[COMPLETE] 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝 𝕀𝕟 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕎𝕚𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕨「Sherlock」

027; To Mend Things

❧

TRYING TO GET THE WORDS OUT OF HIS MOUTH WAS AN EXTRAORDINARILY difficult task. It was like attempting to say an obnoxiously long adjective or verb while holding approximately fifteen marbles on one's tongue. They stuck to his throat like peanut butter to the roof of a dog's mouth, unable to be swallowed or spat back out; they replicated cotton or even sand at times, dry and leeching. Sherlock was completely astray, feeling as if he had been shoved into a pond with a weight chained to his ankles, now bobbing below the surface and staring up through the watery depths to the sky above, distorted by the constant bubbles of oxygen he lost on the way down. He looked for confirmation from her in glances, in attempted small-talk, in short texts, but could not find it. Julia avoided his eyes, she avoided contact of any sort.

Sherlock understood that he could reach out at any point and touch Julia— in fact, he needed it, but the only chance he got was at a crime scene or on the street in front of others. Even John's eyes were unwanted in the crucial moment he wished to have with the young woman. He just wanted to stop fighting. It was obvious that they had gone through their own quarrels before, but they had never ended like this— at least not for a long time. It was clear she was embarrassed.

What was also clear to the detective was that the young woman had shown horribly obvious signs of infatuation from day one. It had only shocked him when they had come to fruition and she had confessed, every single instant that he had seen it— that he had enjoyed it, he had admittedly relished in — came crashing down over him in a barrage of artillery, bringing every single quivering neuron to a halt. His Mind Palace had all but collapsed and rebuilt itself in order to process what exactly he had just witnessed, what information he had been handed.

"What are we up to after this?" John queried as the two stood side-by-side, watching the press conference unfold on the other side of the door. He was attempting to pull him from wherever he had plunged in his intricate mind. "Coffee?"

Sherlock's head tilted to the side as he rolled it upon its joint and he cleared his throat, trying to focus again. "Perhaps a spot of lunch, although I don't think we'll want to be out in public for long. Especially after this conference— we'll be swarmed by the press."

John wrinkled his nose in distaste. He had never really been a fan of crowds, and by the sounds of it, they would most likely be tossed out into the middle of it all. "Delightful," John articulated drily. The doctor then shifted his weight, hands remaining in his pockets. "So no take away?"

"No, unfortunately," Sherlock confirmed, eyes trailing over how the lights created a glow around Ms. Fuller's head, similarly to a fiery halo. "Unless Julia feels up to it."

"Unless Julia feels up to it." John's words of repetition hung in the air as Sherlock simply hummed in response. The usual frustration flickered within his lungs, threatening to start a fire and his head tilted down. The redhead was beginning to say her goodbyes, flashing her usual trademark smile that could bring him to his knees if she really wished it to. Turning himself around, he began to straighten out the collar of his Milford coat. "... You know, you've hardly been acting like yourself lately."