*art privately commissioned from Ms. Lea* 6:37 pm: 221B Baker Street, Westminster London - Sher

*art privately commissioned from Ms. Lea* 6:37 pm: 221B Baker Street, Westminster London - Sherlock and John -  The earth still revolved around the sun, the world still spun in a counter clockwise manner and there were still twenty four hours in the day. The London weather was still as abysmal as it had been a year ago. The city was overcast once again. In the outside world, time continued its slow steady pace, with no regard for the two individuals who resided in 221B Baker Street. Once upon a time, Sherlock Holmes could not be bothered with such trivial things, but coming back from the dead changed one’s perspective quite a bit. Inasmuch as things were the same, things were also quite different. The maelstrom around the flat wasn’t so foreign to the both of them. There were case files, mixed with experiment notes and medical texts. Yet in the familiar environment sat two very different people. John Watson had has laptop propped open on the table. His fingertips hung above the keys. They twitched as if on the verge of typing something but in the end they just hovered there waiting for something John knew would never come. The page was opened on his blog, the one he used to write about his adventures with Sherlock. It had been months since he’d been on the thing. John stared blankly at the screen. The curser blinked mockingly at him, marking each passing second that passed by. Somehow, he thought and hoped that things would fall back into place, yet here was evidence at how wrong he was. Sherlock’s return had brought him into a roller coaster of emotions. First there was anger, then there was happiness but then there were days when confusion and sadness emerged as victor against the other emotions. Today was one of those days. He clenched his fist absent-mindedly, keeping light tremors at bay. The old gun wound on his shoulder throbbed dully, reacting to the cool weather.  His third cup of coffee was just within reach, yet he paid it no mind. The gray wisps evaporated in the cool air, with no semblance of order in its demeanor. It was similar to how John felt: chaotic. John Watson didn’t have a shift today, yet he still dressed as if he would be stepping out. If someone who knew John looked at him this very moment, they would immediately see the tenseness. It was as if the doctor was ready to bolt at the door at a moment’s notice. Once, John Watson had tried to run away by trying to end his life. Afterwards, he had taken it upon himself to take the better road. He realized that running away was only postponing the inevitable. It took all his self control to sit here and try and sift through his emotions. A complete contrast to John’s tense guise was the man sitting right across him. Sherlock Holmes was sitting quite comfortably on the chair leaning over some specimens under his microscope. The freshly cut curls that cascaded down his face was a bit damp from his recent bath. A bathrobe was tied loosely around his person. Sherlock absently ran his slender fingertips along his microscope, the cool metal bringing a slight tingling sensation. When the good doctor wasn’t looking or giving fleeting furtive glances from across the table, Sherlock gazed at John with a scrutiny and attentiveness he gave his own experiments. But John wasn’t just an experiment, John was John. He regarded John quite differently from the detached way he handled his experiments. Sherlock saw the sadness that crossed the older man’s features. The same sadness that was mirrored on his own features. Sherlock noticed John clenching his fist and on occasion, massaging his left shoulder. The bags under John’s downcast eyes didn’t escape Sherlock’s notice as well. It didn’t take a consulting detective to understand what those things meant, nor did it take a consulting detective to realize that all of it had been his doing. Yet, things were looking better. There was no argument today, John didn’t leave the flat all day either to go for a walk to “clear his mind”. Such walks were a normal occurrence for John and more often than not, Sherlock simply sat in his chair and waited for John to come back. John had waited for Sherlock for months, Sherlock was willing to give John the same courtesy. Now though, they sat there in something akin to companionable silence, listening to familiar sounds: the London traffic, the ticking of the clock, the occasional twist of a knob on the microscope, the uncertain typing on laptop keys and their regular breathing. His return hadn’t been as easy as he would have hoped, but anything was better than the loneliness of being alone. In many ways, John Watson had opened Sherlock’s eyes to things that truly mattered. He was still learning the ways of his recently discovered heart. On some days, like today, he felt overwhelmed by emotions and sentiments. Such things never came easy for Sherlock, for years he pushed them away, thinking they made him less of a person. Years ago, it was all about being efficient, things were simply and easily calculated yet the entrance of John Watson into his life had thrown all this calculations into disarray. Yet, it was John that showed him that emotions weren’t a weakness at all but a strength. It was also John that showed him he had a heart. It wasn’t rotten or shriveled from misuse as he’d come to expect, but thriving and throbbing for one very specific person. John suddenly got up from his chair, and Sherlock snapped out from his contemplation in surprise. He held his breath as he watched John’s progression. Instead of reaching for his coat and the doorknob however, John averted his course and headed towards the kitchen. John paused and turned back his head slightly towards Sherlock. Sherlock hadn’t even noticed that he held the edge of the table, as if bracing himself to sprint after John.  He relaxed a bit as the doctor regarded him. “Want some tea?” it was the first word that John said to him today. “Sure.” Sherlock said, his voice feeling a bit detached. John turned around and continued his progress towards the kitchen. “John?” John halted and looked back towards Sherlock again. “Yeah?” There was a pause before John added “Sherlock?” “Thank you.” Sherlock knew that wasn’t just for the tea, and John understood. John nodded and turned back towards the kitchen, yet Sherlock noticed a ghost of a smile fall unto the doctor’s lips. Sherlock Holmes leaned back on his chair as he watched the retreating figure of John Watson. Things were different, but some things would always remain the same. There were cases and there were experiments but most of all there was Sherlock and John in 221B Baker Street. And to both these men, that was what mattered the most. -- source link

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