I Am Offering This Scarf

Chapter 3- Trust?

I stare down at the dark-colored seat and begin to pick at its frayed and worn edges. I feel Sherlock's eyes on me but refuse to look up. I suddenly become aware of the fact that my face is wet.

He taps my hand with a finger, getting my attention.

I raise my head slowly, a glare painted on my face.

He looks wounded. Enough that the angered look immediately slides off my face. "What is it Sherlock?"

He raises his arm and grabs the edge of his sleeve with his hand. He holds it in front of my face, waiting for me to pull away.

I don't.

He brushes the sleeve over my cheek and my resolve completely melts. All the things that were keeping me away this morning leave me. I lean my face into his hand while he smooths away the tears that were there. "Why must you cry John? Is this my fault?"

I close my eyes and lean further into his hand. Unbuckling my seatbelt, I scoot myself over to his side and lean my head into his chest. I don't cry then. No, I merely listen to his breathing, his heartbeat. His rough coat scratches against my cheek but I don't care.

He puts an arm around me with a sigh. "John, I do think you need to make up your mind." He says quietly. His thumb kneads the place in between my shoulders.

Don't get me wrong, it feels great, but I find it hard to accept. If that makes any sense. We're supposed to be friends. Partners. Colleagues. I open my eyes and look up at him. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I just...don't know. It's all still very confusing." I sigh, "Can I just try? I mean, if it doesn't work out we can just go back to...whatever we were before."

In way of answer he touches his lips to the place where my nose meets my forehead. His lips. On me. Maybe I need to get used to it? Should I? No...yes? Damn, why can't I make up my mind about him?
Because he fogs it up every time he's around, my conscience replies.

I close my eyes again and just enjoy it this time. I don't know if there should be another. Should I humor him? Am I doing this for him or for myself? Something tells me it's the latter.

The cabbie clears his throat awkwardly. "Sir, we're here."

Sherlock pulls away slowly and glares at the driver. "I can tell when a car has stopped, sir." He sounds poisonous, menacing.

I blink rapidly and scoot away from him, waiting for him to open the door. He looks back at me and his eyes soften. "Sorry, love." He opens the door and slides out, holding it open for me.

I step out and stare in admiration his tall form as he pays the cab driver. Did he call me love? So quick to adjust, Sherlock. Another thing I could get used to.

He steps away from the curb as the cab pulls away. He smiles at me. "Ready?" He holds out his hand.

My god.

Am I supposed to take it?

He raises an eyebrow telling me, yes, I'm supposed to take it.

I do.

We start to walk towards the building.

My insides squirm. 'You're holding Sherlock's hand!' My conscience screams. My stomach does a flip. I guess I need to face the signs. I look up at him and find that he's beaming. How long has he been waiting for me to accept this? Oh, God. What have I put him through? My face flushes, what is Lestrade going to think? Donovan? Molly? Why does he have to be the one that's leading me into it? Shouldn't it be the other way around? I thought he was 'emotionally dysfunctional'...

We reach the door and I try to let go so I can open the door. He doesn't allow it. No, instead he grasps harder and opens the door himself. We walk into the office hand in hand. We ride the elevator up to Greg's, all the while Sherlock is stroking his thumb over the back of my hand.

My insides heat up. Why is just his thumb extremely satisfying. Or maybe it's not enough?

I throw that perverse thought out of my head.

We arrive at his office door and Sherlock knocks. He actually does, he doesn't just burst in. A first for him.

Lestrade looks up from his desk and waves us in. He's on the phone with someone so we sit ourselves in the seats on the other side of his desk. The arms of the chairs touch, bringing me very close to him.

Sherlock crosses his legs and stops swirling his thumb over the back of my hand.

I look up at him, questioningly. My eyebrows knit together with confusion.

He slowly lifts my hand up and touches his lips to them. A slight smile comes to his face when he sees me flush bright red.

Lestrade, having watched the whole exchange, starts sputtering immediately. "Bloody h- I'm sorry Mr. Frince, I've got to go." He slowly sets the phone down. For a second he just stares, and then he bursts into laughter. "Oh my god, you guys almost had me." He wipes a tear from under his eye. "For a second I thought you guys were actually together! Can you imagine...?" His laughter dies off as he sees both of our looks.

'We're not joking...' My conscience whispers to Lestrade. It's doing a lot of talking for me today.

His eyes widen as they flick from my face to Sherlock's, to my hand that Sherlock's lips only just left. He flings himself out of his chair and bolts to the office door. "Donovan! Anderson! Get the hell in here now!"

They come running down one of the corridors that lead to Greg's office. "What?" They say in unison.

Lestrade opens the door for them to come in. He points a finger at us. "The bloody fucking hell do you make of that?!"

They glance at us. My face still flushed, Sherlock now clasping my hand with his again. The corner of his lips lift the smallest bit as he continues to pay no attention to them.

Donovan explodes, "Christ, no! Now there'll be two of them!"

Anderson's eyes just widen. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer. "Perfect...I think I need some aspirin." He leaves the office with Donovan, her screaming expletives. I bury my face into Sherlock's coat, embarrassed.

Lestrade plops himself into his chair and runs a hand though his hair. "Jesus Christ, I knew this would happen, just not this soon." I hear a smile creep into his voice. "This is just perfect. Headlines, news stories. I need to get a picture before the paparazzi do!"

My cheeks go dark and I whine. "Sherlock please don't let him."

Sherlock leans away and look me in the eyes before telling Lestrade to not. His chest vibrates under my face as he talks, incredibly comforting actually. "Lestrade you're making John uncomfortable. You see, he's been confused the past couple of days. Because of Mary and I. Today he's finally had enough trust in me. Can you please not ruin that?"

I remove my face from his coat and continue to look down at my jeans. Or Sherlock's jeans I guess. Ms. Hudson did say they are his. I pick at the seams with my free hand. I guess Sherlock had already figured out my cramped situation. He squeezes my hand.

"Anyway Lestrade, we came here in hopes of a case. We're bored, or at least I am."

I hear Greg ruffling through papers looking for something. I keep my head down. He seems to come up fruitless. "I'm sorry guys, but it seems that the crime in London has gone down the past month." He says the last part sarcastically.

Sherlock stands and pulls me to my feet. "Thanks Grey, I guys we'll have to find something ourselves."

I look up at Greg, "Sorry." I'm apologizing for the name confusion, of course. Sometimes I think Sherlock does it on purpose. He must 'delete' it from the palace every time he's told.

He smiles warmly and waves it off. "Awe well." He opens the door for us and winks as I walk out the door behind Sherlock.

He pulls me through the huge building and down to the curb again.

He never lets go of my hand.