How We Unfold (SherlockBBC; Johnlock)

Chapter 9: Perhaps Another Time

Sherlock

My heart is pounding; accelerated heart rate. My palms are moist. An excessive release of epinephrine in my sympathetic nervousness system. I'm experiencing adrenaline. I really didn't think it would effect me to such a degree. It is the natural course of things; what I must do given my new situation. But I'm nervous. I remain calm and poised on the outside, as always. But inside there is a war raging.

Is it too soon? Too late? How will he react? I've watched him drown in the sea I created for two years. And after all this time, can I really pull him out? Or will I collect at his base like a heavy stone and pull him deeper under water, to depths not even I can reach?

I slide off my ball cap, setting my curls free upon my forehead. I roll it up and slide it into my coat pocket. I dressed nice for this. Black pants, purple button-up shirt, black coat, dark grey scarf. Seemed appropriate. I wanted to look like myself.

Gold light bleeds over the wet pavement and the dark door leading to 221B. The sun has fallen behind clouds long ago and is set by now. Vacant cars litter the sides of Baker Street and water droplets collect on their cold steel. Small worlds of light reflect off of the beads of water and the puddles in the gutter. The cold air pulls the breath from my lungs in a fog, hot and sticky.

I've waited long enough. I decided to wait until Friday evening, knowing John was not scheduled to work today. I glance up at the window above the door. Dim light fights it's way past the edge of the drawn curtains. I imagine I'll find him sitting at the study, the small lamp turned on. Or perhaps watching television.

I open the door and slowly step inside. There is silence behind Mrs. Hudson's door. She'll be heading to bed around now. Ascending the stairs I catch a faint scent. Something sweet, but too faint to discern. At the door I stop. I ignore the excitement in my chest and wrap my fingers around the cold knob. I listen through the thin wood of the door, my ear pressed delicately against the wood.

I hear the TV. Sounds like an old horror movie; Frankenstein? I listen for any more sounds. Just the TV. My hand begins to turn the knob, it creaks a little. But I hear something that makes me stop. Voices. But these voices don't match the movie. One is John, the low gentle tones of his voice immediately recognizable. The second is lighter, fainter. A woman's. I release the knob.

Mary is here? I listen further. The talking has stopped. Maybe I could still burst in. They couldn't possibly be doing anything important and Mary knowing I'm alive has little affect on me. I only wish to keep more incidental people in the dark, for now. Mary is hardly of any consequence to me. I continue listening, but instead of talking I hear a release of breath. A sigh. A delicate moan. I step back from the door.

Oh no. Not now. I take another step back. I'm well aware they've had sex before but it's always been at Mary's house. He's never brought her back here. Not like this. What does that mean? And the sounds are from the living room. They're doing this on my couch? At least it isn't my bed. I blink away the image. I slowly turn away from the door. I look down the dark steps, not much light to illuminate the path.

Why would he do this? What's the point? She can't really help him. She's intelligent but she isnt clever. She doesn't understand him, does she? Has he moved on? I know the pain he lives in, but is Mary the cure? How could she make him happy? This was supposed to be my night. I was finally, after all this time, going to get my friend back. And now Mary has him. She's just a distraction! He has cases to work on and...why do I care? I stuff my hands into my pockets and descend the stairs. My heart rate normal, the excitement gone. Replaced by something somewhat unfamiliar but definable.

Disappointment.

I approach the door and let myself outside, swimming in the cold once again. I tug the cap out of my pocket and unfold it. I sit on my head. I don't know why I bothered bringing it, force of habit I suppose. I slide my hands back into my pockets and walk away from 221B.