Epopeias of deduction

"We all carry sad stories"

The night we spent in the inn, for it was not providing only restaurant service but also lounges. Me, Sherlock and John stayed in some kind of "apartment" room which was actually consisting of a living room, bathroom and a bedroom with two beds. I was expecting to sleep on the sofa in the living room but I didn't actually get much sleep, for I spent almost the whole night talking with Sherlock...

The evening before

"That's quite a nice room." John said after we've entered and I examined the simple but nice oaken furniture, beige walls with small paintings of the landscapes that were surrounding Dartmoor.
"I like this sofa, exactly the shape I need for thinking."
"Be prepared not to think there all night." said John after opening the door to a small bedroom. "This room has two beds so Nathalie will probably need the sofa for night's rest.
Sherlock sighed but when our eyes met he immediately changed the expression on his face. I had no idea what to think about it, so I just smiled and sat on a chair behind me.

What John's intentions were I didn't understand, but after the three of us discussed the next day's visit of the Baskerville labs and planned everything out, he said that that he's tired and went to bed, leaving me and Sherlock alone.
IT WAS AWKARD.
We felt awkward. For at least ten minutes we starred at each other with blushing cheeks and I could feel every deduction Sherlock's piercing blue eyes made about me.

"So, you're a detective?" I asked simply to break the awkward silence, but the second I said it I realised how stupid question it was and I burst into laugh. Sherlock's point of view was exactly the same, at first he wanted to really give me an answer but immediately when he saw me laughing he started to.
"Sorry that was, so trivial I..."
"But it was funny." he giggled.
His laugh was so lovely. With his deep voice, the sound echoying in his throat truly was a music to my ears.

"You really did well today. I've never met a girl as smart as you. It's even more interesting since you are an artist and they usually don't use much logic.
"Me neither." I replied. "It just... turns on occasionaly when I... want to impress someone."
"Well you did impress me Nathalie. And that doesn't happen very often."he winked and smiled widely.
Could he... No he couldn't. We've known each other just for a single day...

"Have I said something wrong?" Sherlock asked after a while and only then I realised that I had been starring at him for two minutes straight.
"No I was just, resting my eyes you know." it was such a primitive excusion that any other man without special deduction skills would know that I am attracted. But this was Sherlock. A sociopath who has never experienced that someone would love him.

"You tend to be pretty anxious, am I right?"
"Yes." I whispered.
"It's not just stress..."
"No it isn't."
"Can I?"
I nodded. Sherlock took my hand and unrolled the sleeve of my sweater.
"These scratches aren't accidental. Blunt blade, probably an old knife or..."
"Scissors." I sniveled through tears.
"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock asked still holding my hand.
"Can't you deduce it? I believe it is pretty obvious."

"No... the only thing I can deduce except for what I already have, is that you are are a strong believer, a christian I suppose. And also that you are... hungry."
"The hell I am. Both of it. But how did you..."
"Everytime you say something that you don't usualy talk to others about, you look up to the heaven. Believers do that. And... you are truly sweet. Christians are. Don't know why but it's...
"What Jesus told us to do. To love everyone and be kind towards each other." I smiled.

"So I was right. And you are hungry?"
"Yes terribly. I didn't eat anything except an apple for breakfast."
"Why are you doing this to yourself?"
"Don't you see? I am ugly. I am fat, I Iook terrible, I am useless, I am garbage and when I am too weak to starve myself and I eat, I feel guilty so I punish myself by doing scratch wounds. It's a circle of self hate and punishment in which I'm running and perhaps I could escape it if it wasn't the truth..."

"It's not! It's all lies Nathalie!" Sherlock cried holding now both of my hands tightly.
"You aren't ugly at all. You are a beautiful young lady. You are special, you are unique, you are kind, you have a spectacular mind, fat? Not at all you are absolutely slim, in fact you are too skinny but it is of no importance. You have a huge heart. I've never cared about the size of heart, but when I met you today, just the deductions and the few expressions of yours made me know that you are a remarkable person. And even though I never got the chance to know Jesus, I believe he would say the same."

Tears. Lots of tears streamed down my face, my eyes were bloody red but I was happy. And I don't know how this detective with passion for solving murders made me feel like it, but I felt loved. Deeply and by all his heart. But it couldn't be... it was just a day.
And then suddenly I didn't know how it was possible and I certainly didn't expect it, a pair of strong arms wrapped around my weary body and I felt a strong smell of eucalypt, dark chocolate and mint filling my nostrils. That's what Sherlock smelled like. Like the chocolate I never ate and found so bizarre but since that moment it became the most beloved fragrance of mine.

I sobbed into his shoulders with my fingers deeply burried into his silk shirt, not noticing John who just walked pass us to get a glass of water.

Sherlock's POV:

I saw him. I saw John, half awake, half asleep starring at us in amazement. But I knew he knew. He knew that all I wanted was to make this poor soul happy at least for a moment. To make her feel safe at least for a while. Cause in the second I met her I saw the utter desire in her eyes to be kept safe, to not be pulled to all directions, by all the opinions and norms. And the weird warmth in my chest that I felt when she starred at me with those glittering olive green eyes made me want to understand this warmth, this odd feelings that I've been getting since she entered the restaurant. You hear me right. It didn't begin when she made all the deductions. It begun at the moment I saw her for the first time.

Nathalie's POV:

"Sherlock, I don't know what to say..." I whispered after he slowly put away.
"Then don't say anything." he smiled.
I stayed quiet and after a while I said:
"It's been haunting me for three years now..."
He placed his hands on my cheeks and then unrolled his sleeve, showing little round scars, like those made by a needle. He was taking drugs. Used to take drugs, the wounds weren't opened.
"We all carry sad stories. Until John came, this was my daily one. You see we both have our pains written on our wrists."
"But also our deep wish to be healed." I smiled through the tears, and this time it was me who pulled him into an embrace.

I don't know for how long we stayed like that I don't even remember going to sleep. But somehow, in the morning I found myself lying on the sofa, covered in a thick fluffy blanket feeling as good as I hadn't for a long time