Johnlock: Tulips for the detective

What color will your tulips be?

(—Sherlock—)

The morning London air was brisk and cold against Sherlock's face. Inspector Lestrade and Sergeant Donovan walked out from their current, and subsequently quickly solved, crime scene. Yet another tediously boring day for the detective, not a single case had challenged him. Lestrade dug his hands into his pockets and stood next to Sherlock.

"So, what's wrong then?" Greg finally asks.

Sherlock glanced over for a moment. Reading the inspector immediately. Rough night, had a date but it went poorly. Ordered poached lobster tail with cauliflower and butter sauce, got sick in his dates lap in the cab back home. "What do you mean?" Sherlock sighed while staring out at the busy London streets, his breath leaving as a warm fog. Lestrade clicked his tongue.

"Well usually you stand there and make us feel stupid for at least five to ten minutes." His head motioned towards sergeant Donovan who was chatting with another officer. "Sally is leaving the scene only slightly pissed off. You'd never allow that on a good day. So something's wrong."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "As if I'd waste time babbling on during an investigation. I take my job seriously, you know." The inspector thew his head back in laughter, patting Sherlock's shoulder. Annoying. But something was indeed bothering him.

Boring cases can only occupy so much of Sherlock's mind. He'd been getting desperate. Taking cases he'd solved on the cab ride there just to bide the time. Yes, something was bothering Sherlock. Still he couldn't put his finger on it.

Most things were clear to Sherlock, crystal clear. There weren't many mysteries in this world remaining for him. And when one arose it usually excited Sherlock, a new challenge. But this one was quite...

"Making my day easier and now you're laughing with Lestrade." Sergeant Donovan came up around the other side of Sherlock. "Have you finally decided to stop being a twat?" Sally and Greg laugh and began to speak, Sherlock immediately tuned them out.
Annoying.

"Think I'll walk home." Sherlock said, decidedly.
Lestrade takes a step back "What? Let me at least call you a cab, it's an hour walk- and it's freezing out!" But Sherlock was already on his way. "I'll be fine, a little walking never killed anyone."

"It most certainly has!" Lestrade called out one more time before Sherlock rounded the corner.

London was busy this Saturday. The whole city was alive, noisy. But it's exactly what Sherlock needed. Noise to drown out his thoughts. He'd been feeling quite unusual lately. Restless, bored, a constant stream of cases being the only thing keeping him occupied.

Despite his efforts to the contrary Sherlock's mind wandered. And inevitably they landed on John Watson. He had thought about inviting him to the case. In fact, Sherlock thought about inviting John to every single one of his cases. Since the wedding they've grown distant. Sherlock had expected it, predicted it to a tee. What he hadn't predicted was his own emotions.

A small doubt had taken place in the back of Sherlock's head. Tiny and childish, he cursed it- spoke over it when it became louder. And yet it persisted. He could text john; call him, even. But that damned doubt. The detective would never admit it, he'd sooner take it to his grave. Sherlock was scared of being replaced.

He gripped the mobile in his pocket. He'd made a few attempts. Over the last 8 months they've solved 4 cases together. It had been a week and two days since he and John last spoke. A week and two days since their last investigation together. A week and two days since-

"What color, sir?"
Sherlock stopped in his tracks. A young shopkeep stood on the sidewalk beside him.

"Pardon?"
"What color will you choose, sir?" In their arms sat two bouquets. Tulips. One bundle red, and the other yellow. The blooms held together by a clear plastic casing. They stared brightly back up at Sherlock. He certainly wasn't in the market for flowers. He raised his hand dismissively towards the shopkeep.
"Oh, no. I don't-"

"You have to choose."

Their voice was soft- yet commanding. Sherlock's ears began to ring. Sounds of people walking past, snippets of conversations. A gust of wind blows and a few petals fall helplessly.

"You can only choose one, sir."

Red and yellow tulips.

"I'm fine, thank you."
He said finally, gripping the collar of his coat and pulling it forward towards his face.
"You can only choose one!" The shopkeep called out. Not a very good business practice, forcing people to purchase your merchandise; Sherlock thought to himself as he braced against the wind and continued walking.. Strange.

Red and yellow tulips.

221 B Bakerstreet was quiet. Sherlock went inside and performed his usual ritual. Flung his coat and scarf and dawned his robe. Restless. But why?

He had human emotion down to a science. Understood what each emotion was composed of. What each feeling can cause a person to do. How it can effect judgment, reactions, expectations. But his own emotions? Well, that was a mystery he had left unsolved. A reservoir completely untouched.

He had lots of real cases to solve. A missing dog, arson threats, a four way affair, a string of cell phone hackings. Trivial things. None worth wasting his time. John would encourage him to pick one.

Standing in the center of the flat Sherlock gripped the pistol in his hands. John. He swung around and fired three rounds into the wall. Restless!

Downstairs he could hear Ms. Hudson shouting something unintelligible. Why waste time thinking about john? John Watson, living in domestic bliss. Perfectly content. Why bother. Sherlock felt something rise within him. A particular type of anger. Jealousy?
He shot another round, this time into the ceiling. The flat fell silent.

Suddenly Sherlocks mobile rang. Quickly he tossed the gun aside and rummaged through his coat to retrieve it. It was John. A great weight entered Sherlock's chest. His throat tightened.

Why was he hesitating? A week and two days... a week and two days since they last spoke. A week and two days since... He answered the call.