Thirty-Six Questions to Fall in Love

If You Want Love

"Do you ever wonder how strange it is that people stay with one another even if they're unhappy and not even in love?" John asked, "Or the fact that once a relationship ends, they're strangers again. As if all that overwhelming love and care is just gone."

It was late but they decided that after all those chips and turkey slices, it was best to go out and get some fresh air. The rain stopped but the smell still lingered in the air as they walked through the streets of London. John walked over to the small patch of grass where he noticed tiny drops of leftover rain resting on the tips of each little, insignificant blade. Sherlock just watched him kick around in the grass and let out a little smile.

"I suppose it never truly leaves." Sherlock and John had moved onto a street corner with a red telephone booth. "Love is not a tangible thing; it is not so simple as being there or not. Just like the rain, it lingers in the grass. It evaporates. It's still there but-"

"It's not."

"Precisely." Sherlock nodded. "Well I suppose that's a poor example as rain is real and can be held."

"Are you suggesting love isn't real?"

Sherlock ignored the question, "If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?"

"I would want to know if everything will be alright," John replied, almost instantly. "Some days are hard. I sometimes wonder what exactly we're trying to do. We all try so hard to live our best lives, to be better. But what does that even mean? I would like to have some relief to know that all our efforts aren't just in vain, that living really does lead somewhere."

"Interesting," Sherlock noted. "I would have to say that I do not worry myself with the future. There is absolutely no logical reason anybody should do that, all it will do it create false security in a completely unstable place. I already know my truths and the truths of my life. I suppose I would want to know about my old case, the one with Carl Powers. I never really got to the bottom of it and I think about it from time to time."

John got out his phone and scrolled. "Question fourteen: Is there something that you've dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven't you done it?"

Sherlock sighed, a puff of breath vaporising ahead of him in the chilly air. He was hesitant to answer this, but he did it regardless. "Don't laugh."

John paused and then tried to cover up his smirk. "I won't."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "I've always had a passion for bees, ever since I was a child. So I've had the urge to get into beekeeping for quite some time. But I can't do that here in London. There's no space, and who even knows if it's legal in this part of town. So I'm saving it for retirement, given I make it that far."

John stared at him.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Bees." John smiled, trying to hold in all the laughter building inside of him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, bees. What else could I have said? Kneekeeping? God, just use your brain, John. I can't believe I have to reiterate-"

John interrupted him. "No, it's not that. It's just that..." He paused, taking a deep breath and looking out at the world ahead of them. "It's that you're such a brilliant, emotionless man, surrounded by only logical things, never indulging in love or feelings, and you want to take care of bees."

"Is there a problem?"

"No."

"In that case, it's your go."

"But-"

"John," Sherlock said with a breath of irritation. "Answer the question."

"Is it because you think they're cute?"

Sherlock shot John a warning glance, and so John let his endless questions go and followed his order.

"I've always wanted to live out in the countryside, you know, in between green hills and tall grasses. But it's so far from everything. I don't want to be too isolated, or do it alone. I suppose I'm just waiting for someone to do it with." He searched Sherlock's eyes, afraid that he'd judge him, but he saw nothing in his icy stare. Just green and brown and blue.

Sherlock recited the next question from memory, not really acknowledging John's answer but implying that he simply wanted to move on. "What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?"

This one caught John off-guard. "Oh, I can't answer this."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked. John hesitated for a moment before replying.

"I just... I'm not a very accomplished person."

Sherlock looked out at the worn down street they were walking down. His eyes diverted from John and then back again as he decided on something to say.

"You've done a lot more than you give yourself credit for, John," he finally told him. "You went to war, you survived, you got through a bad childhood, and somehow came out of it all as a good, decent man. A feat that still challenges many soldiers today. At least list that as something."

John half-gaped at him, unsure of what he should do in response to the sudden compliment, or whatever-that-was. Sherlock only began walking faster, avoiding his eyes.

"Fine, then," John compromised. "I survived Afghanistan."

"And I solved fifty-seven cases for The Scotland Yard as of yet," Sherlock quickly replied.

"Fifty-seven?" John asked incredulously.

Sherlock nodded.

"Wow," John replied. "Thrilling that you've been counting."

Sherlock shrugged as they reached the end of the street. "I can't really help it. It just sort of... happened."

They turned the corner, walking down the next street in silence, neither of them saying a word - or asking a question - at all.