from her grip and yanks down his sleeve, covering his exposed skin.

"I- I donated blood," he hesitates.

"All those needles? How much did you give, three litres?" She sarcastically asks. "You'd be dead by now."

He huffs and looks away. "If Death wanted me, it would have taken me ages ago."

"I don't feel like joking, Sherlock. And look me in the eye when I am talking to you. What are those?" Her flinty gaze pins him on the spot.

He fixes his eyes on hers and hisses, "None of your business."

"Of course it is. I'm your friend."

"You are my flatmate," he specifies hideously. "Just do me a favour: don't pry into things that do not strictly concern you."

She should feel hurt by his hateful correction, but the only sensation taking hold of her mind is a deep, disheartening disappointment.

"I can't believe it. Drugs? You?"

"A superior mind needs a superior stimulus," he says, as if that were a valid justification for risking an overdose.

"It's nonsense. Does John know about it?"

"He knows I used to do drugs, but thinks I'm clean now. Are you going to tell him?" He does nothing to hide the suspicion in his tone.

"Come on, Sherlock, wise up. I won't say anything to John. I don't want him to be alarmed, not now that he is having problems at work. A spoiled child is the last thing he needs to worry about." She glares at him with sadness and annoyance in her broken voice.

He furrows a brow. "Does he have problems at the clinic?"

"Gosh, you're the most observant man in London and you didn't notice how stressed your friend is? You must be really high."

He averts his gaze and looks into the distance without a word. She shakes her head.

"I would've never expected that. You must put an end to it, or I swear I will tell your brother everything. Promise me it won't happen again," she begs with teary eyes.

"I don't make vows," he spits out.

"That's because you're too weak to keep even the smallest promise. Or maybe you're just a junkie," she snaps back.

"Keep your voice down, for God's sake. You're making a scene in a public place." He looks feverishly at a couple of people staring at the fighting couple.

At that moment, John reaches them. "What are you two arguing about?"

They spin around with guilty looks on their faces, and Giulia steals a glance at her surroundings.

"I was blackmailing Sherlock, actually," she confesses, and Holmes looks daggers at her.

John frowns. "What about?"

Her gaze lingers on the frozen food section on her left, and she clears her throat.

"Because I disputed that a mini-fridge is absolutely necessary."

This time, Sherlock turns towards her with confusion in his eyes rather than animosity. John looks quite disoriented, as well. "Mini-fridge?"

"Sure. I was threatening to throw away all the thumbs and other body parts he keeps in the fridge if he doesn't accept to store them away from our food, in a more appropriate and separate place," she pretends to whine.

"Not to mention that bloody head." John joins in on those complaints, winking at her.

Meanwhile, Sherlock hasn't been able to take his eyes off her. How could she make that story up in such a short time? Only an expert liar could misdirect and distort the whole meaning of a conversation with such spontaneity. And that is not a reassuring thought.

He plays along. "It's an experiment. I don't see the need for a useless mini-fridge."

"If you don't buy it, the next severed head will be yours." She glares at him, and he stares back, their eyes locked, a glacial tension between them.

John shifts his perplexed look from one to the other. It looks like they are slightly overreacting now.

"Alright," he awkwardly breaks the ice. "She convinced me. We'll take it."

While they are stepping out of the supermarket, passing exactly where they had walked just half an hour before, Giulia looks at Sherlock and repeats the same words as before, "You never cease to amaze me."

This time, though, it is a completely different type of amazement.