Chapter 2: The Question

Author's Note:
Hello my lovelies! I’ve decided that it’s best that the time is in the present day, though the tone will be kind of formal. So Sherlock will stop calling John “Watson” and start calling him “John”. This decision came about because it would be too hard to write the type of story that I want this to be in Victorian times. Also, I originally wanted to have a formal-ish story, so that’s why I decided that it should be old-fashioned, but after reading some other fics, I realized they were all formal. I’ll stop blathering now. Enjoy!

I sat there, watching Irene’s chest slowly rise and fall. Suddenly, I was overcome with the feeling that she was only faking her sleep and in fact watching me. I knew that she was not, but I felt an irrepressible urge to leave. But before I did, I leaned over her and brushed my lips against hers.

“Sleep well, my love.”

I left to lounge around in my armchair and wait for John to return home.  He would know in an instant that I knew that Irene had been here all along, and that might give away my long- cherished feelings for her. But all of a sudden, I didn’t care. I was going to sit here and wait for my flatmate to come home and find out that because of his carelessness, my love had sneaked into our flat and I was lounging in my armchair without waking her up and turning her out. This was the absolute worst plan that I had ever come up with. And people called me a genius.

“Sherlock! I’m home!”

Oh no. Oh no no no. He was home and I still didn’t have a better plan.

“Irene Adler’s sleeping in my bed.”

I heard John stop dead in his tracks.

“She’s what?”

“Sleeping in my bed.”

“But… how did she get in?”

“Well, my dear John, you, once again, neglected to lock the door.”

Once again I heard John pause.

”But I could have sworn the door was locked when I left to go grocery shopping.”

“Well, you could have sworn wrong.”

I knew quite well that this question was going to come up. The “Why didn’t you wake her up and turn her out?” question. However, this time, this time, I just might be prepared to tell my flatmate exactly why I didn’t turn her out. Because I loved her. And that was that. But how on earth was I supposed to tell John Watson that Sherlock Holmes, the man with no feelings, had fallen in love?

“Why didn’t you tell her to get lost?”

There it was. The Question.

“Because… because…. I liked seeing her in our flat and in my bed.”

“WHAT?”

“Because… I think John, that a chemical imbalance might have occurred within my brain, causing me to look upon Irene Adler as… an… object of romantic interest.”

I said the last part very quickly, hoping that he wouldn’t catch it. But I thought he did, given the incredulousness of his face.

“You’re joking, right? Sherlock Holmes, my flatmate, in love? Has the world gone crazy then? I mean, you’re Sherlock freaking Holmes! Sherlock Holmes does not fall in love, he scorns it!”

But despite all this, John was crying tears of joy at my being what he called “humanised”, as if I did not belong to the species Homo sapiens sapiens. But still, if I was going to succeed in my plans with Irene, I was going to need John’s help.

“John, would you… um… help me in asking Irene out?”

I tried the unfamiliar language out on my tongue, all the while turning a shade of red previously unknown to humanity. John stopped crying and started laughing instead. Angered, I grabbed the harpoon from where it was leaning on the edge of a table.

“Don’t you dare laugh anymore.”

John stared at the harpoon pointed to his chest.

“Relax, Sherlock. I won’t laugh anymore. Honestly. You just looked so ridiculous blushing...”

The memory set him off again, but I persuaded him to stop by pushing the harpoon a few centimetres forward.

“I’ll stop… Jesus Christ! Calm down. You need to learn how to be laughed at without freaking out like this. And yes, I’ll help. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Friend, he said. I had friends. John, and Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, and Molly, and yes, even Mycroft in some twisted, brotherly way. I had friends. And that’s when I knew that even if things didn’t work out with Irene, I would still be fine. Because I, Sherlock Holmes, was blessed with friends.

Author's Note: 
So, it didn’t work out quite the way I wanted it too, and I’m not sure if I like the ending, but it stayed because I wanted to show how his meeting with Irene changed him so completely that he understood what ‘friends’ really were. So sorry for the long-ish wait, and if you like it and want more, just fill out that box under this. You know, the comment box?
 Peace, Love, and Baby Ducks,
Wendy KL/vivagreen