When John awoke the next morning, he was lying on a couch at an entirely different flat. He stretched, yawned and smiled as Sarah came into the room, her lavender robe trailing behind her.
She turned on the news; some article about a prodigal painting from Vermeer.
“You want any breakfast?” she asked.
“Love some,” he grinned boyishly up at her.
“Well you’re gonna have to make it yourself, cause I’m gonna have a shower.”
She walked airily off and left Watson to button his shirt…and then abruptly stop as he saw the smoking remains of his flat. Sherlock! The bells went off in his head. Petrichor!
He jumped up and after yelling his apologizes to Sarah ran; ran faster than he had perhaps ever run before until he reached 221B Baker Street. He pushed past the press outside, ran up the stairs and was crying out,
“Sherlock!” before he even reached the top.
When he did, however, he was quite surprised (and deeply relieved) to see Sherlock and Petrichor calmly sitting in the two comfy chairs. Cora had her nose in a book, oblivious to the sounds of Mycroft (who happened to be sitting across from Sherlock) and said Sherlock arguing.
“I CAN’T,” Sherlock insisted. “If you’re so keen, YOU go investigate.”
“Petrichor?” Mycroft sighed, as if looking for help.
At the mention of her name from her employer Petrichor raised her eyes. “I have no say in this,” she shrugged.
“Well now you do,” Sherlock cut in, pulling her into the conversation.
Seeing no way out, Petrichor sighed and put her book down. “So why are these plans so important, as a start?” she asked, putting her long, slender fingertips together like she did when she was listening.
“They are the plans to a missile program we’re testing,” Mycroft replied with an approving nod. “And I can’t possibly be away from the office for any length of time-what with the Korean elections coming up…” he paused, and shrugged cynically. “Well…you don’t need to know about that, do you? Besides,” he continued with a disdainful sniff, as if he disliked the topic, “this requires…legwork.”
Cora cast her eyes back down to her book but John caught the laughter in the green; and again he was reminded just how different Mycroft and Sherlock really were.
“Think on it,” Mycroft suggested softly as he rose to go. “Don’t make me order you.”
Sherlock scoffed. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Girls, please, not here,” Petrichor murmured absently, turning a page.
“I thought you couldn’t hear anything when you read,” Sherlock remarked.
She looked up. “I can when I’m not reading, only pretending to so I can appear innocent and not have to say anything.”
John laughed but Sherlock merely took his violin and played a series of off-tune notes on it to escort Mycroft out.
And they did not invite him to tea.
Shortly after this interesting event, Sherlock was having a cup of tea with John while (at John’s request) Petrichor read aloud. Although Sherlock claimed that Les Miserables was the most tedious of books, there was something in Cora’s soft, mournful tones as she painted the scenes of the French Revolution that seemed to fascinate him. It was as if he wondered why anyone would take the time and effort to be so expressive even when it came to reading books…but Petrichor certainly seemed to find it worthwhile. John however was completely entranced (having never actually read the book) and listened intently, even going so far as to let his teacup rest in midair as Petrichor’s voice grew more emotional when poor Fantine lay dying.
She was just finishing the chapter when Sherlock’s Blackberry™ went off. He held up a finger to Petrichor, signifying silence as he answered with only,
“Sherlock Holmes?”
He listened a moment, then half-smiled. “Of course. How could I refuse?”
He hung up, then turned and suddenly stopped dead still as he saw the picture laid out before him: Petrichor was sitting on their big, comfy couch with John stretched out, his head on her lap. They were talking in low voices and Cora suddenly threw her head back, laughing softly. Something pulled at Sherlock’s gut…he had no name for the sensation but it was most unpleasant and he cleared his throat impatiently. Cora adjusted her head and John looked up, but a smile was still tugging at the corners of his mouth. Petrichor smiled cheerfully and asked,
“What did Lestrade have to say?”
John looked momentarily surprised and then shrugged. Eventually one just stopped asking.
“I’ve been summoned; Lestrade wants you at Scotland Yard…apparently some missile plans have been stolen,” Sherlock replied a bit stiffly.
Cora raised a cynical eyebrow. “You mean the Bruce-Partington Plans YOUR BROTHER told us about?”
Sherlock shrugged. “Something of that nature.” He turned to John, still sitting on the couch. “Coming?”
John jumped up, almost eagerly. “Sure…if you want me.”
Sherlock smiled and nodded. “Of course. I’d be lost without my blogger.”
John realized that in his cool way Sherlock was apologizing for last night, and he smiled back. He ran down the stairs after Sherlock followed by Petrichor; (the clomping made by her ankle boots would have identified her a mile away) and down into the street. Both of them gave Cora a parting wave, got into the waiting cab and drove away.
Sherlock was silent for some while, which either meant he was thinking or debating on whether or not to say out loud what he was thinking.
Finally John sighed. “What is it?”
Sherlock stirred and looked over at him. “Oh, um, just wondering…things,” was the marvellously helpful answer.
John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, if you don’t tell me I’ll ask Cora and she’ll deduce it for me.”
Sherlock looked, almost, a bit irritated when John mentioned her name, and suddenly it dawned on the very same.
“Ohhhhh…” he smiled.
“What?” Sherlock demanded in that same irritated voice.
“You saw us on the couch talking…with no one paying any attention to poor you,” John grinned, (it must be confessed) somewhat evilly. “How does it feel, not being the centre of attention anymore?”
“Do you…love her?” Sherlock asked slowly.
John’s eyebrows shot up in some surprise, but he shook his head. “I told you that Harry and me don’t get on, and never had. Cora is filling in for her beautifully.”
“So you don’t love her?” Sherlock pressed.
Watson chuckled and turned towards Sherlock. “If I didn’t know you any better I’d say you were jealous…but I know that’s not possible with you.”
Sherlock turned towards the window, but John was pretty sure he heard him muttering something about “Doesn’t know what’s possible”.
“You don’t feel things that way, though,” John reminded him.
Sherlock shook his head in agreement. “No. never found someone worth the time.”
John smirked. You will someday. And what a fun day that will be…
-=-=-=-=-
