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Sherlock's P.O.V.

After Angela had told me everything I wanted to know for now, I went to face John. I had noticed that the news my... our daughter had given us, had unsettled him, but if we were to prevent whatever catastrophe had send this girl to us, I would need his assistance, and I had to be sure that I could count on him. Besides, Angela's statement about me and John getting together after I'd tell him about my feelings, plus her report of him having felt attracted to me since the day we met, relaxed all the fears I had in the matter. I knew now, that John and I would be inseparable and that a relationship, as I pictured it, was not just possible, but quite likely, the question that remained only being: when?

Because John, as confident as he was on all other topics, was for some reason very sensitive when it came to his sexuality. So, I hoped to be able to put his mind at rest, that had been disturbed by Angela's reveal. I felt responsible, because it was my fault that she came out to us about her true identity, and thus our future liaison. I wasn't quite sure how to deal with John now, but I was confident that I would find ways to reach him, once we got talking. Because that would be what was about to happen. At least, that's what I expected.

So I knocked on John's door and entered after two seconds, not waiting for an invitation. If he really wanted to be left alone, he would lock the door, I thought, so I came in. He was sitting on his bed and seemed to have jolted when I opened the door. He looked at me with great eyes and in an angry tone said: "What the hell Sherlock, why do you even knock, if you can't wait to be asked in?" "John, we need to talk.", I stated. To my surprise this made John get up and turn pale, staring at me with an open mouth, before hastily stuttering: "Huh? Wha... no! No, no, no, no, there is nothing we have to talk about, we're..." But I cut him of, correcting him: "Of course we need to talk, Angela gave us important information that we need to act on!"

Somehow, this scared him even more, and he nearly yelled: "Act? What, now? Us? But... but, I can't! Look Sherlock, there must be some mistake, she's not well, we're not well, something very wrong is going on..." "Of course something very wrong is going on! You heard her recording, we send her here to prevent a crisis, and if you hadn't left, I wouldn't have to explain it to you all over again.", I declared, much annoyed now. He suddenly stopped and blushed, muttering: "Oh. That, yes, I hadn't thought of that, I thought you wanted to... uh, anyways..." He looked across the room uneasy.

I tried to get him to focus: "John, seriously, this is big! According to Angela, Moriarty is plotting to drag my name into the mud, destroying me, to the point where everyone will think I'm a fake and I have to stage my own death to keep those I care for out of harms way! I know she'll tell you the details anyways, that's why I even mention it, because originally, you weren't even supposed to know, thinking I really killed myself and mourning me, which would lead to a lot unpleasant developments! Moriarty would also kill himself in the process, and I would go on to rid the world off his network, but there is someone, who will succeed him in forming a society in the shadows: a man who calls himself Samuel Ibson, and who wishes to find immortality. Along the way, he and his followers manage to build a time machine, the one Angela used to get to us. We have to start looking for this person, because once he made a name for himself, he will be powerful enough to control the world and destroy us. In Angela's future he succeeded. We have to prevent that from ever happening! Now, can I count on you to work with me and help me?"

John flinched, as if listening to my monologue had put him in a trance that he now had to snap out of, in order to answer my question. He looked at me unsure, but then replied: "Well, sure, of course. That, uhm, sounds pretty nasty. So you believe what she said? No doubt about it?" I calmly agreed: "Yes. Her story sounds genuine, the things she told me about Moriarty check out, she was even able to tell me some of the dialogues him and I had, and I never told anyone, so, since not even you or Mycroft know of this, she really must have heard it from me, and if I've trusted her with that information, I believe her other statements to ring true as well." I watched John relax a little and give me an embarrassed smile, and so before I would back out again, I added: "And of course she is right about the feelings I have for you."

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

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This made John freeze. He looked to his side, avoiding eye contact. I was a bit unsure, where to head next, so I just said the first thing, that had come to my mind, when I heard the recording: "Although I do find it a bit much to get married. I assume I did it as a joke to annoy Mycroft. And perhaps it helped you save taxes." For some reason he closed his eyes and clenched his fists. Then he looked at me again with a stern face and asked: "And what about raising a child, is that a joke to you too? Being a couple, being a family, and have everyone talk about us, is that all a joke to you? Did she tell you, that's how you did it? Confuse and manipulate me, until I couldn't tell what to think anymore, so I would be with you, just so you can have a laugh? Is that all I am to you, a joke?"

I could not understand, what made him say all this. I blinked a few times, confused, which is an emotional state that irritates me, so I tried to get out of it by quickly explaining: "Well, if people chose to talk about us as a couple, of course that would be a joke, though not a very clever one, I mean do people have no more important things to do? I could understand that they would talk about us having a child, as that would be a scientific miracle. Also, no joke. Angela did tell me, how we became a couple, and what I did to achieve that state, but it did not involve me manipulating you. You were confused enough on your own, so such measures would not have been necessary, and if I had wished to manipulate you, I could have done so any time I wanted. Getting you to do things you do not like does sometimes make me smile, but it wouldn't make me laugh. And anyways, you would always be way more than just a joke to me, I mean really John, if I ever crave to see a human being that is a walking joke, I can just go to Scotland Yard and look at Anderson."

I thought, that would settle the matter. I wasn't prepared for John's reaction however. He gave me a furious look, still clenching his fists. He had looked angry at me before, many times. But this wasn't his usual anger. Not the kind of 'I'm mad at you now, but I'll forgive you and help' kind of anger. Something more severe. More final. I suddenly felt the odd sensation of noticing all the little details about John's person, mostly focusing on his face. And I could read a thought forming in his head, as if it was written on a piece of paper. He had had enough of me. But he articulated it quite differently, growling: "Oh, this is just rich. You know, you really never do take anything serious, do you? Oh, you don't laugh, but it's all a joke to the great Sherlock Holmes anyways, because he is so above everyone else..."

The room was suddenly very bright and too loud. My confusion tried to take over again, and it started to scare me. There was also a voice in my head, which I normally don't listen to. It's such a queer little thing, and it usually has quite insane ideas. I sometimes do try to make out, what it is saying, because it seems to understand the goldfish more on an intuitive level, but it has methods of collaborating with them, that are too tiresome for me to apply every day. However, now that I started to remember every detail about the wallpaper in the hall, had counted 184 horizontal stripes on John's new sweater, and began to notice, how the outside noise of the bus 43c told me, that it was running exactly 3,21 minutes late and nearly empty, I just let the voice have a go and blurted: "But I love you John!"

John didn't even blink. That way, I was able to note the tiny gray speck in his left eye, sitting at the 10 o'clock position. No, not note, I had seen it before, but I had not bothered filing it into my mind palace. Just like I had never filed the swift way he could turn, like he did now, facing away from me, getting ready to walk out the door. He shifted his weight more to his supposed 'bad' leg, the way he does, when he is determined. His lips parted in just the second, as Mrs. Hudson started her dishwasher. It isn't loud, but it lets the electric current stir just a tiny bit. John started moving towards the door, saying in a final voice, not wishing to hear more: "That's it, I'm out!" His foot started to rise from the 12th floor board in his room, counting from left to right from the door inward. It's also the 46th, counting left to right, but starting from the windows.

I only weigh about a hundred and thirty pounds, so my legs are able to support me quite well. There should be no reason for them to give way and let me sink to the floor. But some people tend to collapse from malnourishment, and I haven't fed my transport in 38 hours. And that was coffee with three sugars, drunk from a black mug with a chip missing near the handle, and a stale biscuit. So strange. I could hear two, no, three dogs barking in the neighborhood, one female Basset, one male Labrador and the other a male Shepherd. Also, there was a flock of 87 tiny birds, flying over one of the houses seen in John's second window. The paint needed to be redone on that window. Like the dripping tap in the bathroom. And the mold behind the kitchen sink, although I wanted to take a sample from there some time ago. I must have forgotten...

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