Let The Shadows Win

A Warm Watson Welcome

    Sherlock didn't want to think that there was anything special about their relationship, yet he knew enough of the other tenants in this building to know that he was the only one who so frequently paid Mrs. Hudson visits. Maybe it was because he was a released convict, or maybe it was because she felt bad for him. Yet from the role she was beginning to play in his life, it was becoming much clearer that Mrs. Hudson had very unofficially adopted Sherlock as her son. A lonely old woman and a troubled orphan certainly made a good pair, and it would seem through their encounters that their knowledge of the world paired together quite nicely, and that their troubles seemed to be very much related if not exactly in the same context. Mrs. Hudson had gone through a lot in her days, her hands weren't clean and neither was her conscience, quite like Sherlock in a way. Yet they were both good people, that was for sure, and even now as he sat on one of the stools and listened to the tea kettle scream he knew that he couldn't have picked a better woman to befriend. She'd take care of him through anything, and even better she was almost encouraging the little voice in the back of his head, telling him repeatedly to ignore it and to go with his heart instead. Sherlock was sure that she'd help him through anything, an affair, a mental breakdown, even a murder!
"Do you need any tips then? For your first date in thirteen years?" Mrs. Hudson wondered as she poured the boiling tea into very old looking tea cups. Sherlock sighed heavily, checking his watch for any indication that it was time to leave. Yet now with his journey cut from a half hour to merely five minutes, he was sure he had some time to kill.
"It's not a date." He said flatly.
"Maybe not in your mind. Yet John, what does he think this all is about?" Mrs. Hudson asked with a little chuckle. Sherlock took the tea from her thankfully, dumping the appropriate amount of sugar in and stirring it around quietly. He thought again of John's little message when they finished their phone conversation, and those three words were enough to convince him that in John's mind this meeting was much more than merely a first impression. This was undoubtedly an excuse just to get Sherlock over, and maybe even a ploy to get him to stay longer afterwards.
"The same thing I do. He told me over the phone that it was merely a chance to better myself in his wife's eyes. He had come to visit me before and I think he had made her upset with him." Sherlock admitted with a little shrug.
"That poor man, he's probably feeling so guilty." Mrs. Hudson decided with a laugh. Sherlock nodded, tipping his tea even though it was still hot and checking his watch again. As Mrs. Hudson continued to doubt him, as she continued to laugh as if she knew he had no idea what he was talking about, he was beginning to worry that there really was a second meaning to this whole night. Had John made up that tale just to get him to come to his house, was he really not going to introduce Sherlock to his family, would they be alone? Well of course even if they were alone this all wouldn't be nearly as bad as their past dinner experience. That had been another invitation with a double meaning, yet the intention had been murder. So long as John wasn't intending to kill him then this dinner date would go fine, wife or no wife. Because as much as Sherlock would rather avoid John's romantic advances he knew full well that there was a much larger part of him that was hoping for them.
"He told me he loved me, the other day on the phone." Sherlock admitted out of the blue, almost as if he felt some sort of obligation to tell Mrs. Hudson that. As if she had any reason to know. She nodded slowly, thinking for a moment before setting down her tea cup and standing rather formidably on the other side of the counter.
"And what did you say?" she wondered.
"Nothing, I didn't say anything. I had almost suspected it was a slip of the tongue, after being on the phone so much with his wife." Sherlock lied quickly, as if he now assumed it was his task to cover up for John's little blunders. Of course John didn't slip up, he was basically a telemarketer at the window store, surely he didn't accidently tell his costumers that he loved them. No, John's affection was real. It was just a matter of accepting it that was the issue.
"Oh I'm not sure of that." Mrs. Hudson muttered, yet she could already tell that Sherlock was having some hesitations. As eager as she was for him to get back with the man he loved she was beginning to realize that he was nervous about all of this, that he had little to no experience and that he would undoubtedly do something he might regret. Maybe she knew that he wanted to love John, yet then again understood the moral weight that was now dragging upon his shoulders.
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, Sherlock. Even if you do love him and you're too shy to admit it, if you don't want to be unfaithful then there's no reason for you to be so. Do what you know is right, and work from there." Mrs. Hudson suggested finally. Sherlock sighed heavily; finally pushing away his tea for it was now proving to stress him out more than to calm him down. The minutes were ticking away surprisingly fast, and he rather suspected that they should've left by now.
"Thank you Mrs. Hudson, for at least understanding my side of the story." Sherlock muttered, to which Mrs. Hudson smiled in her own appreciative way. "Should we get going?" he suggested finally, to which Mrs. Hudson checked the time and nodded.
"Yes I suppose we should. Look at me, getting lost in conversation. I would say that's unusual..."
"But it's really not." Sherlock finished, grabbing the flowers and heading out the door before she even had time to follow. The card ride was silent, which was quite unusual for the two of them. However Sherlock was beginning to get nervous, not only because of what lay ahead but also of the reckless driving that Mrs. Hudson seemed perfectly comfortable with attempting the whole trip. Sherlock knew they had left a little bit too late, however just because a five minute drive had to be completed in three minutes didn't mean you had to drive in the bus lane, blow stop signs, and take turns at sixty miles an hour. Sherlock clutched the seat fearfully, undoubtedly ruining both his clean shirt and his beautiful hair as he sweated in horror. In fact the driving had completely taken his mind off of the fearful place he was going, and so for that moment he might actually have been calm, at least psychologically. It was only when they pulled up at the appropriate address, right on the minute, that Sherlock began to wish they could go back and do a loop around the city in the same haphazard manner.
"Well this is where I leave you." Mrs. Hudson said with a grin.
"I wish you could come with me." Sherlock grumbled.
"Now that would be a mood dampener. Come on then, chin up, fix that hair." Mrs. Hudson insisted, unlocking the car doors quite a lot of times so as to give the message that she wanted Sherlock out. He obeyed, stumbling out onto the pavement and rearranging his bangs in the reflection of the windows. It really was a nice car; however it had too much power for that woman to be trusted with. Sherlock was sure she sped this thing down the highway as she pleased, with really no hesitations whatsoever. She really was a crazy lady.
"Have fun Sherlock! And don't call for me to pick you up, make John do that." she suggested with a great grin.
"Oh Mrs. Hudson, come on that wouldn't be..." yet before he could even manage to finish his sentence the window was closed and she shot off down the road, the engine roaring enough to announce his presence to the entire neighborhood. Sherlock blushed a bit shamefully, however he understood that it was time to get over Mrs. Hudson's constant bad influence and start towards the door with his original intentions. He was going to be friendly, likable, and respectable. He needed to give off such an energy so as to confuse his hosts as to why anyone would ever lock up such a perfect gentleman. Sherlock marched towards the door, taking a deep breath before wrapping on the door, nervously arranging the flowers in his arms to make them look more noticeable and more beautiful. He wanted to be a good impression, and this was what was going to make or break him. This was the moment when he determines his place in the Watson family, if he couldn't be part of it for real. For just a moment he was caught in suspense, until finally the door opened to announce John's appearance at the door. Of course it was John that would greet him, for John would be the only one brave enough to allow him first into the house. Sherlock really needed to get used to seeing that man, for even still as he gazed upon the beauty he had missed for so long it was hard to catch his breath. It seemed as though every day John got even more beautiful, and as there were a lot of days in thirteen years John had exponentially grown more attractive. Still as attractive today to catch Sherlock off guard once more. Maybe it just now, maybe it was the circumstances and the mutual understanding of John's change of heart, or rather announcement.
"Sherlock, it's good to see you." John said a bit formally, the manner and tone of such a sentence betraying the fact that there were others in the house over hearing.
"Yes, good to see you as well." Sherlock agreed.
"Flowers?" John said with a little laugh.
"Housewarming present. I thought they were beautiful, and that your wife might appreciate them." Sherlock admitted with an innocent little smile. Sherlock knew that the very idea of gifts was a cheesy way to get people to like him, especially when the biases he had to face were overwhelmingly more powerful than whatever flattery he might attempt.
"That's very thoughtful of you Sherlock." John said with an appreciative grin. "Come in, please." John stepped aside, allowing Sherlock to walk into the house for the first time. It was a quaint little thing, inside and out, with all of the characteristics of suburbia. Beginning of course with the fact that it was designed the very same way as its neighbors, the house sported new white paint and tan siding, a sensibly shingled roof and of course a lawn that was perfectly and evenly trimmed. The flower beds were landscaped, the shutters were painted on the outside, and the welcome mat was of course extremely welcoming. Everything about it gave Sherlock chills, everything about it reminded him of what he should have in this stage in his life. He should have such a house; he should have such a family. He shouldn't have an apartment with an empty fridge, nor should he have a criminal record! He had a setback, a massive one, which was virtually unmanageable at this point. It made adapting impossible, and it made Sherlock look so savage and prehistoric when faced with what ultimately should be his life at this point. On the inside of the house it was decorated tastefully, with white walls sporting all sorts of pictures professionally taken of the happy family. There were fake flowers assorted in bowls of colorful rocks, coasters set out on every wooden surface, and carpeting stretching up the stairs towards the upper level. There were books on a shelf in the study, pans hanging on wracks in the kitchen, and toys arranged neatly in large wicker baskets near the TV. All of this...and it was John's. Sherlock turned towards the man, suddenly with the realization that he knew nothing of him anymore. It was organized, it smelled good, it was the exact house you saw on all TV shows of middle aged, middle class families. The John he knew back then, the seventeen year old kid with a destroyed room, eating Doritos on his bed and throwing his laundry on the floor...where had he gone?
"It's a very nice house." Sherlock managed. John nodded, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly as he looked towards the living room, just a bit out of Sherlock's range of vision. He could tell the rest of the family was not as keen to approach him, Mary with good reason, and Rosie undoubtedly without knowing why she couldn't greet the guest at the door.
"Thank you, we um, well we bought it about six years ago." John said proudly.
"Good for you." Sherlock managed, knowing full well that while John was investing in real estate he was sitting and rotting alone in a pit. "Very good." He said again.
"I can take your flowers, if you want. I know where Mary keeps the vases." John offered, stepping closer as if having had looked for an excuse to step where his wife couldn't see him. Sherlock took a stumbling step back, for he really didn't want to be too close to John when the family was waiting right at the corner of their eyes, in full ear shot of what was going down.
"Yes alright." Sherlock agreed, looking down once more on John, whose domestic and docile expression had not changed whatsoever. Was Sherlock just imagining his eagerness, and mistaking a common step for something of a more romantic approach? Yet just as he handed over the flowers he felt John's fingers touch against his, intentionally of course, as they lingered, and together their eyes met and their lips parted to take a breath that was surely needed. Together their fingers touched and they wished, if only for a moment, that they were together yet anywhere but here. And the flowers were passed, and Sherlock followed John into the kitchen with his heart still beating without his permission. Mary got to her feet as soon as she realized she had to great Sherlock, and of course she was just as beautiful than she was in the grocery store, if not more. Sherlock remembered her from high school, and yet with her careful obliviousness it seemed as though she did not remember him. Even back then she was beautiful, yet as well as John she seemed to have grown even more attractive with age. What a perfect wife, for such a perfect house. Oh if only all of these domestic implications knew just what they were congregating around, if only the neighborhood watch knew of John's darker days, in which he took Sherlock in his arms, covered head to toe in someone else's blood. The crazier days, when he saw that knife against his throat and smiled. Did this house not know what sort of monster it was harboring under its shingled roof?
"Mary, so good to meet you properly." Sherlock said with a polite smile, extending his hand to shake while John went to go fill up a vase with water. Mary smiled, throwing her blonde hair over her shoulder and withdrawing her hand from Sherlock's as soon as politely possible.
"Nice to formally meet you as well, Mr. Holmes. I've heard so much about you that I feel as though we've known each other for all this time." Mary admitted with a polite little laugh, making Sherlock nod almost guiltily.
"Well we were, if I dare say, aware of each other back in school." Sherlock admitted with a grin. Mary just laughed, shrugging her shoulders as if she couldn't claim that she had.
"I hadn't remembered." She admitted with a shrug. "Then again, they hushed the um...the incident up rather well."
"The incident." Sherlock muttered to himself, almost for his own humorous purposes. The euphemism that Mary used so as to call his string of murders an 'incident' would be exactly like calling his relationship with John a 'close friendship'. It was the strategy used by people in all of these identical houses so as to gloss over anything that didn't fit into the community quite right. Like a sociopathic murderer, or a boy who abandoned anything to be with the boy he loved. It didn't fit, so it was changed. Through therapy and domestication, it was changed. Sherlock's whole life since he had been arrested had been a euphemism, while John's had merely been a fallacy. Thankfully Sherlock wasn't given the chance to correct Mary, for while he never would've dared try to bring up the correct term for what he had done he still would've at least attempted to make it clear that he thought such a thing deserved a more hefty title than 'incident'. His rants begging for justification were thankfully ignored and interrupted with the arrival of the smallest, newest Watson. Rosie came over to hold her mother's hand, staring up at Sherlock with eyes that looked almost identical to John's. All the more proof of John's being her father, and all the more proof of the betrayal that he had committed all those years ago. She was a small child now with the promises of growing into a beautiful woman like her mother, with her blonde hair pulled into pig tails and her eyes wide in curiosity. It was obvious that she didn't know who Sherlock was, and even more obvious that she would probably forget who he was come tomorrow. 

"And you must be Rosie?" Sherlock asked with a little smile, kneeling down so as to be on her level. Rosie nodded shyly, leaning into her mother's leg so as to hide a little bit from the strange man. Thankfully Sherlock came bearing gifts, and he handed her the little stuffed dog that he had bought.
"You must like presents?" he presumed with a little smile, to which Rosie nodded once more, this time looking a lot more eager to meet him. She let go of her mother's hand and took the stuffed animal in both of her hands, smiling and hugging it to her chest before running off without a word.
"Oh Rosie come on, don't be shy! Say thank you!" Mary begged, turning off to see merely the whip of a ponytail around the corner before Rosie disappeared for good.
"That's fine; I can't pretend to be good with children anyway." Sherlock admitted with a little laugh.
"No it's not you; she's just very shy around strangers." Mary admitted with a regretful little sigh, as if Rosie's behavior was embarrassing her for some reason. "Thank you for the dog."
"Oh no problem, I thought it might break the ice between us. Apparently it did the opposite, but that's alright as well." Sherlock admitted a bit awkwardly, putting his now unburdened hands in his pockets and looking back for John. He was of course biding his time arranging the flowers, making it ever more obvious that he was trying to keep Sherlock and Mary talking.