The Edinburgh Problem
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09 Aug 2016
“What are we, now?” John mused aloud, once they were in a cab heading back to Baker street. It was a cool, damp afternoon and Sherlock was studying the passers-by with detached interest. He glanced over at John with a raised eyebrow, his fingers idly worrying at one of the buttons on his coat.
“Nothing seems quite right. What would you call me, if somebody asked?” John waved a hand vaguely at the space between them. “What do we call… this?”
Sherlock stared at him for quite a while, his brow furrowed. John began to feel a little self conscious. The taxi lurched as they turned a sharp corner, and he flung out his arm to steady himself. Sherlock caught his wrist, and held tight.
“Everything.” Sherlock said quietly, and after a moment he let go and resumed his study of the streets outside. John barely even heard the words, he said them so softly. “Everything. That’s what you are.”
John stared at Sherlock’s profile against the cab window and exhaled slowly. After a long moment, he reached out and touched Sherlock’s long fingers where they were fiddling with the button on his coat. The tall man didn’t look around again, but his fingers slowly unfurled before curling deliberately around John’s hand.
- Part 2 of Scotland