Three Is Company

The Window It Is

Sherlock POV: Sherlock was part of the solemn party that waved Musgrave away from the driveway, the black Cadillac receding into the fading darkness until it vanished upon the urban horizon. The cement appeared to have swallowed the vehicle, though without chasing it down Sherlock would not be able to determine if the Doctor had made it past the optical illusion alive. Already he felt a bit emptier, as if a part of himself had taken the backseat and disappeared along with Musgrave's council. Sherlock hunched his shoulders, messaging his forearms in the chill and breathing a small plume of fog into the night sky. John was at his side, a feeling which was slowly becoming more numb to him. At first he had been only too aware of John's presence, as if his simple existence within the same walls was a cancerous tumor growing within his brain. Now, however, Sherlock could convince himself to relax. John was beginning to meld into him, like an appreciated appendage. His dedication throughout this event had at least proved his worth, and his developing friendship with Musgrave only appeared to make him more trustworthy. At this moment, this dark moment in time, Sherlock appreciated having his neighbor again by his side.
"Shall I walk you home?" John suggested, his voice dropped low and quiet, as if he didn't want the neighbors to hear. Sherlock cleared his throat, looking just across the driveway to his front sidewalk. There was no need for John to follow, as he could monitor Sherlock's progress from where he stood.
"I suppose." Sherlock agreed, allowing John to do the gentlemanly act of accompanying. Sherlock began to walk slowly towards his front gate, feeling considerably shrunken, as if he was once again a child returning home with his friend by his side. He could almost imagine it; he could almost hear the bouncing of a baseball against the pavement. Sherlock smiled quietly to himself, appreciating the slow realization that his neighbor had not changed much since they had last met. Older, perhaps, and a bit more gruff. Though his loyalty remained constant. Going to college had not skewed his morals, nor made him any less of an ally. Sherlock felt that after the events of this evening he could start to trust the little boy he still recognized at his side.
"Thank you for your help tonight." Sherlock muttered, a sentence he had not fully intended to escape his lips. Of course his gratitude had to be displayed in one way or another, though he had intended on giving a silent nod of appreciation. Sherlock was never overly vocal, and to voice his thanks in such a manner might have been the first instance that anyone could hear those words uttered from his lips. A simple thank you was hard to come by when you spent the first half of your life without anyone offering a favor.
"It wasn't any trouble. In fact, Sherlock, it was an honor to help you. I feel I'm overdue." John admitted, stopping short at the gate as if he remembered his youthful boundaries. Sherlock followed suit, his hands still hidden in the pockets of his coat, unwilling to let himself inside of the yard. He stared at John Watson, his head bent at a very natural position so that he could maintain the deserved eye contact. Sherlock had never stared at his neighbor long enough to notice the maturity in his eyes, the development from a rather muddy brown to a rich, deep hazelnut. The irises glowed like warmth; they drew not only his attention but his fixation. Sherlock might not have blinked had John not prompted it, perhaps feeling that their display of attention would be witnessed by the neighbors. Sherlock pushed his tongue between his lips; licking his bottom lip almost absentmindedly as his nerves began to get the better of him. Natural impulses, accredited to the more apelike part of his brain.
"I want you to consider me your ally, Sherlock." John whispered, his voice now so low that they had to move closer in order to hear properly. "Your natural ally."
"I would like to consider you as such." Sherlock agreed.
"I want you to trust me, just as you do your Doctor."
"That trust is earned, John. Not just created."
"Then give me a chance to earn it." John insisted. Sherlock blinked. He realized now that they were so close together that their shoes were interlocking, with one man's foot in between the other's in a strange repeating pattern of patent leather. Their proximity was damning. Their proximity was tempting. 
"I'll...I'll call you in the next crisis." Sherlock agreed, making a move to unlatch the gate. He would rather lean forward, though his momentum threw him rather aggressively towards the left, detaching himself from the slow obsession that was beginning to wrap him closer and tighter towards his neighbor. If Sherlock did not throw himself against the wire gate, nearly toppling the whole structure in his wake, he would have leaned so far upon John Watson that the poor man who topple over underneath him. It was a destruction of property that Sherlock chose, and before John could get another word Sherlock had already scampered up the stepping stones, vanishing into the house so that there could be more than just wire and childhood boundaries separating the two's temptation.