A Case of Identity - Chapter eight (8/23)

[jkay1980]

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John woke up alone the next morning. It was the first time since their engagement he did not find himself in any compromising position with his friend. They had probably slept entangled again though, but Sherlock had gotten up, a fact both of them chose to keep quiet about. They had been dancing around each other for days now. John wasn't sure what to make of it. He wasn't sure how he felt about waking up alone. He didn't know what to think about his feelings of insecurity either. A week ago, everything had been simple. They had just been friends. Best friends. Partners in crime. Brothers in arms. Now they were engaged and Greater London, including the Queen and the Government, celebrated their involvement. There was something else on John's mind: A soft voice in his head telling him that it didn't feel as wrong as it should be. He let out a soft groan. There was so much going on between them, and in his head, that all the thinking gave him a headache.

John took a deep breath and got up, running his fingers through his ruffled hair. As much as he would like to, he couldn't stay in bed all day and hide. He had a shift at the surgery and he had to try to get some night shifts - just in case. He tried to follow Sherlock's example, and stored away his thoughts for later analysis.


When he got downstairs after a short shower, he found his flatmate sitting at the kitchen table over one of his chemical experiments. A short glance told him that there were no body parts involved this time. Thank God.

"Morning, Sherlock."

No response.

John sighed. Apparently his friend was deaf to the world again, concentrating on his experiment.

"Tea?"

No response.

John gave up trying to communicate with Sherlock, took his tea and toast to the living room and started to read the newspaper over breakfast.

Suddenly there was a loud bang and John heard his friend throwing something - probably petri dishes - into the waste bin, uttering curses. The experiment had not gone as planned, obviously. John laid the paper aside, studying his friend, amused. Sherlock stood in the kitchen, bending over the sink, both hands resting on the worktop. He breathed heavily.

"Sherlock, is everything all right?" John asked innocently.

"Fine," Sherlock finally replied. The lie was written all over his face.

John knew him far too well to buy it. Sherlock seemed to be suffering from an internal struggle. He seemed angry and flustered, maybe even confused too. He clearly had something on his mind.

"If you say so," John answered, sighing. He knew that pushing the detective wouldn't work. He would tell him in his own time - or not at all.

"I just made a mistake. The experiment is ruined," Sherlock explained in a strained voice.

John raised his eyebrows, knowing that was just the apparent truth. "That can happen to anybody - even to the best," he replied after a moment. He could tell they were dancing again.

"I am not supposed to make mistakes," he muttered darkly.

That was his whole childhood in a nutshell, John thought bitterly. He didn't believe in Sherlock's claim to be a sociopath anymore. He didn't even believe him to be Aspergerish. John guessed that he just was a person bad things had happened to. So he had built up a fortress. Mighty, high and hopeless. Through the years of their acquaintance some of the walls had been cracking and the stones were tumbling slowly. He knew there was a very vulnerable, very human man behind them. Whatever was happening at the moment between them, whatever they were or would become in the future, he knew one thing for sure: he would still give up his life happily to ensure his friend's. He still was the finest man he knew.

"It's fine to make mistakes. You can learn from them and improve yourself," John told him reassuringly. "You're not supposed to be perfect. I told you, perfect is boring." He tried to keep his tone light.

Sherlock let his shoulders slump and the tension slipped away.

"You could do with some tea," John said and went into the kitchen to get him a cup. When he passed his friend, their arms touched lightly. The physical contact sent tingles down John's spine, causing him to blush. His heart skipped a beat, then started to race madly.

Sherlock watched him with curiosity. "Why not?" Sherlock replied with a contented smile and flopped into his armchair, opposite John's.

He never missed anything, ever. John took a deep breath, silently cursing himself, and continued to make another cup of tea for both of them. He could only hope that Sherlock didn't draw the wrong conclusions. Being honest with himself, he simply didn't know what the right conclusions would be. Since he knew that it was impossible to avoid physical contact with his friend, he made another mental note to make sure not to look him straight in the eye whenever such a situation occurred. That would not only embarrass him, but make him blush to the roots of his hair.

"Your tea", John said and offered him the second cup, flushing again slightly. Christ, John, what the hell is wrong with you? Stop it!

"Thank you," Sherlock replied, a smile playing over his lips again.

"Have you already been to town for your Christmas shopping?" John asked him, changing the subject. He tried to keep his face as innocent and his voice as indifferent as impossible, and he focused on not looking at him directly.

Sherlock kept staring at John, holding his cup of tea in one hand, his second resting on the armrest of his chair. "No," he answered calmly.

"Time is running out, Sherlock. The party is Saturday," John replied, irritated. The man was unbelievable.

Sherlock made an annoyed face. "Don't worry."

"You promised."

"I know I did," Sherlock replied. "I told you not to worry."

"I start worrying the moment you tell me not to," John admitted.

"You have so little trust in me," Sherlock teased him.

"Wonder why…" John answered with a sigh. "Be sure you're home at seven, by the way."

Sherlock looked at him taken aback. "Why?"

"We're going out."

"Where to?"

"That's a surprise, Sherlock," John answered smugly. There was no way, Sherlock could guess where they were going and that pleased John immensely.

However, Sherlock didn't seem to be offended. He seemed to enjoy John's attempts to take the lead in their relationship.

"You are asking me out. Shall I consider this a date?" he asked in a low voice and with a flirtatious tone, leaning slightly forward and looking at John intensely.

Apparently Sherlock had decided that offence would be the best defence in John's case. John wasn't prepared for Sherlock's move and made the mistake of glancing up. He was staring at him. Insinuations were one thing, flirting was another, and it had taken him by surprise. For a minute or so he could only stare at him like an idiot.

"Well", John said after a moment, flushing, "Apply your methods. In the meantime, I am going to work."

He quickly got up and fled to his room where he leaned his forehead against the closed door. Great, he thought. He had just been flirting with Sherlock Holmes. With him, not at him. Bloody hell. This needs to stop. Unfortunately, while his mind seemed to agree with him, his body clearly disagreed.

Xxx

When he returned from the surgery, he took a quick shower. Sherlock had not yet come back from wherever he'd gone. At work he had talked to Sarah about taking over some night shifts. However, his colleagues insisted that he kept to the day shifts for the time being, since he was recently engaged and would want to spend some more time with his fiancé. They suggested he might want to make the best of the nights. It seemed that the odds were stacked against him.

He stepped out of the bathroom and took a dark blue suit out of his closet. Unlike Sherlock, he didn't wear suits very often. There was no need to do so. Today however would be one of the rare occasions.

"John." Sherlock's voice bellowed through the flat.

John finished his dressing and went downstairs. "Sherlock." John gave him a friendly greeting.

"You're wearing a suit."

"You're stating the obvious," John teased him. He knew that the detective didn't like to be imitated.

However Sherlock didn't react to John's statement. "I've never seen you wearing that one before."

"No. It's new. It's for Bill Murray's wedding next year. And I needed a new suit anyway." He had bought it at the sales. Since he would not be wearing the suit very often he decided to save some money on it.

"It fits you well," Sherlock admitted, grinning.

"Thanks," he replied. Please, give me a break, mate.

"Where are we going, John?" Sherlock asked him eagerly. Apparently, he was still in the dark.

"Don't be impatient!" John laughed. "We're going to take the Tube."

Sherlock made a face. "Tube?"

"Yeah. We wouldn't want you to guess too soon, would we?" John wound him up.

Sherlock pouted.

"Come on, Gorgeous," John chuckled. "We don't want to be late."

On the way to the tube, John carefully avoided touching Sherlock at all. In the tube, however, things were different. The tube was crowded and they stood together with their chests pressed close. John felt his own heart beating fast again. Thankfully, he didn't blush this time since there were so many people around, bumping into them, but he was still very much aware of Sherlock's warmth and his scent. He suppressed the urge to inhale deeply. It was impossible for John to tell how Sherlock felt about their physical closeness since each of them had cocked his head to a different side and both were looking in opposite directions. Once or twice he had the feeling that his friend was even moving closer, but under the circumstances it could have been coincidence. John was relieved when they finally reached their destination. He felt confused and the confusion drove him mad.

"High Street? Interesting," Sherlock stated when they got off.

"Make an educated guess."

"I never guess."

"Deduce me!" John blurted out unthinkingly. "I mean deduce it, then." Not me, please. Heaven forbid.

"Royal Albert Hall."

"They are playing Bach. I thought we could use a break and I know that you like Bach." As long as John could have a break from his confusion he didn't mind whether it was Bach, Mozart or whatever.

"That's….nice. I appreciate that, John." Sherlock said excitedly and added, "Very much."

"Good. I'm glad you like it. See it as an early Christmas present," John replied cheerfully. He was delighted that he could give him a treat by inviting him to the concert. He sensed that Sherlock was himself stressed by the sudden appearance of his ex-boyfriend - or whatever he should call Victor Trevor - and deserved a break, too.

Sherlock was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very capable performer but also a very talented composer. All the evening he sat in the stalls, wrapped in the most perfect happiness, gently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music. His gently smiling face and his dreamy eyes were as unlike those of Sherlock the relentless, keen-witted sleuth, as it was possible to conceive. John often had wondered whether his extreme exactness and astuteness represented the reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which occasionally overcame him. The swing of Sherlock's nature took him from extreme languor to devouring energy. John knew that Sherlock was never so truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in his armchair amid his improvisations and black-letter editions. Then the thrill of the chase would suddenly come upon him and his brilliant reasoning power would rise to a level, which caused the people around him to be stricken with awe. When John saw him that evening so enwrapped in the music at the Royal Albert Hall he felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he had set himself to hunt down. He himself started to feel the thrill of excitement, too, as he watched his friend.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" John asked him as they emerged, inhaling the cold December air.

"Very much," Sherlock grinned, wrapping his coat tighter around him.

"I'm glad to hear it," John replied and kept his eyes down on the street, which was covered in snow.

"I also enjoyed your company," Sherlock added mischievously.

That was unexpected. The break was over. The game was on again, apparently. "I'm glad to hear it," John replied because he couldn't think of anything else to say. At least he remembered to avoid Sherlock's gaze.

"I'll have to think about an adequate present for you."

Somehow that caused John to worry. "I can hardly wait", John answered, not able to keep the sarcasm out of his voice entirely. If Sherlock noticed, he didn't let it show.

"Did you enjoy yourself, John?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I did," John admitted.

"I'm glad to hear it," Sherlock said, still grinning.

"I also enjoyed your company," John finally added before he could stop himself. He tried to ignore the sudden trembling in his stomach and wondered whether he had lost his mind.

"I'm glad to hear it," Sherlock said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"I'm glad that you're glad," John replied, sighing. They tended to have confusing conversations lately.

Xxx

A tube ride and two cups of tea later, they were lying next to each other in John's bedroom. He tried to position himself as far away from Sherlock as possible which caused him to lie at a very uncomfortable angle. He knew he would turn around as soon as he was asleep, probably waking up to find the two of them entwined with each other again. Sherlock's scent proved a bigger problem to deal with since he could hardly stop breathing. And he had to confess that he liked the smell. A lot. He asked himself silently, what was wrong with him. He never thought about the touch or the scent of his flat mate before. He definitely had too much time for his mind to wander, and, since the night shifts were no longer an option, he could only hope they would go to Aldershot before long, and he could keep himself busy with the case.

"John?" Sherlock asked low voiced.

John held his breath. "Yes?"

"I think I should inform you that I applied my methods as you suggested this morning."

Great.

The silence dragged on. There was no need to urge the detective to share his deduction. John knew what was about to come.

Sherlock hesitated a moment before stating matter-of-factly, "I've decided to consider this evening a date."

What John still didn't know was how much was real and how much was part of the game.

What he did know for sure was that he had to get rid of any mistletoe that showed up around the flat before Saturday.

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