FIC - The Infuriating Case of Two Stubborn Young Men
Title: The Infuriating Case of Two Stubborn Young Men
Author: wheelie47
Rating: PG
Characters: Noah, Luke, Emma, Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson.
Word count: 3,283
Summary: The services of a certain London detective and his associate are called upon to assist in getting Luke and Noah to see sense…
Disclaimer: Don’t own characters, am not associated in any way with ATWT or Sherlock. No offence intended.
Written for random_nic's birthday. Happy Birthday Nic!
London - Christmas Eve 2011
The violin’s haunting melody came to an abrupt and screeching halt. “John! John, I can hear you thinking from all the way over here! Must you disturb my creative process?” The distinctive angular features of Sherlock Holmes creased into a frown as he waved the bow in his associate’s direction.
Dr John Watson paused in mid-flow as he was typing on his laptop and emphatically rolled his eyes. “I'm disturbing you?!” he muttered under his breath. “Heaven forbid!”
“What are you doing anyway?” Sherlock questioned, depositing the violin and its bow on the seat next to him as he stood.
Dramatically securing his housecoat firmly around him… both arms wrapped around his thin torso, he strode closer and peered over the seated man's shoulder.
“I'm chatting to someone from the blog, if you must know,” John explained, his head tilting upward to meet blue-green eyes staring down at him.
“The blog?” Holmes questioned, his piercing, all seeing eyes pulling away from the eye lock and flicking to the screen.
Trying to carry off a look of disinterest, Sherlock turned away from the laptop. “Not my site?”
Watson smiled knowingly; they’d had this conversation many times before and as much as his colleague, his companion… his friend tried to appear uninterested by the blog, he knew better. “Nobody’s interested in your analysis of 240 different types of tobacco ash, Sherlock,” he teased, hoping to illicit a response from the other man.
“243… actually!” Holmes muttered as he stalked off to the window and pulled the curtain to one side, looking down on the rainy London street below.
John smirked as he watched Sherlock for several long moments before he turned back to the screen with a chuckle and resumed typing.
“What does the old dear want anyway? Help with family worries?” Holmes asked without turning around.
John swivelled in his seat again. “‘Old dear’?” He glanced back at the screen in confusion. ‘Illinois_paperback_writer111’ - the screen name of the woman he was chatting with, gave no indication that she was a woman of advancing years with fully grown children, grandchildren and was the matriarch of an ever increasing family.
“But how did…” he started, turning back to face the taller man before thinking better of it. He’d been caught in that trap before. If he waited long enough he was sure Sherlock would explain himself. He knew that the man’s egotistical side simply couldn’t resist the temptation. “Never mind.”
A ghost of a smile toyed across Sherlock's lips, making the corners of his mouth curl, before he launched into an explanation. “You have that smile on your face… that smile you only wear when talking to someone of the opposite sex.” He paused, shaking his head slightly as if the concept were alien to him. “But it's more tender and gentle than if you were talking to somebody who you find yourself attracted to. Hence an older woman. Someone more like Mrs Hudson than say… one of your girlfriends.”
Pausing momentarily for effect, he took a breath and continued. “You're frowning and the concern is clear in your eyes… obviously mirroring the good lady's own worries. And, seeing as she is a woman of advanced years, the trouble is likely to be with a grandchild… most probably a grandson. Tell me I'm wrong?” he challenged, certain that Watson could not disagree.
John had to admit he was impressed… he always was when Sherlock explained his reasoning. He made it all seem so simple, as plain as the nose on his face. But John never seemed to be able to notice the details that the detective did.
“Now you’re just showing off,” John muttered under his breath as he turned away from the man at the window.
“Of course; it’s what I do.” Holmes had to agree, shrugging his shoulder.
“So why does she want to consult the world’s greatest detective?” His interest was piqued but he still stared down at the street… not wanting to appear too eager. “There’s been a series of murders and her grandson stands accused?”
“Nope.” Watson grinned. It seemed Sherlock didn’t know everything!
“Mmmm! Her grandson has been murdered and the clueless local police department have no idea where to start looking for suspects?”
“Nope!”
“He’s missing?” The irritation was beginning to sound in Sherlock’s voice now.
“Nope!” John’s grin widened. But as much as he was enjoying this, it wasn’t helping with the problem at hand. “It’s an affair of the heart,” he finally explained.
“Harrumph! An affair of the heart?!” Sherlock snorted, immediately losing interest.
“Boring! Where have all the criminal masterminds gone? Is nobody out there committing any interesting crimes?” He scratched absentmindedly at the nicotine patches on his arm.
Flinging off his housecoat, he grabbed his full length over-coat, turned up the collar and stalked over to the door.
“Sherlock, where are you going?” John twisted in his seat to stare at the other man.
“Out! There must be something of interest happening out there somewhere,” Sherlock replied as he yanked the door open.
“You’re going out to search the streets of London looking for crime on Christmas Eve?” Watson asked incredulously, his question sounding loud in the silence of the empty room as Holmes was already pounding down the stairs to the front door…
…
“I do love your blog and please call me Emma, Dr Watson.” The soft dulcet tones of the woman's American accent sounded through the speakers and the kindly face on the screen creased into a warm and encouraging smile.
John found himself smiling back effortlessly. “And you must call me John. Is there any change? Are they still the same?”
Emma Snyder shook her head sadly and her smile faltered. “No…no change. We all thought things were looking up when Noah agreed to spend Christmas in Oakdale this year instead of on his own in LA. But ever since he arrived here yesterday, they've almost been acting like strangers meeting for the first time.”
“Perhaps you just have to give them time, Mrs S… Emma,” the doctor advised.
“It's been over a year, John. We know they've been talking on and off during that time by phone, text and Facebook etc. But they don't seem to be able to move past being just friends. And, I don't know, I guess we just thought that when they got back in the same room together they would…” She stopped and wiped at her eyes.
“Fall into each others arms?” John finished helpfully. “Don’t you think that’s a bit too romantic?”
“But John… they belong together. It's just that they don't seem to be able to see it for themselves anymore and they don't seem to want to listen to any of us.”
An idea suddenly seemed to occur to the dark-haired woman and she picked up her laptop, making the scene in front of John spin and he could see a comfortable living room before the view jerkily changed to a large kitchen complete with a long dining room table and an island.
“Here, see for yourself,” Emma whispered so as not to be overheard as she set the laptop down on the island facing two young men. Their backs were turned away from the screen as they stood at the kitchen sink doing the washing up, seemingly oblivious to Emma's presence in the room.
John leaned forward and watched in fascination as the scene unfolded before him.
The taller of the two men; obviously Noah from Emma’s earlier description, held a tea towel in his hand and reached out, preparing to take the dripping and soapy plate from the other man’s outstretched hand.
When their fingertips touched briefly on the rim of the plate, they both raised their eyes to stare at each other.
To John’s watchful gaze, it seemed as if time stood still in the kitchen all those miles across the Atlantic as both men only had eyes for each other. Then the moment passed as the shorter blonde man; Luke, John presumed by an obvious process of elimination, pulled his hand back.
“Sorry,” Luke mumbled, dropping his gaze for a split second before looking back up at the tall brunette.
Sighing, he finally broke their gaze, turning back to face the sink and reaching for another dirty plate from the pile on the side as if suddenly needing his hands to be occupied.
Noah stood there frozen to the spot, seemingly unable to stop looking at the other man. He opened and closed his mouth several times as if wanting to say something but appeared to think better of it each time. Finally, biting his lip and with a sag of his broad shoulders, he too turned away and dried the plate, stacking it on the clean pile on the side.
As Dr Watson continued to watch the subtle nuances of their body language, both men seemed torn between wanting to escape each other's company and wanting to stand closer as they continued to do the washing up.
“Affairs of the heart, huh? I guess it will just have to do,” Sherlock's voice suddenly whispered right by his ear, startling the seated doctor.
“Shi…” John began in shocked exclamation, banging his knee on the underside of the desk in the process before a hand was firmly clamped over his mouth.
“Ssshhh!” Holmes whispered. “You'll startle them.” Sounding for all the world like he was observing two lab monkeys instead of two human beings.
Staring intently at the two men on the screen in front of him, his intense eyes and well oiled brain picking up every detail, he almost forgot that he was leaning over John’s shoulder with his palm still pressed across the other man's mouth.
It was only when he felt John's increasingly hot breath against his palm and the man's fingers trying to prise his grip loose, did he realise how tight his hold was.
“Let go. I'll be quiet, I promise,” the doctor whispered urgently when he finally worked Sherlock’s grip loose.
“Sorry, John,” Holmes murmured. “I've seen enough anyway.”
Reaching out and turning the screen slightly so it faced him fully, he raised his voice so that his crisp, well educated, upper class British accent sounded loud into the Midwestern American kitchen. “You two, there at the sink!” He watched with a smirk as he startled the two young men.
The tall, dark-haired one almost let the plate he was drying drop to the floor in shock, saving it at the last minute before it smashed to the tiles. “Impressive! Good reflexes. Some military training in the family somewhere, I suspect,” he said out loud to no-one in particular and nodded with satisfaction when he saw the man stiffen in reaction to his words.
The blonde one turned from the sink and Holmes let out a snort of laughter when he saw the water and soap suds dripping down the green and blue stripped sweater from where the plate he'd been cleaning had slipped from his hands into the sink. “I guess your reflexes aren't so good!”
Sherlock steepled his fingers together and looked at the two men. “So, it appears we have a little problem here.”
The blonde one bristled. “Exactly who are you?”
“I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind.”
After a significant pause as the dark- haired detective made sure he had the younger men's attention, he took a deep breath and began. “You there… with the tea towel… the next budding Spielberg!”
“Scorsese!” both men said in unison, turning to face each other with a shared embarrassed chuckle and a nervous smile when they realised each had said exactly the same thing as the other.
“Scorsese? Really? Oh well, to each his own,” Sherlock commented.
“But how did…?”
“How did I know? Simple…er ….”
“Noah,” John supplied helpfully.
Sherlock nodded his thanks. “Simple, Noah. Your right shoulder droops slightly and there's a noticeable squint to your right eye… all symptomatic of hours spent peering through a camera lens. And the dark rings under your eyes tell me that you have been up burning the mid-night oil editing your film… a true labour of love.”
Noah was speechless.
“So, when are you going to admit to… um…”
“Luke.”
“Thank you, John,” Sherlock again nodded his thanks. “When are you going to admit to Luke that you really have waited all this time for him, that without him nothing else matters and that you want back what you once had together… that you love him?”
Dr Watson looked up at Sherlock with amazement before looking back at the screen. He almost couldn’t believe this was happening… it was a surreal experience. Here was Sherlock Holmes, of all people… with his scientific and analytical brain, lecturing a man about love in what felt like some weird cyberspace version of couples counselling. If he hadn’t been there, witnessing it with his own eyes, he probably wouldn’t have believed it!
“I…I…” Noah tried to reply but faltered, seemingly lost for the right words and appearing shocked by the whole situation. He didn’t bother asking how this unusual individual knew all this because he was certain the man would have worked it out somehow. “It’s complicated,” he finally managed.
“Yes… yes, I'm sure mistakes have been made by everyone involved. That’s all water under the bridge now. Moving on, you do still love him, don't you?”
Not waiting for an answer to the question he was certain he knew anyway, Holmes turned his attention to the blonde.
“And you there… Luke,” he added the man's name on hearing John's tut. He was pretty sure that if he looked at his friend, he would be shaking his head and rolling his eyes at him.
“I'm sure your family will be pleased to hear that you've taken up writing again.” Yes, Sherlock knew it wasn't entirely relevant but a part of him couldn't help but show off a little. From the stubborn ink stains on the younger man’s fingers, it was obvious to the detective that Luke had been writing recently. The words didn't come easily, judging by the small tell-tale ink marks at the corner of his mouth where, no doubt, he'd chewed the wrong end of the pen whilst deep in thought. Hence it wasn't something as simple as a shopping list. With all the different types of technology available, Sherlock had to admire a man who put his initial thoughts down using pen and paper. It was fast becoming a lost art form and there was nothing more telling in the field of detecting than a person's handwriting.
“How…” Luke didn't get past the first word before Noah turned to him with a look of proud surprise spreading across his handsome features.
“You have?”
Luke looked back from the laptop screen to face Noah with a shy nod.
He'd known for sometime now that he wanted Noah and him to be more than friends again. But he didn't know how to tell the other man. He didn't know anymore how to tell the love of his life… his soul mate… what he wanted. So Luke thought that by writing down their story, all of it… the ups and the downs, he would be able to find a way to tell Noah that he didn't want to give up on them, not after what they have been through.
Before anybody could say another word, Noah spotted a stubborn soapsud that had lodged in the blonde's hair. Without thinking he reached out and wiped it away, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind Luke's ear in the process.
The blonde startled a little at the unexpected gesture and looked up to find himself gazing straight into Noah's crystal blue expressive eyes.
“Ahem!” Holmes's crisp accented voice sounded loud in the kitchen, shaking both men out of their apparent reverie.
“So, Luke, when are you going to tell Noah how you feel and what you want?” He gestured impatiently to the tall brunette.
Luke appeared indecisive before sighing. “I… I don't have the right.”
Sherlock let out a huff of frustration. “Yes… yes, we've already been through all that. Weren't you listening earlier?! It's about time the two of you, as you Americans say, got your heads out of your asses, see what's right in front of you and make a whole lot of people very happy!”
Abruptly turning on his heels, his full length overcoat billowing behind him, Sherlock strode off and dramatically flung himself into his armchair. “My work here is done.”
John swivelled in his chair and stared at his friend in confusion. “But you haven't…”
The doctor’s words were halted abruptly as Holmes lifted his long elegant index finger up in the air before he turned to point at the screen in silence.
Watson turned back to the screen and leaned in to watch Luke and Noah each take a step closer to each other.
Luke swallowed hard and reached out with a trembling hand to cover Noah's where it still clutched the tea towel. He squeezed gently. “Noah, I…” he began before faltering.
Noah, in turn, reached up and caressed Luke's prominent cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “I…” He paused too.
Both men smiled nervously, each nodding to the other that they should go first.
“I'm sorry. I... I love you,” they breathed out in unison.
Their nervous smiles widened into broad grins that lit up the room as all the tension and uncertainty seemed to leave them.
And then suddenly the smiles were gone, engulfed by each others mouths and lips as they stepped even closer. Hands came up to cup jaws and tangle in hair as the kiss deepened and bodies were pulled flush against each other. Small moans escaped throats that spoke undeniably of finally and oh so right.
The scene in front of John suddenly changed back to the gratefully smiling face of Emma Snyder as she turned the laptop around to face her.
“I think we should leave them to it, don't you, John?” she said as she stood and carried the laptop out of her kitchen.
“Thank you, John. And thank you, Sherlock.” She added the last part louder so the detective could hear her from his position in the armchair. “You'll never know how much this means to me and my family. We are forever grateful. Thank you,” she signed off and the screen went blank.
Watson turned to face Holmes with a smile.
“Well, who'd have thought it?! Under that hard exterior of yours, there does indeed beat a heart. You loved doing that for them. Go on, admit it!” he demanded with a loud chuckle.
“Shut up!” Sherlock retorted but there was an undeniable twinkle in his eye.
“Don't worry, your secret’s safe with me,” John whispered conspiratorially. “Besides, I might need your help with another little problem.”
The detective’s eyes shot up with interest. “Oh yes?”
“Yes. Which Chinese should we order our takeaway from?” he asked with a chuckle as he held up a handful of takeaway menus.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and a burst of laughter escaped his lips.
It was good to hear his friend laugh for once and John couldn't help but join in. Soon the living room of their flat at 221B Baker Street was ringing with the sound of laughter.
“So, do you think they’ll be okay?” John nodded toward the blank screen.
Sherlock nodded knowingly. “Absolutely! You saw how they were at the end. I have no doubt they’ll be perfectly okay, especially with such a fine and persevering woman as that on their side.”
The End.
Author: wheelie47
Rating: PG
Characters: Noah, Luke, Emma, Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson.
Word count: 3,283
Summary: The services of a certain London detective and his associate are called upon to assist in getting Luke and Noah to see sense…
Disclaimer: Don’t own characters, am not associated in any way with ATWT or Sherlock. No offence intended.
Written for random_nic's birthday. Happy Birthday Nic!
London - Christmas Eve 2011
The violin’s haunting melody came to an abrupt and screeching halt. “John! John, I can hear you thinking from all the way over here! Must you disturb my creative process?” The distinctive angular features of Sherlock Holmes creased into a frown as he waved the bow in his associate’s direction.
Dr John Watson paused in mid-flow as he was typing on his laptop and emphatically rolled his eyes. “I'm disturbing you?!” he muttered under his breath. “Heaven forbid!”
“What are you doing anyway?” Sherlock questioned, depositing the violin and its bow on the seat next to him as he stood.
Dramatically securing his housecoat firmly around him… both arms wrapped around his thin torso, he strode closer and peered over the seated man's shoulder.
“I'm chatting to someone from the blog, if you must know,” John explained, his head tilting upward to meet blue-green eyes staring down at him.
“The blog?” Holmes questioned, his piercing, all seeing eyes pulling away from the eye lock and flicking to the screen.
Trying to carry off a look of disinterest, Sherlock turned away from the laptop. “Not my site?”
Watson smiled knowingly; they’d had this conversation many times before and as much as his colleague, his companion… his friend tried to appear uninterested by the blog, he knew better. “Nobody’s interested in your analysis of 240 different types of tobacco ash, Sherlock,” he teased, hoping to illicit a response from the other man.
“243… actually!” Holmes muttered as he stalked off to the window and pulled the curtain to one side, looking down on the rainy London street below.
John smirked as he watched Sherlock for several long moments before he turned back to the screen with a chuckle and resumed typing.
“What does the old dear want anyway? Help with family worries?” Holmes asked without turning around.
John swivelled in his seat again. “‘Old dear’?” He glanced back at the screen in confusion. ‘Illinois_paperback_writer111’ - the screen name of the woman he was chatting with, gave no indication that she was a woman of advancing years with fully grown children, grandchildren and was the matriarch of an ever increasing family.
“But how did…” he started, turning back to face the taller man before thinking better of it. He’d been caught in that trap before. If he waited long enough he was sure Sherlock would explain himself. He knew that the man’s egotistical side simply couldn’t resist the temptation. “Never mind.”
A ghost of a smile toyed across Sherlock's lips, making the corners of his mouth curl, before he launched into an explanation. “You have that smile on your face… that smile you only wear when talking to someone of the opposite sex.” He paused, shaking his head slightly as if the concept were alien to him. “But it's more tender and gentle than if you were talking to somebody who you find yourself attracted to. Hence an older woman. Someone more like Mrs Hudson than say… one of your girlfriends.”
Pausing momentarily for effect, he took a breath and continued. “You're frowning and the concern is clear in your eyes… obviously mirroring the good lady's own worries. And, seeing as she is a woman of advanced years, the trouble is likely to be with a grandchild… most probably a grandson. Tell me I'm wrong?” he challenged, certain that Watson could not disagree.
John had to admit he was impressed… he always was when Sherlock explained his reasoning. He made it all seem so simple, as plain as the nose on his face. But John never seemed to be able to notice the details that the detective did.
“Now you’re just showing off,” John muttered under his breath as he turned away from the man at the window.
“Of course; it’s what I do.” Holmes had to agree, shrugging his shoulder.
“So why does she want to consult the world’s greatest detective?” His interest was piqued but he still stared down at the street… not wanting to appear too eager. “There’s been a series of murders and her grandson stands accused?”
“Nope.” Watson grinned. It seemed Sherlock didn’t know everything!
“Mmmm! Her grandson has been murdered and the clueless local police department have no idea where to start looking for suspects?”
“Nope!”
“He’s missing?” The irritation was beginning to sound in Sherlock’s voice now.
“Nope!” John’s grin widened. But as much as he was enjoying this, it wasn’t helping with the problem at hand. “It’s an affair of the heart,” he finally explained.
“Harrumph! An affair of the heart?!” Sherlock snorted, immediately losing interest.
“Boring! Where have all the criminal masterminds gone? Is nobody out there committing any interesting crimes?” He scratched absentmindedly at the nicotine patches on his arm.
Flinging off his housecoat, he grabbed his full length over-coat, turned up the collar and stalked over to the door.
“Sherlock, where are you going?” John twisted in his seat to stare at the other man.
“Out! There must be something of interest happening out there somewhere,” Sherlock replied as he yanked the door open.
“You’re going out to search the streets of London looking for crime on Christmas Eve?” Watson asked incredulously, his question sounding loud in the silence of the empty room as Holmes was already pounding down the stairs to the front door…
…
“I do love your blog and please call me Emma, Dr Watson.” The soft dulcet tones of the woman's American accent sounded through the speakers and the kindly face on the screen creased into a warm and encouraging smile.
John found himself smiling back effortlessly. “And you must call me John. Is there any change? Are they still the same?”
Emma Snyder shook her head sadly and her smile faltered. “No…no change. We all thought things were looking up when Noah agreed to spend Christmas in Oakdale this year instead of on his own in LA. But ever since he arrived here yesterday, they've almost been acting like strangers meeting for the first time.”
“Perhaps you just have to give them time, Mrs S… Emma,” the doctor advised.
“It's been over a year, John. We know they've been talking on and off during that time by phone, text and Facebook etc. But they don't seem to be able to move past being just friends. And, I don't know, I guess we just thought that when they got back in the same room together they would…” She stopped and wiped at her eyes.
“Fall into each others arms?” John finished helpfully. “Don’t you think that’s a bit too romantic?”
“But John… they belong together. It's just that they don't seem to be able to see it for themselves anymore and they don't seem to want to listen to any of us.”
An idea suddenly seemed to occur to the dark-haired woman and she picked up her laptop, making the scene in front of John spin and he could see a comfortable living room before the view jerkily changed to a large kitchen complete with a long dining room table and an island.
“Here, see for yourself,” Emma whispered so as not to be overheard as she set the laptop down on the island facing two young men. Their backs were turned away from the screen as they stood at the kitchen sink doing the washing up, seemingly oblivious to Emma's presence in the room.
John leaned forward and watched in fascination as the scene unfolded before him.
The taller of the two men; obviously Noah from Emma’s earlier description, held a tea towel in his hand and reached out, preparing to take the dripping and soapy plate from the other man’s outstretched hand.
When their fingertips touched briefly on the rim of the plate, they both raised their eyes to stare at each other.
To John’s watchful gaze, it seemed as if time stood still in the kitchen all those miles across the Atlantic as both men only had eyes for each other. Then the moment passed as the shorter blonde man; Luke, John presumed by an obvious process of elimination, pulled his hand back.
“Sorry,” Luke mumbled, dropping his gaze for a split second before looking back up at the tall brunette.
Sighing, he finally broke their gaze, turning back to face the sink and reaching for another dirty plate from the pile on the side as if suddenly needing his hands to be occupied.
Noah stood there frozen to the spot, seemingly unable to stop looking at the other man. He opened and closed his mouth several times as if wanting to say something but appeared to think better of it each time. Finally, biting his lip and with a sag of his broad shoulders, he too turned away and dried the plate, stacking it on the clean pile on the side.
As Dr Watson continued to watch the subtle nuances of their body language, both men seemed torn between wanting to escape each other's company and wanting to stand closer as they continued to do the washing up.
“Affairs of the heart, huh? I guess it will just have to do,” Sherlock's voice suddenly whispered right by his ear, startling the seated doctor.
“Shi…” John began in shocked exclamation, banging his knee on the underside of the desk in the process before a hand was firmly clamped over his mouth.
“Ssshhh!” Holmes whispered. “You'll startle them.” Sounding for all the world like he was observing two lab monkeys instead of two human beings.
Staring intently at the two men on the screen in front of him, his intense eyes and well oiled brain picking up every detail, he almost forgot that he was leaning over John’s shoulder with his palm still pressed across the other man's mouth.
It was only when he felt John's increasingly hot breath against his palm and the man's fingers trying to prise his grip loose, did he realise how tight his hold was.
“Let go. I'll be quiet, I promise,” the doctor whispered urgently when he finally worked Sherlock’s grip loose.
“Sorry, John,” Holmes murmured. “I've seen enough anyway.”
Reaching out and turning the screen slightly so it faced him fully, he raised his voice so that his crisp, well educated, upper class British accent sounded loud into the Midwestern American kitchen. “You two, there at the sink!” He watched with a smirk as he startled the two young men.
The tall, dark-haired one almost let the plate he was drying drop to the floor in shock, saving it at the last minute before it smashed to the tiles. “Impressive! Good reflexes. Some military training in the family somewhere, I suspect,” he said out loud to no-one in particular and nodded with satisfaction when he saw the man stiffen in reaction to his words.
The blonde one turned from the sink and Holmes let out a snort of laughter when he saw the water and soap suds dripping down the green and blue stripped sweater from where the plate he'd been cleaning had slipped from his hands into the sink. “I guess your reflexes aren't so good!”
Sherlock steepled his fingers together and looked at the two men. “So, it appears we have a little problem here.”
The blonde one bristled. “Exactly who are you?”
“I'll ask the questions, if you don't mind.”
After a significant pause as the dark- haired detective made sure he had the younger men's attention, he took a deep breath and began. “You there… with the tea towel… the next budding Spielberg!”
“Scorsese!” both men said in unison, turning to face each other with a shared embarrassed chuckle and a nervous smile when they realised each had said exactly the same thing as the other.
“Scorsese? Really? Oh well, to each his own,” Sherlock commented.
“But how did…?”
“How did I know? Simple…er ….”
“Noah,” John supplied helpfully.
Sherlock nodded his thanks. “Simple, Noah. Your right shoulder droops slightly and there's a noticeable squint to your right eye… all symptomatic of hours spent peering through a camera lens. And the dark rings under your eyes tell me that you have been up burning the mid-night oil editing your film… a true labour of love.”
Noah was speechless.
“So, when are you going to admit to… um…”
“Luke.”
“Thank you, John,” Sherlock again nodded his thanks. “When are you going to admit to Luke that you really have waited all this time for him, that without him nothing else matters and that you want back what you once had together… that you love him?”
Dr Watson looked up at Sherlock with amazement before looking back at the screen. He almost couldn’t believe this was happening… it was a surreal experience. Here was Sherlock Holmes, of all people… with his scientific and analytical brain, lecturing a man about love in what felt like some weird cyberspace version of couples counselling. If he hadn’t been there, witnessing it with his own eyes, he probably wouldn’t have believed it!
“I…I…” Noah tried to reply but faltered, seemingly lost for the right words and appearing shocked by the whole situation. He didn’t bother asking how this unusual individual knew all this because he was certain the man would have worked it out somehow. “It’s complicated,” he finally managed.
“Yes… yes, I'm sure mistakes have been made by everyone involved. That’s all water under the bridge now. Moving on, you do still love him, don't you?”
Not waiting for an answer to the question he was certain he knew anyway, Holmes turned his attention to the blonde.
“And you there… Luke,” he added the man's name on hearing John's tut. He was pretty sure that if he looked at his friend, he would be shaking his head and rolling his eyes at him.
“I'm sure your family will be pleased to hear that you've taken up writing again.” Yes, Sherlock knew it wasn't entirely relevant but a part of him couldn't help but show off a little. From the stubborn ink stains on the younger man’s fingers, it was obvious to the detective that Luke had been writing recently. The words didn't come easily, judging by the small tell-tale ink marks at the corner of his mouth where, no doubt, he'd chewed the wrong end of the pen whilst deep in thought. Hence it wasn't something as simple as a shopping list. With all the different types of technology available, Sherlock had to admire a man who put his initial thoughts down using pen and paper. It was fast becoming a lost art form and there was nothing more telling in the field of detecting than a person's handwriting.
“How…” Luke didn't get past the first word before Noah turned to him with a look of proud surprise spreading across his handsome features.
“You have?”
Luke looked back from the laptop screen to face Noah with a shy nod.
He'd known for sometime now that he wanted Noah and him to be more than friends again. But he didn't know how to tell the other man. He didn't know anymore how to tell the love of his life… his soul mate… what he wanted. So Luke thought that by writing down their story, all of it… the ups and the downs, he would be able to find a way to tell Noah that he didn't want to give up on them, not after what they have been through.
Before anybody could say another word, Noah spotted a stubborn soapsud that had lodged in the blonde's hair. Without thinking he reached out and wiped it away, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind Luke's ear in the process.
The blonde startled a little at the unexpected gesture and looked up to find himself gazing straight into Noah's crystal blue expressive eyes.
“Ahem!” Holmes's crisp accented voice sounded loud in the kitchen, shaking both men out of their apparent reverie.
“So, Luke, when are you going to tell Noah how you feel and what you want?” He gestured impatiently to the tall brunette.
Luke appeared indecisive before sighing. “I… I don't have the right.”
Sherlock let out a huff of frustration. “Yes… yes, we've already been through all that. Weren't you listening earlier?! It's about time the two of you, as you Americans say, got your heads out of your asses, see what's right in front of you and make a whole lot of people very happy!”
Abruptly turning on his heels, his full length overcoat billowing behind him, Sherlock strode off and dramatically flung himself into his armchair. “My work here is done.”
John swivelled in his chair and stared at his friend in confusion. “But you haven't…”
The doctor’s words were halted abruptly as Holmes lifted his long elegant index finger up in the air before he turned to point at the screen in silence.
Watson turned back to the screen and leaned in to watch Luke and Noah each take a step closer to each other.
Luke swallowed hard and reached out with a trembling hand to cover Noah's where it still clutched the tea towel. He squeezed gently. “Noah, I…” he began before faltering.
Noah, in turn, reached up and caressed Luke's prominent cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. “I…” He paused too.
Both men smiled nervously, each nodding to the other that they should go first.
“I'm sorry. I... I love you,” they breathed out in unison.
Their nervous smiles widened into broad grins that lit up the room as all the tension and uncertainty seemed to leave them.
And then suddenly the smiles were gone, engulfed by each others mouths and lips as they stepped even closer. Hands came up to cup jaws and tangle in hair as the kiss deepened and bodies were pulled flush against each other. Small moans escaped throats that spoke undeniably of finally and oh so right.
The scene in front of John suddenly changed back to the gratefully smiling face of Emma Snyder as she turned the laptop around to face her.
“I think we should leave them to it, don't you, John?” she said as she stood and carried the laptop out of her kitchen.
“Thank you, John. And thank you, Sherlock.” She added the last part louder so the detective could hear her from his position in the armchair. “You'll never know how much this means to me and my family. We are forever grateful. Thank you,” she signed off and the screen went blank.
Watson turned to face Holmes with a smile.
“Well, who'd have thought it?! Under that hard exterior of yours, there does indeed beat a heart. You loved doing that for them. Go on, admit it!” he demanded with a loud chuckle.
“Shut up!” Sherlock retorted but there was an undeniable twinkle in his eye.
“Don't worry, your secret’s safe with me,” John whispered conspiratorially. “Besides, I might need your help with another little problem.”
The detective’s eyes shot up with interest. “Oh yes?”
“Yes. Which Chinese should we order our takeaway from?” he asked with a chuckle as he held up a handful of takeaway menus.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and a burst of laughter escaped his lips.
It was good to hear his friend laugh for once and John couldn't help but join in. Soon the living room of their flat at 221B Baker Street was ringing with the sound of laughter.
“So, do you think they’ll be okay?” John nodded toward the blank screen.
Sherlock nodded knowingly. “Absolutely! You saw how they were at the end. I have no doubt they’ll be perfectly okay, especially with such a fine and persevering woman as that on their side.”
The End.