Promises Series

Promise of Home - Yellow

The title of this chapter is "Yellow" by Coldplay.

Sherlock prided himself on having complete control of his emotions. On not needing the approval of others. He didn't care about what others thought of him. He didn't care about their opinions, only the facts. He didn't care, period. Feelings were useless, hateful things, chemical defects in the brains of the ordinary. They didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the cases that were interesting enough to fight off his boredom. Sherlock didn't have feelings, and on the rare occasion he did, he never showed them.

So why – why? – did Sherlock hurt so much when Julia said he wasn't her father? It was a fact, nothing more. Sherlock lived for facts. He knew he wasn't her actual father, and he knew he never could be. It was impossible. Sherlock couldn't even be a proper substitute. Julia cooked half the meals eaten in the flat, and she entertained herself in her room most of the time. Sherlock routinely forgot she was actually in the flat until she made herself known.

"Sherlock."

He helped with her nightmares, though. That had to count for something. And he would never let any harm come to her again. He would rather die.

That thought froze him. When had he become so attached?

"Sherlock."

It simply wouldn't do. Sherlock Holmes did not become attached.

"Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled.

"What? Yes, the case. Wonderful. It was either her brother or his fiancée. The brother would have enough strength to choke her with his bare hands, though. The fiancée would need the rope that was used. Ah, yes. You should arrest the victim's brother's fiancée. She's your murderer."

"I'll need a bit more evidence than that," Lestrade said.

"Oh, yes, well, the victim and the fiancée of her brother were having an affair. The victim was going to tell her brother, but the fiancée didn't want that. She'd be cut off from the money she was going to get by marrying into the family," Sherlock explained. "If the brother had found out about it already, he wouldn't have killed his sister. That was an act to keep her quiet. Therefore, it was the fiancée."

"All right," Lestrade replied. "We'll question her again. Thanks, Sherlock. You can get going. Remember to pick up Julia, okay?" He laughed.

Sherlock did not laugh. He'd taken forty minutes to solve a case that should've taken him less than half that time. He'd been occupied, thinking of Julia.

No, this wouldn't do at all.

He took a cab back to the Yard and texted Julia.

(2:49pm) Solved the case. On my way back to the Yard. – SH

(2:52pm) Okay, I'll be ready to go when you get here.

Sherlock walked into the break room to find a young teenage girl lounging on the couch, texting. Lestrade's daughter, most likely. Julia was listening to Lestrade's son talk, only adding bits and pieces of information here and there. Julia saw him and smiled. Sherlock kept his face blank. He could see confusion in Julia's eyes. How could she possibly know?

Julia asked the teenage boy if he wanted his sweater back. He replied that her shirt was still covered in coffee, and it would be best if she just take it. She could return it to him later if she really wanted to. Julia smiled and kept smiling until they were seated in the cab.

"His mobile number is in the pocket," Sherlock said. "He's hoping you'll call, or at least text. He wants to ask you on a date. The answer is no."

"What?" Julia asked. "How do you know that? You can't possibly."