A Network of Love

A waltz of Thoughts

Part 4

As I walk through the familiar halls of 221B Baker Street, a warm feeling fills my heart, and I have the sudden realization: this is my home! It came out of nothing, but now it is here. Sherlock puts up his coat by the door, as he always does, and I hang my jacket next to it; not over it because if Sherlock gets his, I can be sure to find mine on the ground. My eyes wander automatically to my chair, the daily news waiting for me. All of a sudden, these little things mean so much to me, I don't want anything to change.

I walk over to the table and get the map of London to put it up on the wall. Usually Sherlock always does the plan and map and all, but I started doing it someday and picked it up. Of course, it is never perfect enough for the consulting detective, but I get better and it gives me more view into the crime than I would ever get from him. After the map is securely on the wall, I get the blue and red pins and thread and set to work. Behind me, Sherlock begins to play his violin. The pure notes float through the whole apartment, it's like every note is its own little person of happiness, sadness, joy or grieve and they travel to your ear and right into your heart, where they make themselves at home and create their own little story.
I pin the faces of Nancy and Karl to their homes and connect them with a thread, pinning it down the way the package travelled. Sherlock pauses his song and I turn to look at him, again distracted. He just stares out the window, lost in thought. Not wanting to interrupt him, i write down all the information we know so far and put it up next to their heads. The tune picks up again, it is different now, I don't know it, so I'm not sure if it is composed or if he makes it up along the way- another unfair gift of his. My eyes look at the papers in front of me, but they don't focus on anything. The information we have leads to nothing. "What is in the package?" I mumble to myself. Explosives? But if so, then why only so few? The floorboards creak behind me, the music has stopped without my noticing. I turn and Sherlock stands there grabbing my shoulders, I look at his face surprised. His face comes really close to mine, "What is he doing? What is happening?", my mind screams. Our noses touch and my body takes over, I close my eyes. Kiss me... my heart pleads through my brain and I want to close the space between us. "Stop thinking" he breaths into my face and lets go of me. My heart hammers in my chest, I breath heavily. When I finally trust my voice to speak again, I blurt out:"Wh- What was that?" "You have to stop trying to guess what is in the package, we don't know, you will only cloud your judgement by making up theories and when we find out you will squeeze the information into it" he speaks quickly. So many thoughts race through my brain, I had really thought that he would kiss me, right there on the spot. And I wouldn't have objected, I would have let him, but not only that, I also wanted him to. I yearned for it. "And how on earth should I stop thinking? I can't just switch off my brain cells!" I frown at him. Sometimes his requests are so ridiculously impossible. "Then think about something else" he says it like it's the easiest thing in the world, and probably to him, it is. "I don't have anything to think of" I state, challenging him into a discussion, hoping that it will distract me. "Then I will make you think of something else" he says and surprises me for the seond time on this day. Normally we would bicker until nobody of us knew why we started anymore. We sometimes stay up way past midnight just to talk about meaningless quarrels.

Sherlock walks over to me again, but before that he presses play on his recorder and the tunes of his pieces flowed out of the speakers. I shake my head a little, some would say he does it out of vain, but I believe that this is the only music he likes; so he listens to it. I look up at him, he is so close to me again. "What are you...?" I begin to ask but Sherlock simply lays his hand on my shoulder, takes the other one dances with me through the room. At first I am taken aback and stumble a little, but soon I find the rhythm. It is a steady waltz, and we move through the little room. My body reacts quickly to Sherlock's closeness, first, my heart skips a few beats and I gulp, then my pulse increases in such a quick pace, I would've been concerned if I were my patient. My eyes are fixed on his face and suddenly, our eyes lock and my blood turns to glee, pumped through my body by my madly-in-love heart. I wonder what he feels. Our feet seem to move in a unison I didn't know we have. We just move through the room, the moment doesn't seem to end. "John..." I see his lips move, and in that moment, in that split of a seconds when he said my name, he truly is the centre of my world.