Work Text:
With the familiar walls of 221B finally taking shape, the construction almost over, Sherlock, with his newfound sentimentality emerging from his recent encounter with his sister, let the nostalgia of this place he call home consume him.
His eyes were fixed into oblivion, letting the silence of the place calm his senses. It was lost to him that John had arrived. A minute passed, then an hour, and still, some things never change.
He was too lost to even notice that John started to take notice of the drawer by the window, pieces slightly ajar due to the explosion. As usual, the doctor’s curiosity got ahead of him, seeing that the drawer Sherlock has always been cautious of is now available to plain sight.
And at a glance, the answers he seek are now right in front of him.
“Sherlock?” John mused, a grin spreading across his face.
The detective seemed to not have noticed.
John, still smiling, walked over to tap his friend on the shoulder.
“Hmmm…?” Sherlock replied, still very lull and lost in his relaxed trance.
John tried to play it simple, forcefully trying to mask the smile off his face. “So… when are you planning to complete your scrapbook?”
Sherlock remained still for a moment, then suddenly blinked in confusion, finally realising that John was completely failing at his attempt of a straight face.
Seeing the expression on the detective’s face, John burst out laughing.
Sherlock’s eyes trailed from the drawer to his friend, then back again, trying to keep his composure. “You look like you’re having the time of your life.” he said, deadpan.
John walked over to the drawer once more, tapping the creaking hinge with his finger. “Now, you should have had this fixed before anything else.”
Sherlock sighed. “What for?”
“Well, seeing that you were so keen on keeping this a secret for… oh, I don’t know… the years have been a blur.” John mused, giving a comical shrug.
“How many times do I have to tell you…” Sherlock was about to explain but John shook his head, fingers already cracking the drawer open.
“Let’s see, plane tickets to –not just one– but quite a lot of countries, erm… didn’t know you were that fond of traveling; a card with ‘W’ on it… interesting; wilted rose petals… makes a statement; and… ah yes, a mobile phone that looks very familiar. Now, I don’t know about you, but there are quite a lot of features of interest in this one, Sherlock.” John quipped smugly, raising his eyebrows at his friend.
John walked over to his chair, sitting across the detective, obviously waiting for whatever excuse his friend has to offer. Sherlock’s eyes were flitting all over the room, avoiding John’s stare.
“Have you taken my advice yet?” the doctor asked sincerely, taking into account that Sherlock was at a loss.
“What advice?” Sherlock simply replied, still not looking at him.
“About phoning Irene Adler?“
Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. “As I told you before. People text, and yes, even I reply to her at times when…”
“When what?”
“I don’t understand why you keep pressing the matter.”
John rolled his eyes. “Oh, just tell me. Man to man. Friend to friend. Why don’t you just admit that Irene Adler is someone… special?”
---
He never liked vanilla. It was bland and boring to him, but he still appreciated the gesture. He already set his phone to silent, mainly to keep John from asking questions, but also to dismiss the urge to follow his advice and seek The Woman’s company.
Still, after parting ways with his friends and knowing he’s being monitored by Mrs. Hudson to avoid any other personal escapades, there’s a feeling of restriction and demise that he wanted off his chest.
And so, just like the many days and nights he felt that he is simple unattached to his typical cold and calculating self, he replied.
Went out with John and Molly. Had cake. SH.
He closed his eyes, silently cursing himself for the eagerness to get a reply. It was never the same with her. He could never quite tell, not a pattern to rely on.
When the text alert echoed across the room, he can’t help but smile.
Was it good? IA.
Sherlock’s fingers, almost in their own volition, typed swiftly.
I don’t like vanilla. SH.
And, as expected, her next reply sent him a wave of excitement.
I know. You told me last year. If you come and find me tonight, I’ll get you chocolate. IA.
---
“And did you? Find her, I mean?” John asked before correcting himself. “Of course, you did.”
Sherlock nodded. “Would you like to know what happened?”
John hesitated. “Ah… no. Probably best not to..” he coughed or choked, Sherlock couldn’t tell. “So, did you see each other again after… after what happened in Sherrinford?”
The detective took a moment to reply, his chest feeling lighter. There was something about the day he admitted to John that he did reply to The Woman, that made him realise and understand why the doctor always looked elated every time Mary, before her devastating death, was the center of a conversation.
“Yes. I… I felt like there was a need to see her. Eurus kept on asking things at my every visit.” Sherlock replied.
John shifted in his seat, interested in the new information, and much more surprised that Sherlock is actually opening up. “Things?”
---
“Who is was it about?” Eurus asked, her fingers stopping at a half-note.
Sherlock looked up, stopping the curve of his bow. “What is?”
Eurus tilted her head slightly, putting down the violin at her side. “You played a lovely tune when we first met. Who did you write it for?”
Sherlock rested his violin as well. “Why do you ask?”
His sister smiled. “You’re being guarded, I can tell.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. Your mood completely changed.” she mused as-a-matter-of-factly.
Sherlock paid attention back to his violin, adjusting the strings. Eurus continued to watch him.
“Oh, no… You are scared of how you feel. That piece translates too much passion and wanting, and you’re scared it might consume you. Tsk, tsk…”
He pretended not to hear and started to play again.
---
“I didn’t think there will be a day I will agree with any of your kin, but yeah… she summed it up quite nicely.” John teased.
Sherlock glared at him. “And so I asked her… Woman…” he continued.
John’s eyebrows knit. “Ask her what?”
“What she thought of the piece…” Sherlock breathed, sounding almost nervous.
John’s eyes widened in curiosity. “And?”
---
“Well?” Sherlock’s voice was almost too quiet, as if he meant to ask the question to himself more than to Irene.
Her position shifted from when he started playing, now looking soothed and allured, but expression still a lingering mystery as she simply looked at him. He still hasn’t revealed the piece was written for her, which added to the reasons of the undeniable thrumming in his chest.
And for what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock realised he was holding his breath until he saw her red lips curve to a smile.
“As if I could expect less from you… I take it that this was written at one of your… most vulnerable moments?” she asked, obviously amused.
“It would seem so.” he replied tensely.
Her smile grew slightly, eyes tender against the reflecting flame of the fireplace. “It sounded so – for a lack of a better term – human.”
“The person I wrote it for apparently made me realise I am so.” his words spilled almost involuntarily, blue eyes searching for anywhere else to look at but her.
His statement obviously piqued her interest, making her lean towards his direction, resting her chin on fingers, and eyebrows raising in question. “And who might that be?”
Realising there was no more room for inhibitions, his eyes met her as he said, “You.”
---
John could not hide his amusement.
“It’s not a big deal.” Sherlock huffed.
The doctor stared at Sherlock, evident that he found the statement ridiculous. “Oh, it is. It really is. Everybody else sees it, Sherlock, everybody but you.”
“See what?” Sherlock replied, looking appalled.
John sighed. “That you… and Irene Adler…”
“What?”
John exasperatingly looked at Sherlock in disbelief. “You are obviously in love with her!”
“I. Am. Not.” Sherlock pressed on. But before John could even protest, he continued. “Love is too easy. Too simple.”
“And keeping wilted roses in a drawer has a very complex explanation, does it?!” John exclaimed.
“Oh for God’s sake…” Sherlock cussed to himself. “The Woman and I don’t work that way.”
John shook his head. “You’re forgetting one thing, mate. You said it yourself.”
Sherlock looked at John as if the doctor was making no sense at all, but John simply smiled knowingly and said, “You’re also human.”