CHAPTER 37: MATTERS OF THE HEART
As a cab pulls over next to them, Sherlock instructs the cabbie, "221B Baker Street, please." He opens the door for Giulia, and she flashes him a grateful smile, impressed by his uncommonly courteous manners. He slides on the seat next to her while John sits across from them. He stares at Sherlock, gaping.
"You think it's Moriarty?"
"He fits the profile: a murderous psychopath killing random people and sending me clues only to get my attention. Does it ring a bell?" Sherlock asks sarcastically as the taxi takes off.
John keeps his eyes down and steals some furtive glances at his friend, wondering, Is he concerned? He knows that Sherlock Holmes doesn't get scared—the detective would find that mere idea ludicrous. However, he must certainly be on alert. After all, the infamous criminal mastermind, the very one who attempted at both their lives (after blowing up people and buildings), has dragged them once again into one of his disturbing games with a twist. And with Moriarty, the 'twist' usually comprises violent death.
Sherlock keeps gazing upon vacancy out of the window. Unbeknownst to the occupants of the car, he is indeed terrified. He hates that feeling; he never had to deal with fear before. Nothing can scare a man who isn't even afraid of dying. Yet, something bugs him; a looming sense of uneasiness has been nesting in the pit of his stomach ever since he deciphered the anagram hidden in the name of the invented neurologist. Moriarty is back; he doesn't doubt it. But he never feared that criminal and is still untouched by the prospect of his own death. So why does the reappearance of the Napoleon of crime shake him to his very core?
A delicate touch on his skin suddenly snaps him out of the dark spiral of his thoughts. He realises his hand is trembling only when Giulia places her fingers on the back of his hand to steady it. He lifts his eyes to meet her warm smile. Her lips are bent in a graceful curve, though her eyes are veiled with concern.
"Are you alright?" She whispers.
He doesn't reply but keeps staring into her hazel eyes. This is the most enticing characteristic about her: the way her eyes scrutinise him as if they were plumbing the depths of his most secluded self. He is used to reading a person's life, job, and backstory in little details scattered around their bodies, clothes, and behaviour. But she is not like him. She approaches people with the emotional intelligence that he has never possessed; something he struggles to understand. She reads him in a way no one else has ever done. It's not the science of deduction; it's a study of humanity—which is even more surprising to him considering that sometimes he doesn't feel human at all. Yet, she has a strange effect on him: she humanises him. Not a genius, not a consulting detective, not a freak show; with her, he is allowed to be just a person, with all the fears and flaws and feelings and complicated emotions that always come with flesh and bone. She makes him vulnerable, but the intriguing part is he likes it.
"When have I ever been alright?" He eventually jokes to break the awkward silence and defuse the tension. She rolls up her eyes. He always slips away whenever things threaten to get real.
John suppresses a shiver, trying to grasp the implications of Moriarty's comeback into their lives.
"Sherlock, what's your plan? What do we do now?"
Holmes is still gazing at Giulia: his eyes follow the sinuous line of her braided hair. He interrupts his contemplation and realises the gravity of the situation.
"First things first: we're stopping by at the flat. I need to pick something up and drop off something else," he simply states, shooting one last glance at her before focusing on the roads rushing around the cab.
They stay silent for a few minutes, then Giulia intervenes. "Wait. Does it mean that you know who the killer is?"
"Not exactly. I know who planned and set up that crime scene for me. We have already crossed paths in the past; he is extremely dangerous and highly unpredictable."
"But if you know his identity, why don't you notify the police and have him immediately arrested?" She insists.
"Because Jim Moriarty is not the perpetrator of the crime; he is more likely the instigator. It turns out that I was wrong about something," he casually drops into his sentence, yet both John and Giulia catch that comment and immediately turn their heads towards him, with expressions of pure astonishment. Sherlock admitting a mistake is rarer than a solar eclipse.
He rolls up his eyes. "Don't give me that look. I can't be right about everything; it'd be too boring. Besides, I wasn't entirely mistaken. I thought the creepy call that Giulia received earlier might have come from the killer, but I made a miscalculation. It was Moriarty calling her instead. Which makes perfect sense: he couldn't possibly phone me because I would immediately recognise his voice. I doubt I could ever forget it," he murmurs as his thoughts fly back to their encounter at the swimming pool.
Giulia steals nervous glances around.
"I don't even know who you're talking about, but should I feel relieved I wasn't contacted by a killer standing over the corpse of his victim?"
Sherlock sighs. "Not really. Moriarty is even more dangerous than a standard murderer. He doesn't pull the trigger, never gets his hands dirty; he moves behind the curtain, playing with the strings like a puppet master. And we can't even ask for police support, because we simply won't find any shred of evidence that could connect him to the homicide. In the end, there is only one reason he does that, only one link."
"What is it?"
"Me."
Giulia doesn't have time to ask any more questions because, at that moment, the cab pulls over next to the door of 221B, and Sherlock hops off, telling the cabbie to wait. Then he turns to her.
"Giulia, would you be kind enough to help me out?"
"Of course," she cheerfully replies, heading for the black door. She sprints upstairs as her long braid, secured with hairpins on the top of her head, sways rhythmically on her back with her every move.
While climbing the stairs two steps at a time, she can't help but wonder why Sherlock asked for her help, even if John was available, too. He never does that. In the last few days, he has barely addressed her directly and only when strictly necessary. He has always kept his distance, but after his hospitalisation, it felt like he was avoiding her. And it was playing with her mind: she thought that something was changing after his brush with death. Was it all in her head?
"What do you need to take?" She asks him as he follows her into the living room.
He grabs the marble statue that he left on the coffee table in response.
"Do you think this Moriarty guy was also the sender of the curious gift you received this morning?" She asks, studying his concentrated expression.
"When I first deduced the box, I said that 'the gauntlet had been thrown down'. I assumed it could be a worthy opponent. Now I know for a fact that he is. Jim wants me to play, and this was my invitation to the game." He turns the delicate figurine between his hands. "There's only one way to confirm it, though, and that's why I need a lab and an expert. I don't have the right equipment to run all the proper tests on it here," he explains, fetching the entire shipping package and stepping into the kitchen.
She is slightly confused. She thought that the lab he settled in their kitchen could rival some top-notch research centres. She hears him throwing open a couple of drawers and turning the place upside down before he steps out again, holding every element of the package inside a transparent plastic bag.
"Fine. And what do you have to drop off?" Giulia shoots him a quizzical look, inspecting him: he wasn't holding anything when he left the cab, and the pockets of his coat look empty.
He fixes his eyes in hers and breathes out, "You."
She goggles at him. "What does it mean?"
"That you are benched on this case. You'll be safer here at home. Feel free to watch some telly or whatever you do on your computer." He gestures vaguely, walking to the door.
She is utterly dumbfounded. Why is he behaving like this? He never prohibited her from following him. If anything, he usually invites her to join the cases.
"Sherlock, stop. Why are you doing this?"
He clears his throat, lowering his gaze. "Safety precautions."
"Why now? I thought we were past the tipping point in terms of safety. You have just taken me to a crime scene for goodness sake," she protests, shielding behind the logic.
"Technically, that crime scene was a reasonably safe place. By the time the police arrived, the killer had already fled the scene, and it was quite implausible that he could strike again in the same spot now controlled by Scotland Yard. Statistically, any other place in the city was more likely to be the scene of another homicide than the waterside where I took you," he argues pragmatically.
She crosses her arms on her chest, narrowing her eyes at him.
"I can tell when you are maundering. Why did you allow me to come see a corpse but are now preventing me from following you?"
Because I didn't know what the stakes were, back then, he mentally replies.
He tightens his jaw before answering bitterly, "I took you to the riverbank because you were leverage with Dimmock. He wanted to interrogate you, while I wanted some minutes on the crime scene. We made a deal. Are you happy now?"
Giulia holds his gaze while biting furiously on the inside of her cheek. She can feel tears forming in her eyes and clouding her vision, but she is fiercely determined not to let him see her cry. She lifts her eyes to the ceiling to hold her composure and exhales loudly, then fixes her glistening eyes on him once more.
"So that's all I am to you: a bargaining chip." She forces out every word as her voice turns razor-sharp.
Sherlock widens his eyes at her, taken aback.
"That's not what I meant," he stutters, incapable of throwing together an explanation to undo the damage.
She doesn't let him look away as she asks, "What am I to you, Sherlock?"
He feels cornered as he twitches his hands inside his pockets to hide the jitters.
"A distraction," he murmurs, looking down.
When he breaks eye contact, she feels as if the anchor of hope she was clinging to just plunged into the sea, dragging her to the bottom. She closes her eyes for a second to process that statement, and a treacherous tear slips out of the corner of her eye.
"I liked your first answer better," she says, passing the back of her hand under her eye to wipe away all signs of weakness. Then she speaks up, "What is my role, then? Does my funny little presence help you ease your boredom and keep you distracted? Are you playing me?"
Noticing the wrenching pain in her voice, Sherlock instinctively takes a step forward, almost yelling, "No, of course not."
He takes a deep breath while standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. When he talks again, his voice comes out as a wavering whisper.
"This—this is precisely the reason I find it so difficult to talk to other people: there is always too much room for misunderstanding. What I meant is that you distract me, yes, because when I'm with you—" His voice gets stuck in his throat, and he has to inhale sharply to continue.
"Sometimes, when I am with you, I can't seem to think straight," he hesitates, forcing the words out.
She frowns. She was not expecting that.
"I don't get it."
He cocks a brow in a sarcastic grimace.
"That makes two of us. Look, I'm not good at this: talking about emotions isn't my strong suit. I can't deal with the complex, unscientific feelings related to interpersonal relationships because they lie outside of the cold reason that I hold dear. But with you, it feels like I can't avoid it. And it represents a distraction from my logical reasoning," he admits.
"Is it a bad thing?" Giulia asks softly, tilting her head to the side and trying to read him. He is not behaving like the icy consulting detective she has seen in action so many times. His eyes dart across the room, incapable of holding her stern gaze. He is twitching his hands in his coat and seems unable to stand still. She never witnessed Sherlock Holmes at such a loss for words; he always talks as if he swallowed the Oxford Dictionary.
"That's what I'm trying to decide. As far as I can remember, I've always been the cold sociopath detached from everyone—not that I necessarily enjoy it, but it comes in handy. I make myself useful when I think logically; I catch criminals and save people's lives," he says, as honest as he could ever be.
Giulia takes a step towards him, a hint of a smile on her lips.
"That's what you are great at, and I totally support what you do. But I think you can allow yourself to lose your grip now and then. You don't always have to think rationally."
"But I do," he rebuts. "Because when I fail to do so, people get hurt. Take what almost happened when I was trying to save you at the bank, for example; I was so focused on freeing you from the ropes and making sure you were okay that I didn't see or hear your kidnapper take his gun and point it at me. Or when I wanted you to tag along in my last case, and I brought you into a gunfight that could have cost both our lives. I allowed my emotions and instincts to cloud my judgment, and I can't let it happen again. Because I—" he stops mid-sentence, struggling to go on. With enormous effort, he looks at her.
"Because I care about your safety. This is why you can't come, not this time. I didn't realise how dangerous this game would be."
"What changed?"
He looks out the window pensively. "The players."
She rolls up her eyes, pacing back and forth in the living room. "Right, Mr Moriarty. I get it—"
"No, I don't think you do," he cuts her short in an authoritative voice that startles her. "Moriarty is the kind of person who walks with you into a room, and nobody is going to come out of it alive. He is a criminal mastermind obsessed with me. He kills just for fun; it is pure entertainment to him. He won't stop at anything to have this game with me. Listen, Giulia, we have been down this road before. Remember what happened the last time I got a bullseye on my back by a murderous psychopath? You almost died. I don't want… I can't—" he stammers out. "Please, just do as I ask. I'm even asking nicely: Stay at home, stay safe." He stares at her with pleading eyes.
"No. I'm coming with you," she affirms, planting her feet on the ground and straightening her shoulders. She is resolute, and she won't let Sherlock Holmes talk her down.
He sighs, taking some steps in her direction.
"I thought you would say something like this. You have some fine qualities, but I loathe your stubbornness." He masks his compliment with a disheartened shake of his head.
Giulia confronts him, holding her head up high.
"And I don't like your blind determination to always be in charge and take the lead on everything."
He continues to walk towards her, coming a bit too close, causing her to stumble backwards. She places her right hand on the armrest of Sherlock's armchair to regain her balance but never breaks eye contact. She looks up at him as he towers over her, just a few inches from her face. As she stares into his eyes, she sees a glimmer sparkling in them while he licks his smirking lips.
"Then you might not like what I'm about to do next either."
He bends over, closing the distance between the two of them. At that moment, she perceives a cold hoop encircling her right wrist as a sharp clang echoes in the room.
He leans in to whisper playfully in her ear, "Have fun staying at home." Then he turns around and heads for the door.
She lowers her shocked gaze to find a pair of handcuffs now latching her right hand onto the metallic frame beneath the black leather of the armchair. She stares in horror at her trap as her mind slowly grasps what happened. When he made a mess in the kitchen, he wasn't just looking for the plastic bag for the package; he took his handcuffs from the salad drawer as well. He knows her all too well and anticipated her stubborn decisiveness.
"Sherlock!" She screams at his back as he vanishes down the stairs.
Holmes waltzes out of the door of 221 and jumps into the waiting cab.
John frowns at him. "Where's Giulia?"
He gives the cabbie the address of St Barths and shrugs.
"She said she couldn't come: too much stuff to do for her PhD. It looked like she was chained to her seat." He bites down on his lips to stifle a smirk.
John looks perplexed. "Really? But she came to the crime scene so light-heartedly earlier."
Sherlock rests his back on the seat and jokes around with his unknowing friend. "I suppose that now her hands were tied."
"Do you think it's a good idea, though, leaving her alone with Moriarty out there lurking in the shadows?" Watson asks, his voice laden with concern.
Sherlock folds his hands under his chin in his signature thinking pose.
"Don't get so worked up by his reappearance and try to keep a clear head. Why would Jim be interested in Giulia?"
John raises a brow at him as if that were a rhetorical question.
"You know why: you. You said it: the murder of the nun was an invitation for you. Everything is always about you, Sherlock, especially when Moriarty is involved. You know what he is capable of. Do you seriously think he would hesitate to get to Giulia for the sake of your little game?"
He can't believe that his friend hasn't even considered that possibility.
"Why?" Sherlock asks absent-mindedly.
Is he serious, now? John sighs. How can the cleverest man in London be so dim-witted with the matters of the heart?
"Because you care about her. It's plainly obvious," he bursts out.
"If it's so obvious, then we got nothing to worry about. Jim would never play an obvious angle," Sherlock replies calmly.
John adjusts on his seat, staring out of the taxi window.
"Are we really not going to talk about it?"
"About what?"
"You and Giulia. I must say I'm not very surprised. I suppose it's just your type: a dangerously smart woman. Just like Irene Adler."
"She is nothing like her," Sherlock snaps back with a vexed snort. "Irene was cunning, clever, mischievous, and self-absorbed, while Giulia combines her acute intelligence with a healthy dose of kind-heartedness and understanding. She is more human than I am and more caring than Irene could ever be. To The Woman, everything was just a game, even sentiment. To Giulia, nothing is. She wrestles with her feelings and tries to keep emotions at bay in a way that bears a striking resemblance to my own struggle. She has a heart but is not willing to give it away easily."
"That's why you like her," John comments plainly. Evident deduction.
Sherlock scratches his neck, uneasy. "Can we focus on slightly more pressing issues than my love life?"
"Sure, but let me just give you one small piece of advice: be careful with her."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"As far as I know, you have never handled feelings: tread carefully," John suggests in a kind voice.
Sherlock cocks a brow, looking at John's reflection in the window.
"Don't worry, doctor. I'll try, as much as possible, not to break her heart."
John averts his gaze, muttering under his breath, "I am rather worried about the opposite."
Author's note: A huge thanks to CallmeSama: her questions and feedback on my story helped me develop this chapter by exploring this story's romantic side. Let me know what you all think about it and the overall evolution of the action.