Secrets

Chapter One

“Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought,”

“What was that?” My friend asked me, stopping his violin.

“Just a song I heard that's stuck in my head,” I replied breezily.

“Repeat the lyrics for me,” When I did, he pressed his fingers together in his classic way. I was quite used it; the furrowed brows, the steepled fingers, the long legs spread out in front of the tall figure of Sherlock Holmes. One never knew what he was thinking when he was like this, his face a blank mask. I had stopped trying a long time ago.

“Any cases come up yet?” I asked him.

“No! There are never any when I'm bored!”

“You're bored because no one has been murdered,” I reminded him. He muttered incoherently. I smirked at his childishness. I typed away at my blog for quite some time after, my friend and I sitting in companionable silence.

He broke it by saying, “John, are you seeing someone?”

“Why do you ask?” I said, rather alarmed.

“You have the distracted qualities of a man whose mind is on someone else,” he said rather straightforwardly. I ducked my head back to my laptop to hide the fire burning it's way on my cheeks.

“Nope,” I struggled not to squeak, “Not seeing anyone,”

“Oh,” Sherlock said. My imaginative mind almost made it sound like he was happy about it. I shook off the delusional part of myself, returning to my work. What he said must have wormed it's way into my mind, because I couldn't concentrate thereafter. Slamming my laptop shut, I propped myself up by my elbows on my knees.

“I’m bored,”

“Are you mocking me?” Sherlock mirrored my stance.

“No, I really am. With Rosie spending her time with Molly, and no cases to solve, there's nothing to do,” A slow grin spread across my friend's face.

“I've ruined you, haven't I?” he said rather smugly. I smiled back at him, silently acknowledging that he was right as usual.

“What are we to do?” I said. My friend's expression softened.

“Dinner?”

“Starving,” My smile grew wider. He stood up in one quick, fluid movement and threw on his cloak and scarf while I adjusted my jumper.

“Let's be off,” Sherlock said, bouncing towards the door.

“Wait!” I called after him. He turned around with a look of impatience. I steeled my screaming nerves and walked right up to him. He arched an eyebrow at my closeness.

“Can't go out looking like that,” I told him, turning up his coat collar. Both his eyebrows crept towards his hairline.

“No… I suppose I can't,” he said slowly. The corner of his mouth was quirked up in a tiny smile. I couldn't help but notice that he didn't step back. We both turned towards the door and walked side by side out the door. We took a cab to our favourite cafe; the one that Angelo worked in, the one that we went to when we first met.

Sherlock was silent the entire time, seemingly lost in thought. Angelo greeted us warmly, as he had done the first time.

“Back again?” We had frequented this place, “I'll get a candle,” This time, instead of denying anything, my plan was to let Sherlock correct the waiter.

“Here you boys are, enjoy your date!” He told us happily when he returned. Sherlock remained silent. My heart seemed to skip a beat. Or all of them.

“So, are you seeing anyone?” I asked around a mouthful. Sherlock started rather violently, knocking his fork to the ground.

“Why would you say that?” He asked, assuming a false air of nonchalance. It was my turn to cock an eyebrow incredulously.

“You seem distracted,”

“I'm thinking John,”

“You're not on a case though. What are you thinking about? I swear,” I pointed my fork at him, “if you're planning to put another head in our fridge, I'll kill you for it,” He chuckled softly.

“Just thinking. My mind is somewhere else right now,”

“Well that's obvious. I'm asking where,” My friend's lips parted slightly as he breathed in. I tried to stop staring at his lips.

“I…” he hesitated, “It's nothing John,”

I knew it wasn't, but I remained silent. We finished our meal, the silence only slightly uncomfortable.

“Nice night,” I said as we strolled out, “Shame to waste it, eh?” Sherlock cocked his head at me.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “It would be. Let's walk,” I walked close beside him. I rather hoped I would throw him off. The wine I drank in the restaurant was buzzing pleasantly through my veins. The stars twinkled and the cool night breeze brushed past us. It was just cold enough to make me slightly jealous of my friend's scarf.

Sherlock glanced at me. He stopped suddenly, grabbing my arm and swinging me around to face him. I ended up quite close to the detective; our noses just a few inches apart.

“Here,” he said, his voice low. He took off his scarf slowly and wrapped it around my neck. My heart was stuttering, and it took all that was in me to keep my breathing steady. Sherlock was peering deeply into my eyes. He nodded once to himself and pulled his coat tighter around him.

“How'd you know I was cold?” I asked incredulously.

“You kept glancing at my scarf John, and unconsciously touching your neck. It was obvious you were feeling the breeze. Shall we continue?” I shook myself out of my stupor from being so close to my friend, and nodded. He raised a single eyebrow at me. I furrowed mine in return. Sighing, Sherlock overexaggerated stepping around me. I realised he had been waiting for me to move.

“Come on then,” he said. Cursing myself, I followed. We passed through a park, the only sounds our footsteps and the distant rumble of the city. I breathed in the sweet smell of the springtime air. Sherlock's hand brushed mine and I started.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. Sherlock had stopped again, and I reluctantly faced him.

“Why?” His piercing multi-hued eyes found mine in the semi-darkness.

“Because… I accidentally touched you?” I said. Sherlock took a step closer to me.

“And why does that warrant an apology?” Another step. His coat brushed my leg. I forced myself to retain eye contact.

“It's just what people do, Sherlock,” I said, pleased at how steady my voice was.

“What normal acquaintances do, maybe,” His hand brushed mine again, his voice dropping to a murmur, “But we're not normal acquaintances, are we?”

“I don't know what you mean,” I lied. Sherlock searched my eyes again, leaning even closer. I couldn't stop myself from glancing at his Cupid-bow lips.

“I'm not sure if you're aware, but friends don't really get this close to each other,” I told him.

“No,” he said slowly, “They don't,” With a swish of his long coat he strode down the path, “Are you coming?” He said in annoyance.

“Yeah, of course I am,” I muttered. My head was swimming as I tried to organize my thoughts. Sherlock had no sense of personal space, but this was pushing it even for him. I steadied my breathing, although it was difficult with my racing heart. Our flat was about a mile from where we were. I sighed. It would be a long walk.