When Jane came back from the shop, a heavy bag in each hand, Sherlock was spread across the sofa in her blue dressing gown. Without any bra, Jane couldn’t help to notice with a blush.
She shook her head. It was stupid, really. She was a doctor. She had seen many breasts already. Why did she have the same reaction each time she saw Sherlock like that? Even after this night at Angelo’s, when Sherlock had stopped any hope of romantic relationship, her mind kept going this way, especially late at night, before sleep, when everything seems possible.
Sighting, Jane walked to the kitchen and let the bags drop on the chairs, the table being covered with scientific instruments. A blue smoke was coming out of one of the numerous tubes. On the counter, a candle was emitting a soft smell like roses and fresh grass. Jane had insisted on putting it there after one of Sherlock’s experiments had… Well, let’s say Jane had had to take a hotel room for three days. She was about to open the fridge when a voice stopped her.
‘Why do you have short hair?’ Sherlock asked. Jane froze. What was this question? She took a deep breath and spun around to look at the younger woman.
‘Why this sudden interest?’ she wondered, worried by her friend’s unnatural behaviour. Sherlock shrugged.
’I’m bored. It’s either that or shooting at the wall again.’
Right. Remembering to find a new place to hide her Colt was added to Jane’s mental to-do list. Now, she had two ways to deal with it. First was to tell Sherlock to stop her questions, which would lead to sulking and bad-mood. The other was to answer as calmly as possible. Second option then. She turned the kettle on. If she had to go through this, she was going to need tea.
Five minutes later, Jane was sitting in her armchair, a cup of tea in her hand and a pink stuffed elephant on her laps — she had won it during a case that had involved a visit to the fair and a grumpy clown.
Sherlock was still lying on the sofa in her prayer position, eyes fixed on the ceiling, her mind probably racing with a thousand different thoughts. Her black hair was spread around her head like a dark mane.
‘What were you asking?’ Jane said once she was ready. Sherlock didn't react but kept staring at the ceiling. ‘Sherlock?’ Still no answer. Jane was about to open the newspaper when her friend finally spoke.
‘Why do you have short hair?’ Sherlock repeated. Jane took her time to answer.
‘I don’t really know… I had long hair before the army but cutting them seemed more… pragmatic?’ she says. ‘I like how it is now. And I love passing my hand in the very short hair at the back. It’s so soft…’ She closed her eyes, imagining the sensation of her fingers passing through the sensible place. Imagining Sherlock’s fingers… Jane shrugged and opened her eyes. She had to stop thinking like this. Fortunately, Sherlock wasn’t looking at her. She was smirking on the sofa.
‘What?’ Jane said, curious.
‘I’d like to see you with long hair,’ Sherlock explained. Jane’s eyes widened. Did she— She shook her head. One of the advantages of having long hair was the possibility of hiding one’s red and burning ears.
‘I could probably find a photo,’ she coughed awkwardly. Sherlock hummed. Jane started to read the news to distract her mind from more… enjoyable places.
Harry Tailor (23) stole a coach with nuns in it. He ordered them to sing and drink alcohol.
Rosconmoe, Ireland. National media are reporting on a man who stole a bus from a parking lot, with passengers in it. The passengers turned out to be nuns returning to their monastery from a trip. The man probably was under the influence of alcohol and dru—
‘Where does your obsession for jumpers come from?’ Sherlock asked again when Jane was half-through the article, suddenly very aware of the dark blue jumper she was currently wearing.
‘My… I don’t have an obsession for jumpers!’ she exclaimed nonetheless over the paper, offended. Sherlock turned her head to look at her in disbelief.
‘Yes, you have,’ she affirmed. ‘You wear them every day and, if you can’t, you’re more irritable than usual. You have seven of them, all neatly folded and put in your wardrobe. You also take special care when you’re washing them.’ Jane pinched her nose.
‘No, I don’t,’ she retorted. ‘They’re just very comfy and warm.’ Sherlock kept looking at her for a while and eventually nodded slightly and stared back at the ceiling, satisfied by the answer.
Jane tried to go back to reading but her mind was now too busy for that. Sherlock’s questions had raised her own curiosity. She bit her lips, not quite sure if she’d dare ask. Well, the worst that could happen was not receiving any answer, rights? Maybe some sulking from Sherlock but that’s all. Folding the paper, she took the risk.
‘Sherlock?’ she said tentatively. Sherlock kept her eyes closed but hummed again to acknowledge her. ‘How did you meet Mrs. Hudson?’
Sherlock stayed silent, at first. Jane had almost given up on getting an answer and was about to go put the groceries in the fridge when Sherlock spoke.
‘I was 19,’ she started. ‘It was during a trip in Florida. Mycroft had forced me to come with him, go figure why. We were in Miami when I met with a dealer for… reasons. I wasn’t going to do anything against the cartel but I encountered Mrs. Hudson by accident. She bumped into me when I was walking in the street. She was… sweeter with me than anyone had been in a long while. I immediately knew what was happening.’
‘So you… simply chose to stop husband?’ Jane said, surprised. ‘The head of a cartel?’ Sherlock looked confused.
‘Well, what else could I do?’ she said. ‘It’s not as if the police was going to help!’
Jane shook her head fondly. How could people think Sherlock was a bloody psychopath? They really were idiots…
As she kept looking at her flatmate, Jane had no doubt about what Sherlock’s reasons to meet the dealer were. And if she silently swore to herself that Sherlock will never meet a dealer for those reasons again, well, no one had to know about it.
They fell back in a comfortable silence only interrupted by the low rumble of cars and the rhythmic tic-toc of the clock. Jane closed her eyes and took a sip from her cup. Her fingers brushed the soft elephant. She still had to put the food in the fridge but for now, she didn’t want to move. She was home.