The Thinker Challenge

Chapter 14: Introvert Bliss

John walks into Sherlock’s flat just as Sio is slipping her coat on.

“Why do you always do that?” Sherlock says to Sio.

“What?”

“Tense up when John walks into the room.”

She considers for a moment. Then reaching for her keys she says, “Because John has seen me cry.”

Sherlock just glances over at John, who shrugs slightly. “Don’t forget your sketch,” he says nodding over to the table.

She walks over, rolls up a piece of paper and puts it in her handbag. “Saturday, then?” She says casually.

“John and I are seeing a film on Saturday. A comedy,” Sherlock says with a slight smirk.

John frowns in confusion, but Sherlock silences him with a look.

“Friday is Quiz night with the lab down at the pub. Think we have a real shot at the trophy this year,” she answers. “Tomorrow?”

“Midnight skating at Planet Ice. I was inspired by the Olympics coverage,” Sherlock deadpans.

“Guess it’ll have to be tonight then,” Sio sighs.

“I’ll come to yours around 9?” Sherlock asks.

“Anytime after 7 is fine,” she says with a wink as she heads out the door.

After she has left, John turns to Sherlock and says, “Do you do that every time, or was it strictly for my benefit?”

“What?”

“That dance you do about meeting up – Mrs. Hudson says she’s been here or you’ve been gone every night this week.”

“Since when have I ever done anything for your benefit, John?”

“It is totally normal to want to see each other every night. You can just agree.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

“Whatever works, I suppose,” John shrugs and walks over to the kitchen. “Do you have any coffee? I’m exhausted. Baby was up half the night with a cough. Think I may be coming down with it now.” He feels is throat, frowning and proceeds to make himself a cup of instant coffee, frustrated by the lack of fresh milk.

Paying no attention to John’s comments, Sherlock says almost gleefully “Sio was here for twelve hours yesterday and we spoke all of five words to each other.”

John nearly spits a bit of coffee, “Not sure I’m ready for this level of sharing.”

“Don’t be vulgar, John. We weren’t in bed,” Sherlock grabs an apple and takes a bite before continuing, “We were just here, coexisting. Sort of like when you lived here.”

“Except I was often talking – you just weren’t listening,” John says.

Sherlock thinks about this a moment – could she have been talking? He shakes it off, responding with, “either way, it felt blissfully quiet.”

John takes another sip of coffee, wincing at its bitterness. “So what’s the point, then? If you don’t interact,” John says, honestly confused.

“You’re overthinking it,” Sherlock responds.

“Just curious,” John shrugs.

“Does there have to be a point other than I prefer it?” Sherlock snips, annoyed at being pushed into thinking about such things.

“Ah, so you prefer it,” John retorts with a knowing smile.

“What? What’s that look for?”

“You prefer being with Sio to being alone. That’s a big step for you.”

“I didn’t say…”

“You did.”

“Only because you forced me into it. Why do you people always need to talk about everything.”

“You brought it up.”

Sherlock is about to object, but realizes John is right. He flops down into his chair and finishes the apple rather aggressively in silence.

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Author’s note: I wasn’t really sure where to put this next paragraph, so I am throwing it in here rather than have it as a stand-alone. I might try to work it into one of the upcoming “Session” chapters, but I’m not sure how that will go exactly…

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For the ten to fifteen minutes after sex, they seem like a nearly normal couple; their shared neuroses subsumed by the post-orgasm euphoria. They maintain physical contact – sometimes even a stray kiss, a lingering cuddle. They smile, occasionally giggle and nearly always talk. In these moments, no one would recognize them; they would be strangers to themselves and certainly the subject of ridicule. There is both comfort and horror in the memories of these times, but mostly it works because it is shared. They emerge from this state slowly and consistently; they physically separate, perhaps engage in a cigarette cliché, followed by a mental withdrawal. It happens automatically and in near complete synchrony, neither offended, neither longing. There is beauty in this mutual advance and retreat into a world that terrifies them both.

Vulnerability is a game changer.

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