Mirror Mirror

Chapter 5

 Sherlock slept longer than usual that morning but was still up at 8:00 am. Last night's case had been disturbing, to say the least. He made himself tea and toast and set up an experiment on the kitchen table. Perhaps if he got back to his normal, post-case routine, he might be able to think about John's bizarre behavior and put it into some perspective.

He'd been meaning to conduct this particular experiment for a while now, and he'd just gotten everything set up when he heard John's feet hit the floor. Now awake, the doctor would want tea. Sherlock started the kettle and got out John's favorite mug.

If he let himself think too much about John's confusing remarks in the cab, he might not be able to hold back the burning questions he had running through his mind about the suggestive nature of the word "punishment."

Why would John think he'd punish him? What, in particular, did John believe he might do as a punishment? The only thing that might come close to "punishing" behavior might be giving John the silent treatment, or using one of his possessions in a destructive experiment. He'd done it before when he'd been miffed at the doctor, but he had no intention of doing anything like that last evening. And, truth be told, the idea of deliberately inflicting pain on John made his stomach hurt.

He thought that some of John's more curious questions such as, "How did that chapel get rebuilt so fast!" and "What happened to my shooting jacket?" might be the result of his exposure to electricity. But he couldn't just brush away how it felt to have John's head on his shoulder. It could have been simple exhaustion, but it felt more as if John leaned into him for comfort. It had been a guileless move on the doctor's part, and Sherlock couldn't forget the pleasurable lurch he'd felt when it happened. He also remembered his instinct to put his arm around his friend and pull him close. His face burned a bit at the memory, and he hoped he hadn't overstepped any boundaries. John wasn't himself last night.

He needn't have worried about last night's exchange because what happened in the next few minutes drove that thought completely from his mind. John came down the stairs with his head bent almost to his chest. He shuffled along as one who had suffered a personal catastrophe and couldn't even remember how to walk properly. Sherlock stared at him as he dejectedly slumped down the stairs where almost stumbled before he reached the bottom.

Sherlock dropped his beaker on the table and shot across the room to stand at the foot of the stairs. "What is it John?" he asked, a lump of dread in his throat. Had he received a phone call upstairs? Had his sister died? He couldn't imagine what could have prompted the despair he saw in John's eyes as he finally set foot on the floor in front of Sherlock.

The doctor simply folded down to his knees and grasped Sherlock around his backs of his thighs in a fierce hug. He laid his head on Sherlock's belly and let out a quiet sob.

"What is it?" Sherlock said sinking to his knees and putting his hands on John's shoulders. Seeing his dearest friend is so much pain sent Sherlock into a kind of panic he'd never experienced before. "Are you all right?"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," John said. "Whatever I've done, please give me another chance."

Regret, sadness, and dejection rolled off the doctor in waves. "You haven't done anything, John. Look at me!" Sherlock said hearing his own desperation reflected back. Whatever was happing right now, he had no handle on it. "Tell me what is wrong!" Sherlock shouted at him.

John's head snapped up at the authoritative tone of Sherlock's plea and he blurted out, "When I woke this morning, I noticed that you'd moved all my clothes back into my room. I saw them all hanging up in that wardrobe. All my things have been returned to my desk. You've taken away all of the restraints, the toys, and my collar. Does this mean you want me out of your bed? Do you want me to move out?"