Nightmare On Baker Street

Cash or Check?

February 4

"You've gotta go back now." I told John as we sat in a cafe, drinking morning tea.

"Back... where?" He blinked, looking up from where he had been picking idly at a scone. It lay crumbled in peices on his napkin -- and he knew exactly what I was talking about.

"To Baker Street," I rolled my eyes, trailing a finger along the edge of my cup. "You need to make it up to Sherlock, and you need to apologise. You know he never will."

"That's true, but I don't feel as though I've done anything wrong," John huffed, crossing his arms and giving me a steady look.

"Well, what did you say?" I asked pointedly, steepling my fingers and sitting back in my chair, surveying my friend over my fingertips.

"Er," rubbing the back of his neck, John didn't reply.

"See, if you can't even talk about it, you've obviously done something wrong. If you won't even repeat it to me." I sighed, shrugging. "Just go in there and apologise. It'll be fine. I'll be there... And then..." I trailed off as a sick feeling started up in my gut. I swallowed, closing my eyes briefly. "Then we'll tell him about what happened last night."

"Right. I thought you didn't want him to know -- ?"

"He's going to find out eventually anyway... And I think he deserves to know." I said thickly, the warning sting of tears burning in my eyes. Blinking rapidly, I turned my gaze to my tea. "But we have to do it today. Just... Just to get it over with." A heavy sigh erupted from my mouth without warning, and I had to fight back the urge to burst into tears. God, I was a mess. Shaking my head, I added, "we'll have to do it sooner or later. Sooner being after we're finished here, later being this evening."

"Later," John decided quickly. I cocked my head compassionately at him. "Just so that I can get my thoughts together."

"Sure." I nodded, taking a long draught of my drink. Setting it down, I wiped a couple of droplets from the corner of my mouth. "I think I do too..."

***

"Relax, it'll all be fine."

Standing at the door to Baker Street, I wasn't entirely sure if I was trying to convince myself or John. Looking uncomfortable, John reached for the door, pushing it open. It creaked softly, and the stairs carried up the symphony after us. It was like walking down death row -- for the both of us. And I knew Sherlock had heard us come up; which almost helped.

"Hey, Z, it's just me and John..." I called as I knocked on the door. A grunt from within gained me access to the flat.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked bluntly as soon as he saw John. To the extent of my knowledge, he'd been reading the paper -- then torn it to bits when he didn't find anything of interest. The small scraps of print lay scattered across the floor, and the entire place look messier than the last time I'd seen it. Figures.

"John has something he'd like to say," I said as John opened his mouth for a sharp retort. Giving him a hard stare, I gave his shoulder a little nudge.

Sherlock looked expectantly at his flatate. "Well?" He asked impatiently.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry," John sighed reluctantly, clasping his hands behind his back. "I'm sorry for the things I said. I was angry and I didn't mean them. I apologise."

There was a pause. Sherlock was silent, staring at John with cool, calculating eyes. As if deducing whether or not he was being legit. Finally he said, "Apology accepted."

"Sherlock," I coughed, raising my eyebrows at him. He looked at me in confusion. I gestured to John, frowning.

"Oh. Um, sorry." The word rolled off his tongue like a question -- but I knew that his pride wasn't used to being challenged, so I knew that at least that was sincere. But then he turned to me. "And don't you have something to tell me, Elanor?"