It Could be You

Chapter 10

 The two of them made their way upstairs to the flat. Sherlock went into his room and shut the door behind him. He could hear John in the kitchen puttering around making tea. He wanted to be alone to think about what he'd discovered in Carter's flat. But, his mind wouldn't still.

He lay his bed and decided to put the entire evening into his mind palace so he could sort out the details. He began by revisiting the moment he and John entered the firefighters's flat. He moved through the introductions and finally saw Carter enter come down the stairs to the sitting room. He recalled the quick way he had looked at John before he made eye contact with him and the momentary flatness of his features as he took in the doctor leaning on the kitchen counter before his face bloomed into warmth. His smile seemed genuine, welcoming with a touch of heated pleasure. Sherlock had latched on to it as a parched man welcomes a drink of water. He took it with both hands and drank it in. In his thirst for that elusive acceptance, he'd looked right past the obvious. His new acquaintance did not like John.

The scrapbook of the murders was another matter entirely. Sherlock guessed it had begun with Frank's obsession. Sherlock had helped to catch at least four of the killers he'd seen in the book. It made sense then that Frank would include him in his research about the killers. But the final articles were all about him. One had been about a painting he'd help to recover, and another had chronicled his involvement in recovering the stolen jewels of a wealthy socialite. No murders in either of those cases. If Carter had known this much about him, perhaps their meeting had been staged as well.

Sherlock didn't want to believe their connection had been orchestrated from the start. It had been a great personal achievement for him to have done this on his own or so he'd thought. He felt confusion and even anger at being betrayed in such a way.

He went back to his mind palace and moved into the attic bedroom where it became impossible not to let his imagination take things further in his memory. He saw Carter's hands gripping his hips. He closed his eyes and felt strong hands pulling and sliding up along his sides and down over his ass. If only the fire alarm hadn't sounded, he might have had just a taste of what he wanted and needed so badly.

He tried again to call up the time he'd spent in the attic room. He put Carter in his proper place and put himself in his arms, and tried to let the scene unfold. This technique had always worked before. However, the images that rose were not the same as he remembered. He felt hands move up his chest and bring his face down, to meet lips he'd seen smile at him with nothing but fondness for the past the two years. Carter's face melted in his mind to become a face so familiar to him he couldn't even imagine it being anyone else's. It became the one person dearest to him. It became the person who stood in the kitchen on the opposite side of the door making tea and toast as he'd done hundreds of times before.

He shook himself out of this false memory to hear John's light footstep as he got out two cups and two teabags. He always made tea for Sherlock even when he didn't want it and wouldn't drink it. There would also be two slices of toast and butter on the table. In a moment, John would knock lightly on Sherlock's door and tell him "tea." And when that happened tonight, Sherlock's heart felt like it might break into pieces.

John's presence in his life these past two years had been constant, predictable and perfect. The only thing missing between them had left an ache in Sherlock's soul that he felt he needed to fill with another person. When had this happened? he wondered. He'd known about John's sexuality from the start, but they had something significant together. If he didn't reach out and tell John what he felt, he might make a profound mistake in letting physical desires control his decisions. Did he actually feel anything more than lust pulling him towards the fireman?