SOCIOPATH'S ROMANCE // Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Chapter 32 - Salty

Around a week later at 221B, everything was oddly quiet and calm. 

All the inhabitants were wound up thinking constantly about the recent events and the problems they each faced. 

Sherlock thought about Irene Adler who had died in Karachi, about his 'break-up' with Y/n and the violin piece he had nearly finished composing. John was pondering about his blog, his recent failed date at the restaurant downtown and the reason for the glum mood around him. Y/n just tried to not think at all, always focusing on something else to avoid going back to those dark areas. 

Of course, nobody possesses an off-switch for their brain meaning there is always that little thought wriggling its way in. Even if the attempt was to think of nothing at all, the person would still be thinking of 'nothing' and therefore something. 

A most annoying predicament.

Luckily today, Y/n was given a welcome distraction by Mycroft's usual enigmatic car appearance that swooshed her away to some far-off location where Sherlock couldn't reach them. This time, he had chosen a private airport for which the clearance necessary was so high, even some members of the police couldn't enter.  

Small private jets cruised in the air or on the dark tarmac, sliding to come to a stop; their white bodies took off and landed regularly with their share of wealthy passengers. Businessmen, athletes and the occasional celebrity trailed past, acknowledging one another with the look of recognition amongst the rich. 

After talking about everything and anything, the topic fell inevitably to something that had been quite buggering Mycroft since the meeting with Miss Adler. A few glances at Y/n's work reports proved she was sleeping less and irregularly, along with some worryingly high productivity and cold behaviour. These reports seemed usually turned in mostly at the earliest hours of the morning or at the latest hours of the night. Her cases were finished at a startling rapidity. Even better yet, she was being uncharacteristically non hyper verbal.

As if she felt nothing at all or rather, stopped herself from feeling anything. 

They had settled themselves in a lavish departure lounge next to vast windows overlooking the tarmac down below. The occasional plane departed or arrived; it was silent all around them except for Mycroft's umbrella regularly tapping the polished floor.

He leaned forwards on the cushioned seat. "What might be the matter between you and my dear little brother?", he enquired with his laconic complacent smile while noting every single detail of her behaviourism.

In that exact order, she scoffed then rolled her eyes then poked the soft inside of her cheek in frustration. Sherlock seemed to be present in every single atom surrounding her. Not a day could go on without some apparition of the clever detective by speech, by vision or most likely, by thoughts. 

She entertained thoughts of him a lot. Most of these were moments they previously shared that she had stored away to rewind and replay whenever she felt the saddenning urge to. Y/n would watch the movie of her life again and again, pausing on a specific word, a different look, the crinkle of a smile. All the details were there for her to pick at and savour like little bits of decadent chocolate. 

It hurt both of them to think about the other constantly but neither knew what to say or how to address the situation. So neither Sherlock nor Y/n accosted the other. They did not speak, look or even linger in near vicinity. Perhaps it was easier that way, although all led to making it feel harder than ever before. Nearly seven months had passed and yet, nothing had changed between the two of them. Complete and utter radio silence, despite the words they wanted to say or the things they yearned to admit.