Glass: After the Storm

Folie a Deux

John stood at a set of French doors, gazing through the glass across a plush, green garden that led down to a stream. There was a wooden playhouse and a swing set that swayed gently in the breeze; he imagined Rosie playing there, Mary sitting in the grass with a book and glass of wine. He sighed and turned his back on the doors, making his way around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, looking up at the high ceilings. 

Sherlock appeared in the doorway. "What do you think?"

"It's very nice, Sherlock. Really nice. Modern kitchen, spacious rooms, lovely garden."

"Mm you're right, it's not the one."

"I... Er, I don't think that's what I said."

John watched as he walked around the kitchen island, inspecting the marble worktop closely, before disappearing into another room.

He followed him in. "Is Margaux really okay with you writing off houses without her even seeing them?"

"She trusts my judgement," said Sherlock as he crouched down, bringing himself eye-level with a dining room table.

John raised an eyebrow. "Right. Brave woman..."

A man in a well-fitting grey suit stepped into the room. He was holding a tablet, the screen reflecting in the buttons of his jacket. "There you are. Thought I'd lost you both," he said with a smile.

"Sorry, he likes to work out things about the current owners by their furniture, belongings, decorative choices..."

The estate agent laughed. "So, what do you think of this place? Plenty of space if the two of you wanted to start a family."

"What?" John looked at Sherlock, then back to the man. "Oh, we're not here for... We're not gay." 

"Oh, god I'm sorry. I just assumed..."

"Yeah no, we're – actually, we're not even a 'we' –  I... I am here to help my friend view some houses." He sighed. "Not gay. I find myself having to say that more than I should."

Sherlock stepped towards them calmly, as if he were unbothered by the assumption or simply hadn't been paying attention. "My wife is at home with severe morning sickness. Though I don't know why they call it that; it's not like midday hits and suddenly she's right as rain."

"Oh, you're expecting?" the agent smiled. "Congratulations. Well, you won't come by a house much better than this one. Plus, the owners are selling at a very reasonable price."

"Of course they are, they're getting a divorce and need to get rid of it as quickly as possible."

The agent's mouth opened slightly. "How did you..." he looked down at his tablet, tapping at the screen with a stylus. "Did I put that in the listing by accident?"

"No, you didn't. That's just how his brain works," said John.

*

"Space. A Garden. Good location. Do you know how hard it is to find a house in London that ticks all of those boxes?" asked John as they climbed the steps of Baker Street. "It's near impossible. Yet you viewed three today. Three perfect houses and you disregarded all of them with no actual, valid reason."

"I'm the one that'll be living there. I can have whatever reason I want."

"You're stalling." John pointed a finger at him as they stepped inside. "You're putting off buying a house because you don't actually want to move. And you hope that once you've rejected all the houses, you'll have no choice but to stay here."