Chapter Text
It had finally happened. After weeks of wasting our savings on occult and theosophical books, we had finally run out of money, for the most part. We still had enough for a week or two, but it couldn't keep us above water for much longer. Sherry disliked having to put an end to his investigation, but if we wanted to survive and not starve, we had no choice but to pick a side case or two. And nobody was willing to pay him for the research on imaginary people becoming real, although I bet he believed he deserved to be paid after spending so many weeks doing just that. I don't think anyone has ever researched this topic more than he has, maybe aside from children hoping for a visit from Santa.
Of course, he could still have asked Mycroft for financial aid, but his pride stood in the way. And to be fair, both of us doubted Mycroft would grant him his wish and give him money without forcing him to board the first ship back to England. Sherry's big brother did not want him on the island, and although my friend did not know the reason yet, he had long realised there was something fishy about Mycroft's secrecy. It motivated him to do the opposite and remain in Cordona as long as necessary. I even suspected he planned to stay on the island forever, only to spite his brother. He is pretty stubborn, my Sherry.
The general idea was to head to the police station and pick one of their beginner-friendly cases. They have a pinboard for them for everyone to see. These cases did not make a person rich, but the money the police offered was enough for the two of us to stay above water. Sherry was not a beginner, of course. He was better than the whole police force combined, but as an honorary member of Cordona's Finest, he only had limited options, and the officers were too vain to give him their best cases just yet.
However, there was also the matter of myself...
Sherry wanted me to stay home, and no matter how much I protested, I couldn't change his mind. I was unable to use a gun, had zero non-imaginary combat experience, and even though he didn't want to say it out loud, it was clear he saw my presence during a police investigation as a liability. He did not believe I could help him at all, not while inhabiting a human body without the advantage of being invisible to everyone else. I knew he only had my well-being in mind, but I felt my transformation had only diminished my worth in his eyes. It slowly became a sore spot for me, so after spending a whole day quarrelling with him and still failing to convince him to let me accompany him to the police station, I became increasingly frustrated.
"So when things finally start getting interesting and fun, you abandon me, but making me waste the short span of my life reading dull occult books is ok?" I was running out of arguments, so I resorted to polemics, which left him equally unmoved. His stubbornness was as solid as ever, and my frustration did not seem to bother him in the least. He ran a comb through his hair, cleared his throat, and brushed off the dust from his clothes before replying. What a fine gentleman, I know.
"You are free to spend the day however you want, Jon. I will no longer force you to read if education is such a waste of time in your eyes. In fact, I no longer expect you to show any interest in the event which has transformed you, even though it primarily concerns you. But you cannot come with me." He remained composed as he put on a jacket. I furrowed my brows and glared at him. Education? He couldn't possibly believe the books we had bought were in any way educational!
"Fine, then go! Leave me behind like an abandoned pet or ... a piece of furniture. Perhaps I will leave, too, and never come back!" It was an empty threat and sounded quite bratty even in my own ears. I still wished he hadn't laughed when I said it. A few moments later, he realised he had hurt my feelings by doing so. He did not apologise verbally, but I knew him well enough to see the regret on his face. He knew how much I hated being taken for granted, but before I could decide whether I should forgive him so quickly or not, we heard a sound coming from the main hall.
"It seems we have a visitor. A sailor, if I am not mistaken." He got up from the chair and turned around to face me. I avoided his eyes for the time being and stared out of the window, still pouting. It seemed I wasn't ready to forgive him just yet, after all. "Come on, let us check it out together. Please." I was still a little hurt, but the softly spoken 'please' soothed my mood. The truth is, he doesn't need much to make me forgive him. He is sarcastic and has an affinity for cynicism, but he never means to hurt a person. A quick glance at him did the rest - his brows were furrowed, and he looked pensive. And I was not made of stone! How could I look at him and not forgive him? Before I could stop myself, I smiled in defeat and watched the corners of his lips rise as well.
The police station visit was moved to the next day. I don't know if our last interaction had inspired Sherry to change his plans in order to prevent the situation from escalating any further or if it had actually been the young artist who had pretended to be a sailor, but for some reason, we found ourselves in Old City. We hadn't talked much on our way there, but there was the silent understanding to let the topic of having me join him during his investigations rest until we got back home.
It took us only a short time to find it - the Gallery was not far away from the market. It was a place Sherry had been invited to on the very first day we'd spent on the island, and somehow, its owner, a blond artist called Verner Vogel, had finally managed to lure my friend in by making an associate of his dress up and play pretend. He had 'planted the seed' in Sherlock or something along the lines - it was a code word the young pseudo-sailor told Sherry to use once he saw Vogel. It sounded a little tryhard and pretentious to me, but I left it uncommented and enjoyed the opportunity to spend a day away from the books.
Of course, gratitude was not the only feeling I felt. My interactions with others had been relatively limited so far, and having a 2-on-1 with a man as eccentric and mysterious as Vogel made me anxious. I did not know how to feel about him. Usually, I had a good intuition when it came to people, even to the ones I barely knew, but Vogel was an exception to that rule. There was something off about him, but I could never quite put my finger on it. Either way, he definitely drew people's attention, and even Sherlock was not immune to his charm. And that rarely happened. It made Vogel quite special.
After our long walk in the heat, we finally entered the Gallery, which seemed empty at first glance. The first thing I noticed was the scent - it smelled pretty nice inside, albeit artificial. The cool air was very welcome after we'd just spent almost an hour at the mercy of Cordona's sun, but to my greatest disappointment, there were no refreshments in sight, and I was feeling parched. The rooms were decorated with potted plants and marble tiles on dark wooden walls. The colour scheme differed from what I had seen so far in similar places, but it looked tasteful. And to be fair, we hadn't visited many galleries during our childhood, so what did I know?
As I was looking around and getting familiar with our surroundings, Vogel's voice startled me. "Mister Holmes, I see you have brought a friend! How very surpriring!" And there he was - our host. He was facing away from the entrance, but he still noticed that Sherlock had not come alone. I assumed he had seen our reflections in one of the paintings. Either that, or he had actual eyes on the back of his head.
Something about his tone made my heart skip a beat. It was almost silky, almost pleasant if not for the edge, which I did not doubt could cut like a blade. Vogel had something of a hawk posing as a dove. He was ... impressive. Thrilling. Intimidating.
"This is Jon. He is my friend like you said," Sherry replied. I had been looking at Vogel the whole time, but something in the tone of Sherlock's voice alarmed me and made me eye him instead. There was a crack in Sherry's usual facade - he seemed on edge about the situation, and even though I didn't know what to think of it yet, it made me tense up even further as well. I had never considered it before, but I believed he actually cared about Verner Vogel's opinion. It made me frown. I cleared my throat, but before I could say anything, the man before us finally turned around to face us and spoke again.
"Jon? Jon who? You surely have a surname. Or is it a secret? Have you brought me a puzzle, or are you too shy to speak for yourself, Jon?"
He was looking at me now, lips forming a self-satisfied smirk while he pierced me with his gaze through the tinted glasses. If he was a hawk, then I was a mouse or a rabbit. The question took me by surprise. There was no plausible reason I could think of why I wouldn't have a surname. We had never discussed this before! It also made no sense why I would keep it a secret, and as Sherlock had already introduced me as his friend and not as a relative, the name Holmes was out of the question. It was clear that Vogel expected an answer from me and not from Sherry. It was like the first human exam in the history of mankind, and I feared I was about to fail unless I said something. So I did.
"Jonson. My name is Jon... Jonson." I offered him my hand with the sweetest smile I could fake without having practised beforehand and hoped he couldn't hear how fast my heart was pounding. I regretted every single one of my life decisions that led to this moment of improv and awkwardness.
"You surely jest!" Vogel exclaimed, "There is no way this is your name!" He still seemed endlessly amused about the whole situation, but there was no going back for me now. He took my hand, and I squeezed his one a little too tightly in return.
"I am dead serious. My parents hated me, seeing how-" I gave Sherry a quick glance. He looked petrified. Stunned. He was dying inside. "-seeing how my surname existed long before I did and how I was the unwanted ... seventh son. They could only think of six names, which is why they had decided to stop at six children. Naming me Jon Jonson was an act of revenge on their part, I suppose. But I have to say my siblings have wonderful names, unlike me! Names like... Bruce Jonson and... Peter Jonson. Very normal names which sound much more believable than Jon Jonson." I laughed, but I wanted to cry. I have to admit, at this point, my mind had gone blank. It was mainly my mouth that ran the show. I was a horrible liar! "They still loved me! I mean..."
"Didn't you just say they hated you?" Vogel's voice was so loaded with amusement that I wondered how long it would take him to spill it everywhere and drown us in it.
"It was a love-hate relationship," I answered and finally let go of his hand. Suddenly, I wanted to get away from this place as fast as possible, to hide and never come out, but again, I couldn't think of a reason to leave the Gallery without embarrassing Sherlock and raising even more questions. "I, ugh, I would love to have a look at your exhibitions while you and Sherry, ugh, I mean you and Mister Holmes have a chat." I felt like a genius for thinking of this excuse as I left the two of them behind and rushed into the next room. I dared not wait for a reply, and I definitely dared not look at my friend. I feared I had messed up. Perhaps I was a liability, after all.
Once I had gotten away from their sight, I hid my face in my palms and stayed like this for a while. Exhibitions, right? As if I was in the right state of mind to enjoy the art! The sound of their voices still reached my ears, but I couldn't process the spoken words. Somehow, I couldn't believe this was the person I was. I had always deemed myself much more social and communicative than Sherlock, but when confronted with actual humans, I failed more miserably than he ever could. Of course, the realisation terrified me - quite apparently, no amount of natural affinity could make up for my lack of experience, and I was already a twenty-one-year-old adult. I wondered if I was doomed to always be like this. I didn't want to hide inside all day; I wanted to see the whole world and talk to people. I wanted to have fun with them, and I wanted them to have fun with me, too, without thinking I was a weirdo or creepy.
As I was pondering about how I failed to act as a believable human being and how much I felt like an alien imposter wearing human skin, Verner Vogel and Sherry continued their conversation. I didn't have the mental capacity to listen to them until the voices suddenly moved closer to me, and soon, both of them entered the room I was in. Had so much time passed since I had left? I still needed some space, but apparently, my break from socialising with Vogel was over.
"Mister Holmes, I am certain a genius like yourself doesn't need assistance inspecting a simple crime scene! Like I said, I am dying to get to know your friend better, and I am certain he could only profit from spending some time with others." The first sentence surprised me - I had no idea a crime had taken place in the Gallery, and the second almost made my jaw drop. I had been quite good at disappearing before, but somehow, it did not work while inhabiting a corporeal body. It was a bummer, really.
Of course, Sherry did not need me to inspect the crime scene. He had likely requested my company primarily for my own sake - I was not prepared to be left alone with someone like Verner Vogel, whose oddity was almost as apparent as his attempt to attack Sherlock's ego by insinuating he needed my help.
Yet it appeared that only I viewed Vogel's intentions as obvious - Sherlock seemed to hesitate and consider the other's words instead of dismissing them as cheap provocation. And one must never show weakness when facing a hawk - but it was a lesson my dear Sherry had yet to learn.
While studying my face and reactions with great interest, Vogel leaned closer to my friend and whispered in his ear loudly enough for me to hear as well, "He is allowed to talk to others, is he not? I wouldn't judge if I found out you two had a certain agreement-" His eyes were resting on my face the whole time and made a shiver run through my spine - something he noticed. Just like he saw how his attempt to get close to my friend got on my nerves. It made him smirk ever so slightly, but this smirk was quite confident it had won whatever battle he believed he was fighting. I don't think I had ever wanted to punch a man so badly up to that point in my life.
"Please, spare me the speculations!" Sherry seemed irritated and a little abashed, and finally, he took a step away from the other. That sealed it - we were the odd ones, even weirder than Vogel, and there was no way to explain our friendship and my bizarre behaviour in a way that wouldn't end with both of us locked up. There wasn't a single person who would believe our story. We had no intention of telling anyone how I had come into being, but how else were we supposed to explain any of this? "Would you mind staying here, Jon?" Sherry asked me after a brief moment of contemplating, and there it was again - the regret. He had no choice but to cave in, and he hated it. I didn't know what to say. There was no plausible reason for me to refuse to stay behind and chat with Vogel. I was an adult man and not a shy kid. Adults don't get away with these things.
"What kind of a crime?" My voice cracked no matter how unbothered I was trying to sound, but before my friend could reply, Vogel did.
"A mere theft, Mister Jonson, nothing of great interest to you, I am certain."
I could only nod and smile at my friend. I had promised him he didn't have to worry about me, and I meant to keep that promise. Sure, I had rambled like a lunatic about seventh sons and vengeful parents giving their kids silly names, but I wanted to prove to him that I was quite able to exist in this world like a real person. Again, he smiled back (which did not go unnoticed by Vogel) and wordlessly entered the basement.
"It's a nice gallery," I said but refused to face Vogel just yet. Instead, I pretended to be looking at one of the paintings next to me. In reality, I did not see anything - my mind was too occupied to see what the beautiful paintings depicted. I can't say for sure what it was that I feared. I guess I simply did not feel right. Not like a person who had the right to dwell in this world - it was a right I believed I had yet to earn.
"Which of the displayed pieces do you find most impressive, Mister Jonson?" The ever-amused Verner Vogel. I wondered if he was trying to mock me. He always sounds like he is mocking a person whenever he opens his mouth, so I felt I wasn't very far off from the truth. I took a deep breath.
"If I had to be honest ... I didn't pay much attention to them. I'm far more interested in the crime scene and in what Sherlock is about to discover." He had begun pacing around the room, circling around me from a distance.
"Did you mean to say Sherlock or ... Sherry?" He said the name in a way that made my skin crawl before stopping right next to me. It irritated me to no end. I knew he was trying to get a rise out of me, but much like my friend, I failed to resist the provocation.
"I'm afraid you don't have the privilege to call him that, Mister Vogel. It's quite disrespectful, considering you barely know him."
"Oh my, I meant no offence, but I see my mistake. My sincere apologies if I overstepped, Mister Jonson. Of course, I am not as close to him as you are. But I must say I am relieved to see he has someone like you who is so eager to defend him even when he is not present. Although I must say, I am surprised I didn't see you when I first met him. He seemed to be quite distraught at the graveyard. He would have needed a loyal friend like you at his side. Were you too busy?" He chuckled at the last words. I wasn't a good actor either - instead of playing polite and well-mannered, I frowned and glared at him.
"I was there. Should have paid more attention to your surroundings instead of painting the crypt."
"Touché." He laughed. "Am I to assume you have arrived together, then?" He eyed me from the side, looking all too well-intentioned and friendly.
"I don't know why it matters, but yes, we came together."
"It makes sense, then," he seemed lost in thought all of a sudden.
"What does?"
"It makes sense why he had booked a double room in the hotel and why I haven't seen your name on the list of visitors. But worry not, my friend; your secret is safe with me. You truly are the best friend a man like Sherlock can have, are you not?"
I wish I knew how to reply. Of course, Vogel was right. Of course, I had been staying in Sherlock's room at the hotel. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. His hand patted my back, and then he disappeared without saying another word.