[sherlock] you just never know
you just never know
for kat_lair on the occasion of her postiversary party. ♥
There might be something outside your window
But you just never know
There could be something right past the turnpike gates
But you just never know
+
Sherlock had no idea. Martha herself only had a vague sense of what was going on with Dr Watson and she could never pinpoint it when it happened. But if she at least had an inkling, Sherlock should know, obsess, and have numerous theories about what was going on with his friend.
But for all his observing nature, Sherlock still didn't have a clue. He really thought that the sun was always shining on his favourite little spot on the couch and didn't seem to realize that it even did so on cloudy, overhung days. He didn't notice that he hadn't had to tune his violin in months, or that the mounted butterflies in his lepidopterology case sometimes fluttered as if infused with life. It seemed odd to Martha, that Sherlock was so blind to the magic happening around him.
John had just left Martha's apartment after doing what little he could to fix the leaking faucet in her kitchen, when she realized that the porcelain cat sitting on her mantle had shifted again. Before John had been by, it had been lying curled up, white and shining from being recently dusted - but now it was sitting up curiously, looking into the kitchen.
Martha sighed and turned away to fix the mess John had left the kitchen in. The text he had received had to have come from Sherlock then, if it made him rush off like that. She was cleaning up the counter when, just out of the corner of her eyes, she thought she glimpsed a large, green and blue creature flying past, huge leathery wings flapping in the sky. She leaned over and tried to see what was out there, but it was already gone. She often wanted to ask John - to show her some magic tricks, let her see those wonders - but she was afraid of the consequences.
Because sometimes, when screams echoed through the house in the middle of the night, or pained footsteps limped through the upstairs flat, Martha worried. John was a doctor and a soldier, he knew the highest heights humanity could reach and the deepest depths it could sink to. For every piece of magic he enjoyed, he had to pay its equal worth in pain. Maybe it wasn't worth the horrors he had encountered. Sherlock knew those heights and horrors, too, but it left him emotionless and detached. They were both paying for their brilliance.
Martha went outside to do some gardening when she was done because after John had been by, her hip was always better for a few hours. She was kneeling in the flowerbed when a rabbit hopped past, followed closely by an unsteady fawn. They were both looking as if they belonged in an inner-city backyard. Ever since Sherlock had brought home some children's books for a case, the oddest creatures made their appearances around the house. Martha shook her head and went back to ridding the flower bed of dandelions, shifting to take some weight off her legs. She was glad that she was leading a calm and proper life. A twinge in her hip for a beautiful flowerbed seemed a fair price.
John's magic was innocent and joyous - getting reminded that life wasn't had to be twice as painful.