Chapter Text
The next few weeks were busy for Sherlock. Lestrade called him with cases, experiments needed to be completed, and he was in the middle of a composition on his violin. If he happened to have an image of cobalt blue eyes in his mind as he composed, well … he would just keep that to himself. And even though Rosie visited now and then, no more mention was made of her father. Things were back to normal.
Of course, they weren’t going to stay that way.
Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table one afternoon, goggles and gloves on, beakers bubbling, about to place one precise drop of solution onto a slide when his phone rang. He was going to ignore it, before remembering he was expecting a call from Molly about another batch of livers waiting for him, and he quickly tore off a glove and tapped his phone.
“Yes, be quick please.” Sherlock said adjusting the gas under a beaker.
“Oh. Um, hello? Sherlock?”
“Yes. Who is this?” He stood up and stretched up on one foot to reach a long glass tube that was laying across the top of the cabinets.
“It’s John. Uh … John Watson? We met on Christmas Eve.”
Sherlock swung his head around quickly, lost his balance and fell, smashing the tube in the process.
“Sherlock? Was that glass? Sherlock? Are you OK!?” John was yelling into the phone on his end. Sherlock stumbled up, his dressing gown catching on a chair as he did so. He gave the chair a dirty look and pulled the garment off, hearing a tear, and knocking the chair over. He groaned, looking around the kitchen at the mess he made.
Still hearing no response, only more commotion, John continued. “You know what, I think this is a bad time. I’ll call back later …”
Sherlock immediately grabbed the phone, “No!” he yelled. Closing his eyes, and breathing deeply, he regulated his voice and continued, “No. Apologies. I am able to talk.” His mouth gaped open, and he tried to think of another sentence to contribute, but he came up blank.
Thankfully, John continued the conversation. “What the hell just happened over there? Sounds like a bomb went off,” he joked.
“Not quite. I just… dropped some… things. It’s… it’s fine. How can I help you?” He started pacing between his sitting room and kitchen, unable to stand still.
“I wanted to thank you for Christmas Eve. I know it was last minute having me and I just wanted to let you know I had a great time,” John said.
Sherlock paused. He seemed to pause a lot when it came to John Watson. “You’re welcome.” His mind was frantically trying to think of something to say next.
He quickly spouted out, “How did you get this number?” As soon as the sentence was out of his mouth he winced at his tone. “Not that a phone call isn’t welcome. I’m just…” and he faltered.
John didn’t seem to take offense. “Oh, I got it from Tom. I had lunch with him and Rosie the other day.”
“Of course.” Sherlock ran a hand over his eyes as he rounded his chair. His deduction skills seemed to disappear around this man.
“So,” John cleared his throat. “I was wondering if a visit to the morgue was still on the table?”
“The morgue,” Sherlock stated flatly, stepping up onto the coffee table. “You want to come with me to the morgue?”
“Yeah. I do,” John replied brightly. “If I’m allowed? Or if you’d rather not...” he trailed off hesitantly.
“No! Good. Alright. We can go to the… morgue.” Sherlock still couldn’t comprehend how this conversation was happening. Surely any second John was going to start laughing and declare this all a joke. He stepped off the coffee table and flopped onto the couch. “Tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow morning sounds perfect. I’m home for a few more weeks before I head back to New York and I can’t binge watch another show or I’ll lose my mind,” he laughed. “I’ll be at yours at 9am?”
“Yes. 9am.”
“Great. See you then. Bye, Sherlock,” and the line disconnected.
Sherlock stood there with his phone in his hand, completely dumbfounded. “Goodbye, John Watson,” he said to no one.
***
John showed up the next morning a little before 9am. Sherlock managed to sleep four hours the night before, but despite more than his usual rest, he still felt off kilter as he (only slightly) ran down the steps to open the front door.
When John pulled his earpods out and greeted Sherlock with a bright, “Morning!” Sherlock felt his breath leave his body.
John really wasn’t wearing anything special - just a blue jacket over a bright orange t-shirt, cuffed jeans, and checkered trainers - but Sherlock knew he was staring and had to force himself to look away. John’s hair was a little more ruffled than it was on Christmas Eve but the scruff on his face was still there. John Watson looked amazing.
Sherlock managed to respond with, “Yes, hello,” before turning back to grab his coat. “Shall we go? I’m sure you have a busy day planned.”
“Nope. Just this. I’ve got all the time in the world,” John replied as Sherlock stepped towards the street to hail down a taxi. John swung his backpack around and tucked his earpods and phone inside. “Actually, I hope I’m not putting you out. I didn’t even ask if you had anything planned today when I invited myself.”
A taxi pulled up almost immediately after Sherlock raised his hand. “No, I tend to work in the morgue two or three days a week. More, even, if I have a case on and need their equipment. I’ve a friend there who helps me get around certain… protocols.”
John opened the door for Sherlock and said with a grin, “I’m sure you do.”
Sherlock faltered only slightly as he stepped into the car. He couldn’t remember feeling this off center before. After a few failed dating attempts in college, he hadn’t bothered. He had Tom, he had his work. He was perfectly content. But no one had ever before made him feel the way he felt when John Watson held a car door open for him and smiled. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before John settled in next to him, and then - finally - they were on their way.
***
“Molly,” Sherlock acknowledged with a nod as they entered the morgue. Damn. He was hoping she wouldn't be working today. She had her back toward them and she was bent down looking into a lower cabinet.
Sherlock brusquely said, “I’m just going to be working over here, no help needed.” He strode quickly towards the back of the room and tried to direct John to follow, where hopefully Sherlock could keep John occupied and unseen.
Molly stood up and quickly glanced in Sherlock’s direction. “The samples I have for you are in the freezer. Labeled. Take those and ONLY those. I’m on my way out. Clean up and lock up, please.” She was more than used to Sherlock’s abruptness and it barely affected her anymore.
“Yes, very good, goodbye.” He said quickly, and again motioned for John to follow him.
But John looked at Sherlock and chuckled, then walked towards Molly. He held his hand out, “Hi, I’m John. Pleasure.”
“Hello, John …” Molly said then paused as she looked at his face, “... Watson.” She blinked a few times and swallowed. She looked at Sherlock, who’s expression gave nothing away, except of course his exasperation with the situation.
“Yes, Molly. Now that we all know each other you’re free to leave.”
“Sherlock! Don’t be rude,” John said good naturedly.
“You’re here, why?” Molly asked John, confused, ignoring Sherlock completely.
“Sherlock offered to show me around.” John said, looking at Sherlock and smiling as if that explained everything.
“Right,” Molly said, looking back and forth between the two men. “I’ll let you be then.”
She gathered her coat and bag and began to leave as John walked toward the back of the lab. She silently mouthed “What is going on?!” to Sherlock as John had his back to her, already exploring the space, but Sherlock just waved his hand motioning her to quickly leave. She pointed at him and sternly mouthed again, “Later!” before finally walking out the door.
Finally alone with John, Sherlock again found himself disconcerted. This was getting ridiculous. He was a grown man! He was certainly able to carry on a conversation with more than three words per sentence. Focusing on the task at hand, he decided the best course of action was to begin his experiment and let John observe. John seemed keen to do the same, and as the next hour passed Sherlock was able to show John a little about his work and answer the (surprisingly) intelligent questions John posed to him at different stages.
After they finished, John wandered around the room as Sherlock tidied up.
“Thanks again for bringing me here. I always wondered how my life would have turned out if I decided to study medicine,” John said.
“I can’t picture you as a GP,” Sherlock replied.
John laughed, “No. I could see myself in an ER, or a combat zone even - maybe I would have joined the army. Somewhere busy.” John picked up a pair of forceps and stared at them. “Somewhere I could help people,” he said quietly.
Sherlock looked at John. He didn’t know what to say, but he also knew he didn’t want their day to end. He took a deep breath, gathered every ounce of courage inside of him, and hesitantly asked, “Lunch?”
John put the forceps down and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. He turned to Sherlock and smiled, “Starving.”
***
“So tell me, how did this ‘consulting detective’ come to be?” John asked Sherlock between bites of dumplings. Sherlock was right, this place was amazing. John vowed to stare at the bottom third of door handles more often.
Pushing his food around his plate, Sherlock thought about how much he wanted to reveal to John. He also wasn’t sure what Tom had already told Rosie, who then might have relayed it to her father. Either way, he wasn’t about to discuss his previous addiction with John Watson. “Not overnight. Before I adopted Tom, I, um,” he paused to chuckle, “rather annoyed the Yard with my deductions. I would scour the papers for unsolved cases, and mail them with a write up of what they missed and the solution, with my contact information.”
“Wow. Did they respond?” John asked.
“Not for months. Close to a year.” Sherlock leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Then one day a young sergeant showed up at my door and dropped a box of cold cases at my feet. By this time Tom was living with me. Gave me a month to solve them and said if I could accomplish that, he’d see about letting me on live cases.”
John was enthralled. “It didn’t take you a whole month,” he predicted.
Sherlock looked down and quickly peeked up his eyes. “Three days.”
John laughed and slapped the table. “I knew it! And so your career began!”
Sherlock couldn’t help smiling. They locked eyes and they held contact a beat longer than necessary. It took Sherlock’s breath away. There were a few moments of awkward silence as they both continued with their meals.
After a moment, Sherlock realized something and said, “Forgive me for being rude. I don’t mean to monopolize the conversation. However, I know you’re a private person and I don’t want to intrude with questions that would make you uncomfortable.” Sherlock was amazed he had held John’s attention for this long without boring him or putting him off.
John nodded his head once in thought. “Not many people understand that. So much of my life is public. My work life is for everyone. My private life is for me. But, you can ask me whatever you’d like. I’ll answer if I can,” John smiled, “although I can’t imagine you asking me anything intrusive.”
After they thanked the owners for lunch, (“I did them a favor once, they no longer let me pay,” Sherlock explained) they walked outside to pouring rain. Sherlock quickly hailed them a cab and, as in the morning, John let Sherlock in first before climbing inside.
As they pulled up to Baker Street, John told Sherlock he had afternoon plans with Rosie the next day. “Nothing after that, though.” He looked at Sherlock expectantly.
Sherlock couldn’t read the situation. Was John implying he’d be open to spending more time together? Was he waiting for Sherlock to get out of the cab so John could go about his day? Did John realize Sherlock had an interest in him far beyond friendship? There were too many variables and Sherlock had to get out of the cab. Immediately.
“Please give my regards to Rosie,” Sherlock said politely, and exited the cab. He didn’t see John give him a small nod and look down resigned as the cab drove away.