A thorn by any other name would hurt just as deep, or whatever the saying is.
~~~
Greg Lestrade would say Sherlock Holmes was always the smartest in the room. Whether at 221B or Scotland Yard, no ordinary person ever came close to compete with his...
The cab driver followed the usual route towards your flat. Each suburb was passed as your mind drifted further out of focus, trying to decipher a way to resolve this small mess that was made.
Jim's plan was disrupted. Your alias was getting closer to being uncovered if you weren't more careful. You feared one more mistake or attempt at throwing Sherlock off your trail could either succeed or blow up in your face.
Eventually, you take a second to zone in, trying to figure out where you were. The cab turned the corner, and a familiar street was shown. 200 Baker Street was the first building you caught sight of; then, it was 211 Baker Street.
"Oh, Y/n," John calls you back after looking into a lead for a side case, which you decided to tag along with, per John's invitation. "I know Sherlock will probably say otherwise, but these cases can get a bit... much, so if you ever need to chat about anything, then feel free to come over," he pats your shoulder, "Mrs Hudson and I are always around for a cuppa and chat... Sherlock, not so much, but you know how he is,"
"Uhm, could you actually just pull up here instead?" You suddenly lean forward, letting the driver know all of the sudden. He looks up and nods, slowing down and finding a spot just a building or two past 221. "Thanks," handing him a fair bit of cash, your coat was pulled closer to your body before exiting, "keep the change," you say absently.
If at any point you could turn back. You weren't obligated to go in. You repeat these words as your feet lead you to the door. "You don't have to," you whisper, raising a fist before turning around, "no, no," you go down the steps before stopping, "I mean, a free cup of tea isn't a bad idea-" you reason, walking up the stairs again.
This process seems to continue for quite some time before you shake your head at the ridiculous loop you were stuck in. Just as you lower your fist from the door, it swings open to reveal Sherlock. "You've been here for 5 minutes," he looks you up and down, moving out the way, "so will you come in or not?"
"Well, since you so graciously pointed out my indecisiveness, I guess I must," you walk into the building and shed your coat. "Is John here?"
"He's with his girlfriend, the teacher," he hums, walking up the stairs.
"She's a librarian," you correct, knowing the teacher and he broke up last month. "Do you just have selective hearing?"
"Is it really so important that I remember who John is dating?" he counters, watching you hesitantly follow suit, "but he'll be back soon," he assures, finding his focus drawn back to his growing wall of Thorn evidence. "So, what exactly did you need from John?"
"Well..." how would you have talked to him anyway? Oh, yeah, I'm a little sad because my psychopathic criminal friend is mad. I ruined his plans to mess with your detective best friend because I was scared everyone would find out I'm secretly a serial killer! Mind passing me the sugar? Brilliant thinking, Y/n.
"Well?" Sherlock waits patiently, sitting on the coffee table, staring at the newest staged murder used to throw him off.
"Well, I fought with a friend," you start. "He's very protective over me and doesn't like the idea of me dating... well, anyone," slumping down in Sherlock's chair, and his sigh of defeat slightly uplifted you.
"And why do you let him dictate that?" Sherlock knew in such conversations, as per John's advice, that he needed to brew tea and grab some biscuits.
"I don't exactly have a choice... he's terrifying, and most guys tend to avoid me because of him," it was true; you hadn't dated in years, and you hadn't even come close to it with Jim hovering like the world's worst big brother.
"Doesn't sound like a friend, though. What do I know?" Sherlock shrugs, putting down some fresh tea cups. "Does it... upset you?"
"Of course, it does," curling up with a frown forming, you miss the curious look on Sherlock's face as he examines the change in your facial features. He wasn't exactly one to focus on the importance of beauty, but he wasn't one to deny it. You were glowing under the soft afternoon light that flooded the room, but the usual calm and often irritating smirk on your face was nowhere to be seen.
"So why stay friends?" He places the tray beside you and pours some for you, then himself. "This is obviously something that upsets you, so why put up with it? You're a brilliant person, Y/n, and I assume someone who doesn't tolerate unfair behaviour, so why do you put up with it?"
He wasn't wrong, but this wasn't something to end a friendship over. Jim was still important, but you didn't want to live alone or in constant stress, balancing your double life. This had turned from seeking advice to fix the mistake caused by your panicked demands to one of personal reflection. "I don't want to be alone,"
"But are you alone?" Sherlock tilts his head, sipping gently at his tea while you stare at your own, contemplating. "Ultimately, you have Lestrade, who I assume this isn't about, then you have John, Mrs Hudson... me," he shrugs. "Can't say I'm the best conversationalist, but I can be decent company, I've been told,"
"At times, Mr Holmes," you laugh, finally giving him that smile he used to despise. In all honestly, your presence over the past few months has been tolerable, possibly even enjoyable. Your inputs made sense and weren't ridiculous assumptions like the others made. "I suppose you're right,"
"So why do you feel alone?" he then asks.
"I guess I just never have anything to look forward to? I mean, there are cases with you guys, and sometimes work, but overall... I don't do anything fun," you didn't have friends to go to a pub with, dance the night away at a club, go shopping with, wander the London night or play boardgames with. As simple as it sounds, you felt alone because your life wasn't like anything you wished it was.
"What's fun to you? I assume this is fuelled by social media or things you had idolised as a child?" Sherlock seemed spot on, and it scared you slightly. Was he just really good at comforting, or was he secretly a trained therapist?
"I don't know... going to pubs? Walking around London and exploring?" You then give it more thought, "Shopping is usually fun, or puzzles?"
"Puzzles?" He laughs.
"Don't laugh!" You huff, holding back your embarrassment, "Simple things can be nice, a glass of wine and painting to board games, maybe even a movie night and making a cosy pillow fort," you reason, "what about you then? Hm?"
"Me?" He leans back and gives it some thought, "I like to annoy my brother Mycroft by going around London and spelling out messages." This took you by surprise. Sherlock had a brother? He saw this look and elaborated. "My brother works in the government and tends to track me,"
"Oh," that made a lot more sense, but you were still shocked. "Is that all? What else?"
"I do like Star gazing, and before you bring up my comment about the solar system, I never said I didn't appreciate them," he holds a finger up before you could reply in a snarky manner.
This side of Sherlock was a very odd sight to you; however, you weren't exactly against it. He seemed more relaxed, less emotionless and more inclined to keep up the conversation without insult. It seemed that time passed in a second, the hands in the clock spinning until John's footsteps were heard.
~~~
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I realised I posted the previous two chapters with an A/N saying happy New Years Eve but anyways-
