Deductions: A Johnlock Fanfic

Chapter Two

John scowled as he stalked out of the apartment. Why was it Sherlock could never be more supportive? He really liked Taylor, and he wanted Sherlock to like her too. Why was it that Sherlock could never make more of an effort? He hailed a cab and climbed in. After giving the cabby directions to the florist, he slumped in the seat. He had to skip out on a date with Taylor to help Sherlock with a case, and he'd need something to help to redeem himself.

The black cab pulled up outside the small shop and John stepped out, telling the cabby to wait for a few minutes. The driver grunted in annoyance but agreed. It was all being added to the fare anyway. He walked in and surveyed the bright array of flowers. He quickly spotted a bright bouquet of orange gerberas. He smiled as he walked closer to them. While Sherlock wasn't a big fan of flowers, John was sure that the gerberas would suit him. He almost reached to buy them, but reminded himself, You're not here for Sherlock. You're here because of Sherlock. He considered buying the flowers for Taylor. But they didn't seem right. So instead, he grabbed a small, pre-wrapped bouquet of pink roses, paid for them and hurried back to the cab.

The taxi drove around the winding streets that led to Taylor's small, two story house, squished alongside other identical houses. He paid the cabby an extraordinary fee, and then walked to the house and knocked on the door. Taylor answered, her round face becoming sullen when she saw it was John. Her light brown hair had been tied back loosely and she still wore her dressing gown. "If you're here for dinner, then you're about fourteen hours too late," she glared, her red lips pouted.

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just that, Sherlock had a case, and he needed me to come so-"

"Save it," interrupted Taylor. "I get that he's an important part of your life. I just thought you would think that there is more to life than him." John blinked in surprise. He hadn't thought of it like that. Sherlock always came first. He was his best friend, and besides, Taylor wasn't likely to go off and almost get herself killed like Sherlock did. "Of course there's more to my life than Sherlock," he insisted. "I even got a job this morning," he announced to prove his point.

Taylor looked rather surprised and her expression softened. "Oh," she said softly. Then she noticed the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "Are those for me?" she asked cheerfully. He held them out to her and she grabbed them with a wide smile. "Come inside and we can toast to your new job." John smiled and followed her inside. His shoes clattered loudly on the wooden floorboards. "You know John," she began as she poured the champagne into two tall glasses. "I think this could be a good start for you. You can get used to the work force, save some money, move out of your flat ... "

John almost choked on his mouthful. Move out? And go where? Move in with her? They weren't at that stage in the relationship! "Why would I leave Baker Street?" he asked her, a little angrily.

She laughed, clearly not picking up on his tone. "You can't seriously expect to live with Sherlock forever. I mean, it is only a temporary solution."

"Well, I haven't exactly given it much thought. Besides, he's my best friend."

Now picking up on his mood she pursed her lips. "People live with their best friends when they're uni students, not when they're in their late thirties."

John opened his mouth to object but she interrupted him, "Now stop. We've only just fixed things, let's not argue." John closed his mouth and gave her a smile.

"Agreed," he said, raising his glass once again.

"Oh, now John," she began excitedly. "I've got this fantastic new book you absolutely must read!" John set down his glass and nodded. "Come with me and I'll show it to you."

She stood up and led him upstairs to her small personal library. The room was covered with shelves of books and a squashy looking armchair sat in the corner by a large window. It was a cosy room but John couldn't warm to it. All Taylor's favourite books were romances and biographies. Not the books John would willingly pick up and shift through. Taylor reached for an enormously thick volume on her shelves and handed it to John. "It's an autobiography, written by a soldier who fought in the Vietnam War." She beamed at him, "I'm sure you'll love it. He's fighter, just like you." John wanted to point out that he did not like autobiographies. He wanted to tell her that he had lived through enough war stories and did not need to read any more. He wanted to tell her that he had served as a doctor and his combat role had been very minimal. He wanted to tell her that he was allowed to live with his best friend and go and solve cases with him if he wanted to. He wanted to tell her that if she cared about him at all, she would respect him and accept him for who he was instead of trying to make him someone he wasn't. He wanted to tell her all these things, but he didn't. He smiled, nodded and took the book from her with a murmured promise to read it as soon as he got home. However, what would most likely happen, is he would take it home, drop it on his bedside cabinet. Leave it there for three weeks and then look up the plot summary on Wikipedia.

Why was it so hard, he wondered. He knew he liked Taylor. She was kind, loving and often made him laugh. People often said that they made a good couple. So why was it that he felt this resentment towards her? He tried to find the source of this bitter emotion but couldn't come to any conclusions, so he placed it in the back of his mind and forced a smile. "This is great Tay," he told her with a forced smile, planting a kiss on her cheek.