Consulting Fangirl

Chapter 5: Mai

A/N Hey guys, I'd really appreciate it if you comment and vote. I love the attention this book is getting, but I'd like to hear from you. Give me critiques, suggestions, comments. Anything would be helpful. Okay, I'll shut up now and let you read. :) 

It had been a week since I met John Watson for the first time. He hadn’t been back in the café since. Life hadn’t exactly returned to normal after Sherlock’s death. I’d been doing better, I guess, but the pain was always there. The questions never stopped rolling in from my followers and I’d helped many people through their grief.

I scrubbed hard at a table, wiping up all the coffee stains that the customer had left behind. If I channeled all my sadness into my work, everything was much easier to handle. The repetitive motion of scrubbing tables, delivering coffee and cleaning the floors made for little thinking.

The ring of the door snapped me from my daze as I watched another customer walk inside. It was him. I wasn’t surprised. He was bound to turn up sooner or later.

“Hello, Dr. Watson. What can I do for you?” I asked, struggling to construct a smile on my face that passed for natural. Judging by the look on John’s face, I failed.

“I need your help.” He said in a hushed tone. I was tempted to say no, but the desperate look in his eyes changed my mind. I nodded at him and led him over to a seat.

“What is it?” I asked once we were sitting. He leaned closer to me and I found myself leaning in too. Something about this felt like a secret, a secret that John felt only I needed to know. It made me feel honoured in a way. I was the one he chose to ask for help, out of all his friends.

“Okay, this is going to sound mad-,” He started, but I cut him off.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised by anything you could tell me. What’s mad is a self-proclaimed blogger meeting in a café to ask a waitress whom he just met for help. If I can handle that, I can handle whatever it is you are going to ask of me.” He smiled lightly and nodded.

“Well, I know Sherlock better than anyone.” I couldn’t help but notice him stutter when he said Sherlock’s name. I didn’t call him out on it though. “Like I said, I know him. He wouldn’t…” His voice trailed off. I nodded at him, telling him that he didn’t need to continue.

“Anyways,” He started again, a more determined fire in his eyes. “I believe that he had a plan.” I narrowed my eyes at him in doubt.

“A plan?” I asked slowly, unsure whether this idea was even worth it to get my hopes up. The last thing a grieving man needed was false hope.

“Yes. I think that the entire event was planned. He must have faked his death. If anyone could do it, it would be him.” That part did make sense. Not the whole ‘faking his death thing’, but the rest of it. If anyone couldfake their death, it would be Sherlock Holmes.

“I don’t know, John. I sort of feel like this, idea of yours is just a way of coping, and that’s good, because we all need to cope, but-“

“You don’t believe me.” He didn’t ask it. He said it as a statement, and it was too true to deny it. I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t, because it was worse, somehow. The thought of him alive out there, hiding from the rest of the world and leaving John alone to slowly die with each day of unending loneliness was far worse than the idea of him dying for his best friend. I wanted him alive just as much as anybody, but this, what John was implying, seemed worse.

“John, please listen. I agree that it’s possible, and I know how much you want this to be true, but I don’t know if I can believe it. I don’t know if I want to.” His head snapped back as if I’d punched him. The look of hurt and betrayal on his face was livid.

“You don’t want to believe he’s alive?” He spat the question out with fire in his voice. I pleaded him to understand, my eyes watering at seeing him angry.

“It’s not that I want him dead, John, I just- I don’t know if I can bear the thought of him alive, because if he’s out there somewhere, right now, he’s choosing to be there. No one is holding him back, and he is staying away for a reason. Knowing that he would pretend to die and stay away this long without telling you is worse to me because I see what his death is doing to you. If he understood how much pain you were in and is still not back, then I would hate him, and that’s the last thing I want. I’m sorry if you are offended, but that’s how I see this. If he’s alive, he’s choosing to be away from you, and that makes me angry.”

John nodded his head slowly. I held my breath, scared that my opinion had hurt him. He didn’t seem hurt, though. He just seemed tired.

“I understand what you’re saying, but I have to, I just have to believe that he’s out there somewhere, waiting for me to be clever enough to go after him. Or if he isn’t waiting for me, then I could surprise him. I could- I don’t know- make him proud. And if I fail, if he’s really dead, then at leas I can live with myself knowing that I tried.”

The faith that he held in Sherlock continued to amaze me, and I found it strengthening my own. I was wrong before. I wasn’t Sherlock’s biggest fan. John was.

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and have it fail. I’d hate to see what that would do to you.” I responded, forcing the pity out of my voice. I knew that he didn’t need pity right now. He needed comfort, sure, but too much was suffocating.

“Can we at least try and clear his name?” He asked with a compromising voice. “You and I both know that he isn’t a fake. He’s brilliant and Moriarty was real. Can you help me with that? Please?” I couldn’t help noticing how he referred to Sherlock in present tense, but spoke of Moriarty like the dead man he was. I wanted to point it out but decided against it.

I would have said no if it wasn’t for the trembling grasp of sanity in his big doe eyes. He seemed on the edge, and I felt that this small sliver of hope was the only thing keeping him from plunging. The looming threat of failure scared me, but I saw no other way around it. Either I killed him now or the sadness killed him later. Perhaps I could fix his broken soul in the time we shared together.

“All right, fine. But only because if I don’t get you out of here soon my boss will kill me.” I said with a smirk. He smiled lightly and played with his hands. If I didn’t know any better, I thought I saw a blush on his cheeks. It couldn’t be, though. It was gone before I could put much thought into it.

“I’ll have a coffee, please.” He said politely. I rolled my eyes at his formality and left to fulfill his order. Collin was staring daggers at the back of my head, but I honestly didn’t care. He could say whatever he wanted, but we both knew he would never fire me.

“Am I mad, or were you just talking to John Watson?” Katie asked me once I was back to the kitchen.

“Yes, I was, but you’re still mad.” I replied, sending her a wink. I’d decided the second I stepped away from the table not to tell her about my plans with John. It wasn’t that I was lying to her; I just didn’t feel the need to be bombarded with questions and constant fangirling. So, I buried our conversation into the depths of my mind, lest it come up sometime, and focused on making John’s coffee.

“If you take my extra shift I’ll let you bring his coffee out.” I bribed, waving the coffee in front of her face. She rolled her eyes, trying to look indifferent, but I knew better. It only took her 30 seconds to cave.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Only because you’ve talked to him twice already and he’s likely sick of you.” I laughed, not believing her at all. She took the coffee from my hands and I caught the giddy smile that she’d been trying to hide. I smiled affectionately at my ‘best friend’, watching her try and hold in her squeals as she handed John his coffee with shaking hands. He sent her a warm smile and she nearly fainted.

I smiled at them before grabbing my coat and leaving. I caught John’s eye through the glass as I stepped out the door. His smile was gone. I wanted to know what was wrong, but then the door was closed and I was swept into the traffic of people on the London streets.