Frock Coated Fascination

Chapter 4

The doorbell rang and John sighed. It was already time. He trudged doggedly down the stairs, joining his waiting mother and father in the hallway. Stevens manned his post by the door, looking especially polished with his pressed suit and shined shoes. Mr and Mrs Watson had also made an effort with each of their appearances; Mrs Watson stood nervously in one of her best gowns, leaning slightly on her husband who in turn was wearing a beautiful frock coat which was definitely more for decoration than practicality.

When the door opened and Siger stepped through, closely followed by his taller son, the tension starting gradually lessening and when the formalities had been dealt with, Samuel and Siger departed for the study. Elizabeth retired to the drawing room whilst John lead Sherlock to the library, a fitting choice, he thought. Despite it not being as lavish as the one at Brackley Manor, it had it's own collections, specifically medical journals and books on the natural sciences, which John had grown up learning about.

It was these that Sherlock pounced on, taking a few off to one of the desks placed at intervals along the room. His dark curls fell over his eyes as he leaned forward, engrossed in the equations and scientific theories. John looked over and smiled, almost doing a double take. It was strange but oddly endearing to see such a drastic change of character, the normally haughty and blunt man replaced by a boy hungry for any information he could get his hands on. Suddenly, Sherlock leapt up and brushed past John on his way to the bookshelves. The touch brought the man's hand up to his shoulder, examining the tingling sensation that had lingered there following the tactile sensation.

The darker man turned slowly, a large tome clasped in his pale, nimble fingers. One look at the curious hand on John's unsuspecting shoulder put a puzzled expression on his face. Then, ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth turned upwards before scurrying back to the desk he'd occupied. John threw Sherlock another look before bringing his hand down, letting it drop limply to his side.

Green eyes. They watch me, I can tell. Curious. No one else watches me like he does. They don't want to know, but he does. I dismiss most people without a second glance but not him. No, I want to savour every glance at him I get. For once, I want to take my time.

His face is unlike any I've seen. Young but lined with hints of old. There is a lot of sorrow in those eyes. It's beautiful though. So beautiful. When I saw him that first time his hair looked flecked with gold in the light radiating from the candelabras. It still looks that way now. He fascinates me in a way no one has before. And when I brushed past him, the way his hand flew to his shoulder...that's the most curious of all.

I can't believe this is happening! I'm planning the best day of my life and I know that everything will be perfect because he's there with me. He looks quiet, sitting in the corner. His eyes are glazed, like he's thinking. He's like that more and more now. But everything will resolve itself, I'm sure.

The metallic tings of spoons against bowls drove John crazy but he kept his thoughts to himself. On his right, a lovely lady sat talking avidly to his mother whilst his father engaged in conversation with the father of his bride-to-be. At the far end of the table sat three younger girls, tittering amongst themselves like a group of gossiping sparrows. He looked back at Sarah, noticing the way her wispy hair fell onto her face. I can't believe she's mine, he thought. If only her hair was dark...he stopped himself right there. He'd been down this road before and he wasn't prepared to do it again, at least not now. He couldn't - he loved Sarah. And that was that.