Off Limits - S.H.

The Blind Banker - Part 9

At the doctor's surgery, a receptionist looked up apologetically at the first person in the queue of patients. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but we haven't got anything now til next Thursday."

Sarah Sawyer, who had been walking through the waiting room, came over to the front desk, speaking lowly to the receptionist. "Um, what's going on?"

"That new doctor you hired - he hasn't buzzed the intercom for ages." The woman quietly replied, irritation laced in her voice.

"Let me go and have a word." Sarah slid past the queue of people towards John's consulting room, knocking on the door. "John?" She called. After no reply, she knocked again, calling his name softly. "John?" When there was still no reply, Sarah opened the door. Peering inside, she saw John sitting behind his desk, fast asleep as he snored gently, his head propped up on one fist.

•••

Much later, John comes out of his consulting room, walking over to Sarah as he puts his coat on. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Um, looks like I'm done. I thought I had some more to see."

"Oh, I did one or two of yours." Sarah looked up at him.

"One or two?"

"Well, maybe five or six."

"I'm sorry, that's not very professional."

"No, no, not really." Sarah sighed.

"I had, um, a bit of a late one."

"Oh, right."

"Anyway, see you." John turned to walk away, stopping when Sarah spoke up.

"So, um, what were you doing to keep you up so late?"

He turned back to face her. "Uh, I was, er, attending a sort of book event."

"Oh, she likes books, does she, your... your girlfriend?" She looked down, pretending to be nonchalant.

"Mmm? No, it wasn't a date."

"Good," Sarah said, almost too quickly. Fumbling to cover. "I mean, um..."

"And I don't have one tonight." They exchanged smiles, John looking down in almost disbelief.

•••

Back at the flat, Sherlock is still working on the crates, although he is finding it hard to remain focused. All he could think about was Y/N. He never understood the appeal of kissing, dating, or anything along those lines, but now that he knew what it felt like, all he could do was count down the hours until she came home and he would be able to feel her soft lips against his again.

Shaking off those thoughts, Sherlock switches tactics. "A book that everybody would own." Plucking a few books from his own collection, he put them on top of the nearest crate, opening the top one, which happened to be a dictionary, he turned to the correct page. "Fifteen. Entry one."

'Add'. Sherlock sighed, moving on to the next book. 'Nostrils'. Putting that aside, he flicked through the last book of the pile, a Bible. 'I'. Slamming the book shut, he propped his elbows on the crate and ruffled up his hair. "I need to get some air. We're going out tonight," he said to John, who had entered the living room, having changed into clean clothes.

"Actually, I've, er, got a date." John smiled smugly.

"What?" Sherlock eyed him.

"It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun?"

"That's what I was suggesting."

"No, it wasn't... at least I hope not."

"Where are you taking her?" Sherlock asked sulkily as he rounded the crates.