Sherlock fandom
Getting the Numbers Right
I glare at Billy. The empty eye sockets glare back.
“You’re nothing like John,” I tell him.
Billy stays silent. He often does. Especially after John moved in and I didn’t need him for a sound board anymore.
“No one is like John,” I mutter.
“How long has he been gone? Is she the one who will hold his attention longer than two dates?"
Billy’s mocking tone puts my nerves on edge.
“If I text him now, about a case, he will abandon her without a second thought,” I inform the obnoxious skull.
If Billy was still able to roll his eyes, this would be the moment for it.
“To answer your first question, he’s been gone for one hour and forty-seven minutes.”
“Trust you to know to the second how long he’s been out.”
I roll my eyes because I can, and huff loudly.
“Getting the numbers right is just a way to keep my brain occupied while I’m talking to you. Now, to your second question. This one, Jeanette? Lisa? Sarah? is number six in as many months. John looked exactly the same as he does before every second date he’s been on since he moved in here. My analysis will prove that he’ll end it. Tonight, or by text tomorrow.”
“You seem awfully sure about this. What if this one is the exception.”
It turned out that Billy was right for once.
***
“Alright, I’m off. See you in a week,” John says and hoists his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to eat.”
“Why?” I mumble into the sofa cushion.
“Because I don’t want to come home to a corpse, you git,” John explains.
“Why bother coming home at all if you’re moving in with what’s-her-name anyway,” I protest.
A foreign sensation is starting in my throat. It thickens and something is burning behind my eyelids.
“Sentiment!”
“Shut up, Billy!” I yell.
“Moving?” John asks incredulously.
A thump startles me. John has dropped his bag to the floor, and his palm is warming my shoulder.
“Hey, what’s wrong, Sherlock?” John asks, clearly worried.
“Nothing. You’ll miss your train,” I say and curl in on myself, trying to shake off John’s hand without succeeding.
“You’re trembling,” John states and places his other palm on my forehead to check for fever.
“Am not,” I say, but something is wrong with my voice.
It’s hoarse because of my swollen throat. My nose fills with moisture, overflows, and my philtrum is suddenly soaked with snot. Both cheeks are wet with shed tears, which I evidently have an endless amount of.
“Sherlock? Talk to me,” John pleads. “There’s clearly something bothering you.”
To my utter dismay, the tears keep flowing and my chest has started to ache. A sob is impossible to stifle. It’s a sound I haven’t heard myself produce since I was a child.
Another sound catches my ears. John is tapping on his phone. The absence of his warm hands is unsettling. I feel…bereft. To my relief it doesn’t last long. His strong fingers rake through my hair, and his other hand stroke my upper arm.
“I really wish I didn’t have to go, Sherlock, but this conference is…shit…look. I’m postponing my departure a few hours, and I won’t stay the whole week, just the three days that are inevitable, alright. But I need you to talk to me. Tell me what all this is about. And I swear, if this is just shamming…”
“It’s not,” I croak. “I’ve come to realise…you…John…I can’t…I won’t cope when you move…”
“Shh, now. No one is moving. Didn’t you deduce that I broke it off with Jeanette last month? You must stop talking to Billy. He’s an idiot,” John murmurs.
Strong arms turn me, but I can’t bear to look at John when my face is covered in snot and tears. Instead, I bury it in the crook of his neck, and the familiar scent instantly soothes me. My body goes limp, and the tears stop falling.
***
It’s a totally different experience when John prepares his second departure. He holds my head in his hands, looks me square in the eyes and talks softly.
“Keep busy. Count the days, minutes, seconds until I’m back if you must. Perform safe experiments. Eat. Stay hydrated. Text me if you need to. I won’t always be able to answer right away, but whenever I can, I will. We can talk when I’m finished for the day. Video calls. I’ll want to see you to know that you’re okay.”
He pulls me down and kisses me so tenderly, I’m tempted to start crying again. I hold the back of his head carefully and puts all my love for him into the kiss.
“I love you. I’ll miss you. Come back to me,” I murmur into his hair when we break the kiss and we’re holding each other tight.
“I will, Sherlock. I’ll miss you too. I always miss you when I’m not with you. Love you too. Now, start counting,” you say.
You stroke my cheek, then leave. I start counting the seconds, minutes and days until we’re reunited.
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