A touch of murder with your coffee? [dated July 28]

[nervesofsteel]

Mornings in the Watson home had grown uncomfortably quiet. Once, a bright, cheerful [day] might have brought chatter, and quips, and well-meaning grumbling about Evie’s sleeping habits or the inevitability of being trapped indoors all day. Now, John does his best to avoid his wife and sips coffee in the kitchen while the morning news plays in the background.

Breaking news: At 5:45am, The Darrow Police Department received reports of a body found on the beach. His identity still unconfirmed, the man was found frozen in a typical yoga pose, already making this the city’s most infamous murder since the death of pop idol Tiffany Charlotte and several other women at the hands of Patrick Bateman…

John can pretend all he wants that he doesn’t care about solving crime anymore, but news of a murder can only pique his interest. He goes to stand behind the sofa, watching the television as the scene cuts to the bright shoreline. A figure swims into focus, a hollowed-out silhouette of a man sitting crossed-legged in a parody of peacefulness.

We here at Channel Four have gained an exclusive interview with the woman who found the victim during her morning jog…

“Jesus,” John murmurs to no one in particular. “That’s got to be a ten."

Comments

[yourprivilege]

The news story has her attention too, Evie on her back on a blanket, kicking and reaching for the mobile that hangs above her just out of reach. Mary's on the couch, her own cup cradled in her hands when he says something.

John's voice is startling, Mary's so unused to hearing it. When she asks him a question, yes, or when he needs to know something specific. But other than those few things they don't talk. She doesn't ask him about his days; nor does he, hers. It's a silence that pains her, though she lets it sit and grow, unable to insist he talk to her lest she push him further away.

"Maybe even an eleven. It seems a bit mad, doesn't it?"

[nervesofsteel]

"Nope, Sherlock always had a very strict one-to-ten scale. And he's never seen Spinal Tap." The reporters on the telly are doing everything they can to show as much as possible of the gruesome crime scene as they can without getting themselves censored, which means keeping a distance and hiding anything worthwhile in a convenient shadow. It makes for a totally useless picture - for crimesolving purposes - but John keeps squinting at the screen anyway. "Never seen anything like it," he admits. "Posed like that. It had to have been frozen."

[yourprivilege]

"Of course he's not." She can't imagine Sherlock watching most movies when it comes down to it. At least not for enjoyment, but rather for research or something along those lines.

Mary looks back to the screen, frowning slightly. "Liquid nitrogen?"

[nervesofsteel]

“That’s a hell of a lot of liquid nitrogen. I dunno, maybe someone at the university would have access.” The news cuts back to the anchor, and John sighs. Not even Sherlock could get much of a lead off that footage, or so he tells himself. “I’d kill for the crime scene photos.” John looks at her and cracks a grin. “Er. Figuratively.”

It hits him all at once: this is probably the longest conversation they’ve had in a month. It’s the first one that hasn’t been strictly necessary - not about Evie, or doing the shopping, or the weather. For a second he had forgotten to be angry, but now it comes rushing back. The walls return. The door he had allowed to open a crack slams shut.

John finishes his lukewarm coffee too quickly, the bitterness making him grimace. “I should get ready."

[yourprivilege]

Mary feels the coldness as it slams back into their lives, and all she can think is that she can’t do this any longer. They can’t live like this because it’s not living. It’s surviving and barely that. “Or you could talk to me. John, please.”

[nervesofsteel]

Avoidance and willful ignorance are tactics with which John is quite familiar, and he has had plenty of time to practice both in the last few weeks. "Talk?" is all he says, as though he doesn't have the slightest damn idea what she could be referring to.

[yourprivilege]

‘Yes, like we were just now?” She pushes up from the couch,Evie happy with her mobile for the moment. Mary can’t let this go, not today and not after how long they’ve been silent.“About us. Me, you. Anything.”

[nervesofsteel]

“Well, I hear it’s going to be a nice day,” John deadpans. “Everyone keeps talking about how awful the summers are here, but, you know, it hasn’t been half bad.” He lifts a brow. “That the sort of thing you’re looking for?"

[yourprivilege]

"You know that it's not. John, please. We can't keep doing this." Mary is fighting tears, hoping she can hold them off for long enough to finish their conversation. She's not a pretty crying, red splotches on her cheeks and her nose wide and flaring with each breath. It's all she can do to keep it in check. "Tell me you hate me, or that you'll never forgive me or ask me to leave. We can't keep going on like this."

[nervesofsteel]

John can’t look at her; he can't stop the pain that blooms on his face, and recoils from the despair in hers. To hide his reaction, he snatches up his dirty coffee mug and retreats to the kitchen. “I don’t see what other choice we have,” he answers, his voice gruff despite all attempts to push back feeling.

He can’t tell her he hates her; he doesn’t have the heart for such a lie. He can’t tell her to leave; he doesn’t have the courage to let her go. But he doesn’t know how to offer clemency, either, and knows no way to learn.

[yourprivilege]

"I think-" She stops herself from saying the words that are at the forefront of her mind, considering if she truly wants to say them. But just like he feels they have no other choice, she thinks the same. "I think I'll move back into the other apartment. With Evie."

[nervesofsteel]

There are so many things John wants to say. He can feel the words churning in his gut, God no, please don’t. I love you. I forgive you. Let’s pretend this never, ever happened. But that isn’t what he says.

“All right. If that's what you'd prefer.”

John sound weary, defeated. He isn’t sure he has any fight left.

[yourprivilege]

“No,” she says, tired and worn. Her shoulders sag, and she feels defeated more than anything else. Mary wants to scream at him now, but can’t. She has to respect him, and his right to be angry at her because of the lies that she’s told. He deserves that. “Of course I don’t. But it might be best.”

[nervesofsteel]

"Right." Some bit of chivalry catches up with John, a scrap of sympathy and good sense that breaks free of the heap of pain it's buried underneath. "No- wait, I'll move. All of Evie's stuff's here. You don't need to go dragging that to another flat."

[yourprivilege]

What she should do is tell him to ignore her. She should say that she never should have said anything. But she can't because on some level she knows it is what they need to do. This tension is hurting them both and can't be good for their daughter.

Mutely, she nods. Her life is unfolding before her and once again she has no control over it, leaving it entirely in his hands.

[nervesofsteel]

"I have to go." John thinks he might be sick, and it has nothing to do with the story on the news. "But I'll get my stuff. Um. Tonight, I mean. After work."

[yourprivilege]

"I'll make sure we're out," she says, finally able to find her voice. Being here is the last thing that she wants, seeing John take things away far too heartbreaking.

[nervesofsteel]

“Yeah, okay.” John picks up his keys, nearly forgets his wallet. He’s halfway out the door before he realizes that he doesn’t have his phone with him, but he doesn’t dare go back for it.

He lets the door shut behind him, and as quick as he can, leaves the building and disappears onto the street.