Chapter Text
Sherry had become an unsolvable mystery to me.
I knew him better than ordinary people got to know each other on a regular basis, don't get me wrong. Still, I had to observe him now to understand what was happening inside his heart. It made me pay more attention and see details I had missed seeing before because I'd never needed them. I suddenly had to rely on my senses - on my newly gained human senses - to understand him and thus, I became aware of the tiniest changes in his expressions, of the slightest twitch and the most subtle glint in his eyes. Feeling the urge to compensate for the terrible disconnect I was feeling, I began studying him in great detail, just like he studied a crime scene. These little things I noticed became my lighthouses in the dark sea of uncertainty - they were little gateways to him, and I cherished them dearly.
I ... may or may not have started writing them down. A little like this:
- I told Sherry a joke about a snowman and a vampire. He groaned, but his eyes flickered, and the corners of his lips twitched a little. GOOD ✓.
- I asked Sherry if he was alright too many times today. He pretended it only annoyed him, but I think it runs deeper, for his eyes glazed over. BAD ✖.
It was scary at first, but a few days after the traumatic events at the warehouse, which I desperately wanted to forget, I was beginning to get used to the change. It was a welcome distraction and a pleasant one, too. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't excited to experience a switch in perspective when it came to him. I had only known him from the inside, in a way nobody real knew another, but I was finally getting to know the person the rest of the world saw - the person on the other side of the mask that he wore. And I wanted to know all that was him!
But it was also when I began noticing the oddness in the way he acted towards me. He wasn't like that around others - not that he often met others, but whenever he did, he met them with confidence and, I daresay, even impudence. He'd insult a man twice his size and not bat an eye. He'd reject the prettiest girl I'd ever seen and not even feel sorry for hurting her feelings. Always keeping people at arm's length and sheltering himself from them, using his smugness as an armour like a rose uses its thorns - that was the Sherry the world saw.
He was different around me. Much more sincere and open. This wasn't new, for I had always been his one and only friend in the world - something that made me endlessly proud. Yet I couldn't help feeling that something was bothering him and that something was directly related to me.
I assumed it was because he never seemed at ease anymore. I saw how he avoided looking at me for too long whenever he caught me staring and how his voice changed when talking to me. I couldn't understand what had triggered this change.
But was it even a change? Had he ever been any different? I could swear he had, but to my horror, I couldn't know for sure - having lived the life of a very limited being, I had never had so much room for interpretation before.
At first, I blamed the events at the warehouse. Whether he liked it or not, I knew they were haunting him, for he'd often wake up calling my name, his face covered in cold sweat. He'd never tell me about his dreams, but he'd ask to hold my hand every time, saying that my closeness made him feel grounded whenever he lost himself in a nightmare.
However, even with that day in mind, I couldn't understand why he'd act so differently around me. He didn't seem to blame me. After pondering it for a long time, I wondered if I was simply imagining things. Still, even if I convinced myself I was, it stayed in the back of my mind and... I can say neither of us was ever at ease anymore. Something unspoken hung between us and grew, something I couldn't clearly see. It grew each time I tried to meet his gaze, and he turned away.
What was it? Did he no longer enjoy being around me? The thought hurt like a thorn in my side, even if I had no reason to think this. Not after he'd killed a man for me. Or was that the reason?
"You are staring again." Sherry's voice tore me away from these thoughts and made me turn my head away in a hurry. I'd been caught red-handed again. As I mentioned before, observing him had become my hobby in those days. Naturally, this had not escaped his attention - nothing ever truly did. He didn't seem very bothered by it, but neither did he seem unbothered. Yet it wasn't something I could simply stop doing - it happened involuntarily most of the time. Even when I tried forcing myself to focus on other things and granting him the privacy he suddenly required, he'd somehow always steal my attention.
"Apologies." I cleared my throat. It was a hot day, and we rested outside after training for a while. It had been his idea to teach me to defend myself better, and for all I could tell, I was doing quite well for someone this new to the world.
"I don't mind it unless I know my observer has ulterior motives." He turned the page of his book as he spoke, seemingly no longer feeling exhausted. Unlike me, who was still fanning himself with a piece of torn paper and trying to catch his breath.
"I don't know what you mean," I countered and got up from the grass.
"Are you saying you aren't observing me because you still believe I am not doing well? I know you, Jon. I made you up, remember?"
A smirk. He looked amused by the banter, but I could only groan in return. Caught red-handed again. "Perhaps I simply wish you were more honest with me, Sherry." I stepped forward to the bench, but he had buried his head in his lecture again. Our conversation had ended.
"Fine," I sighed and threw myself back on the cool grass, "but don't complain when I feel I need to keep a close eye on you. It's my job to ensure you are doing well, as you know."
It was meant to be a lighthearted joke accompanied by a sweet smile, but the last sentence seemed to bother him, although he said nothing. Still, his face darkened a little and made my heart sink. It was another downside of observing him closely - I noticed whenever I'd said something wrong much sooner than I wanted to notice. It gave me the feeling of being incapable of communicating with him without pushing the wrong buttons. "I don't mean to say I see it as a chore. I enjoy being with you and making sure you are alright. May I not?"
At first, he left the question unanswered, but eventually, his expression softened, and he spoke silently, "You may. Just don't overdo it. Despite what you might believe, Jon, it is not your job. Not anymore." He said the last part more to himself than to me. I couldn't ignore it.
"How do you mean this?"
"Nevermind. Have you rested enough? We shall continue while the weather is still pleasant. There will be a thunderstorm tonight." He closed the book and jumped back on his feet, suddenly appearing chipper and ready to take over the world. I frowned, and I knew he saw me frown, too, but he happily ignored my soured mood. This conversation, too, had ended. After contemplating asking again and not getting an answer, I got back on my feet and began stretching my arms.
It was no good. Sherlock Holmes could never be forced to talk when he didn't feel like it.
We spent the day training outside, with the occasional five-minute breaks. For now, we stuck to sparring and teaching me how to avoid being hit, although Sherry took great care to not overwork my injured arm. It was a fun day, and more often than not, I came to admire his undeniable skill. He was the kind of a man who noticed every twitch of a muscle and estimated every move of his opponents long before they decided to make them! Despite being stronger than him (something he only seemed to notice now), I landed on the soft grass much more often than I ever got to touch him. But I was a good sport, and I found my countless defeats more amusing than I found them disheartening.
"You are really good at this, aren't you," I'd say and laugh, and I'd refuse to get up from the ground for a whole minute while catching my breath. And he'd play cool but smirk when he'd think I wasn't looking, then scold me for slacking.
What wasn't so pleasant was doing so much physical work in the heat, but eventually, I found a way around that little problem - by dumping a whole bucket of water on myself! I was very glad I'd come up with the idea after seeing a wet dog pass by our home. The freshness of the cool water filled me with new energy and motivated me to train more. Still, for a reason beyond my comprehension, my action seemed to disconcert Sherry.
"Are you scared of wet people, Sherry? Don't worry, there is not enough water on me for you to pass out," I quipped, and he rolled his eyes and said:
"Unfortunately, there is more than enough water on the grass for us to slip and break our necks."
And I remember thinking, what a silly bluff! There was no way this was a safety concern! It was likely his uptight sensibilities, which were offended! Luckily, he pulled himself together after a moment, and we continued our training until the late afternoon.
By the end of the day, all of my muscles were sore, and I desperately needed a hot bath, but all in all, I felt it had been a good and productive day. Of course, bathing with an open wound in my arm wasn't as easy and fun anymore since I was to avoid direct contact with bath water. Still, to my relief, the pain had generally weakened over time. I could finally move my arm more freely without flinching, which meant a great deal. It was the side with my dominant hand, after all, and since that fateful day, I'd found myself needing more help with ordinary daily things than usual.
"It looks good," Sherry mumbled, running a finger along my upper arm. We were sitting on the bed in our room, and as always, he was about to inspect the wound and bandage it. "It will leave a scar, though," he added silently, and something about the thought seemed to unsettle him. He looked almost pensive as he stared at the gauze before he began wrapping it around my arm.
"I do hope it does! Many admirable men have scars. It will make me look dangerous and like nobody you'd want to mess around with," I stated out loud, and something about the way I said it made Sherry burst into laughter and forget his task for a moment.
"Of course, you'd want a scar. You are impossible, Jon. But no amount of scars would be enough to make you look dangerous."
Before I could think of a fitting reply, the laughter was gone, and bright lightning illuminated the sleepy street in front of our window. It almost made me jump, but Sherry remained calm. He had been right - a thunderstorm was coming over Cordona. It was common for hot days to end in a storm. And that scorching day promised to become the storm of the century.
I welcomed the whiff of fresh air and the subtle scent of ozone. Of course, it had been him who had told me where this smell came from - he was my endless source of information about the world. I didn't welcome the pensiveness in his face, however. That thing between us that kept on growing. That thing that remained unspoken and drove us apart.
"Do you not enjoy having me around anymore?" The words fell from my lips like a curse, and I immediately regretted them. But the last two weeks had been difficult and made me feel insecure about many things. I kept my eyes on the window, unable to face him.
"How could you think that?" I heard the gauze fall on the bed, and after speaking, a heavy sigh arose from Sherry's chest. A brief silence. "This is not what I meant earlier."
"Then what did you mean?"
Again, silence. I didn't have to face him to know he struggled to answer my question, but I was glad he hadn't dismissed me again. I was terrified, too. There was a pit in my stomach and the growing need to take it all back - to take all these questions back and simply be content with whatever time he chose to spend with me. Until it was over.
But how was I supposed to live with the thought that my presence was bothering him?
It was pouring so fiercely within a few seconds that I could barely see the other side of the street. It was a fitting weather for a heavy topic like this.
"I suppose it hasn't sunk in yet, but you are no longer there just for me, Jon. It is not your job to take care of me. You are a man on your own, and you are finally free to live your life as you prefer, without my approval or obeying my wishes. Without following me. "
His voice cracked in a way that left no room for doubt in his sincerity, but finding out this had been on his mind all along baffled me.
"But this is not what I want!" I furrowed my brows and turned to look at him, but he was staring at the gauze and not me. Again, avoiding my gaze and shutting me out.
"I know. But don't birds which are raised in captivity always fear their first flight outside the cage? Yet they adapt, Jon. I know I must let you go, even if I dread this moment more than anything else. "
Captivity? Cage? I wasn't sure how to navigate the absurdity of it without offending him and invalidating his feelings, but in my ears, he had spun a nonsensical tale about the way I supposedly felt. I was insulted that he only saw me as a prisoner and not as a friend who had chosen to remain by his side. And I thought that he couldn't mean what he was saying and simply used it as an excuse to push me away. Oh, I was sure he believed it! But he had always been good at deceiving himself and burying the truth deep in his soul.
"Tell me you are not being serious! I don't stay by your side because I'm scared to be free from you. I stay because I love you! From the bottom of my soul, I love you, Sherry! You are the most precious person to me."
I took hold of his hands. It wasn't the first time I had told him this; I had done so countless times during our fifteen years together, and I believed he needed to hear it again. Despite his cold exterior, which denied such emotions, he greatly desired to be loved unconditionally.
But all humans did - there lay my mistake, and it didn't take long to realise it. A few brief moments after the words left my lips, I felt something I had not felt before: the painful need to hear him say these words back.
He finally looked at me, and his eyes softened, but the response seemed stuck in his throat. Only his lips moved a little, but no sound left them. It didn't take long before he averted his eyes again and mumbled, "I appreciate it. I really do."
A loud thunder and the sound of tree branches hitting our window.
I couldn't move anymore - his reply had struck me like lightling. It was no surprise - this same thing, this same conversation, had happened many times and always ended this way. However, this one time, it upset me and created a lump in my throat, which threatened to choke me. It was a new emotion, as strong as the storm that threatened to flood the streets of Cordona. A lightning tearing through the skies, and a lightning tearing through me. I sat there looking at him, but my mind was becoming too clouded. Letting go of his hands, I got up from the bed. I knew he struggled with big declarations of love, but his silence became too much for me to bear.
"Good to know that you appreciate it. I, uh, I think I need to get some fresh air."
I tried my best to sound unbothered, but I knew I failed. He couldn't have missed the change in my tone, the way my voice broke, and in the corner of my eye, I saw him move as he called my name, but I no longer listened. I wanted to get away from this house, rushing towards the exit without paying attention to whatever he wanted to say. I didn't think I could process it anyway, even if I stayed.
This was worse than the cold, worse than the bullet. I felt like I was falling apart, like my soul was torn into pieces, and before I realised what I was doing, I had entered our garden. I didn't want him to see how I crumbled; the thought of him seeing was as unbearable as the pain. Despite its ferocity, the harsh rain felt soothing once it hit my face. I don't think I could see at all at that moment - the ache in my heart had taken over me, and without thinking, I found myself next to the gazebo. However, seeking shelter under its roof seemed pointless. The last thing I needed was comfort.
This strong, all-consuming emotion terrified me - I had never felt this hurt before, but I couldn't, for the love of me, understand what had upset me this much. Nothing about our relationship had changed, and I had been content with it for over a decade, but it seemed it was no longer enough. I could only conclude it was I who had become a different person. A selfish person who couldn't love another without expecting anything in return. It wasn't who I wanted to be. Was this what he had meant? Had he seen the change in me before I had? There were two parts in me now - one who felt guilty for letting him down and abandoning him and another who felt heartbroken and let down by him, and their battle petrified me.
But hadn't he killed a man to save my life? How could this not be enough? I couldn't make sense of myself.
When he reached the door, I was completely soaked in the rain. Blinded by the entrance lights, he didn't see me stand in the dark of our garden, and the heavy rain dampened his voice. Nevertheless, I knew he was calling for me, and I heeded his call.
"I need some time alone," I finally said when I reached him and stepped into the light of the entrance. Although the temptation was present, I couldn't simply disappear into the night and let him worry about me - we didn't do such things to each other, even when we were fighting. I was hurt, but I didn't want him to suffer for it. He seemed to relax a little when he saw that I was still there, but the deep frown on his face stayed.
"You are misunderstanding me-"
"I am not," I cut into his words and tried to smile at him, hoping to provide him some comfort and reassurance, but I fear it looked like a grimace. "It's alright, though. It really is. I simply need some time for myself, Sherry. I will come back, I promise. Don't worry about me."
And just like that, I turned away and headed towards the manor's front gate, ignoring the rain. I managed to take a few steps before I felt him pull at my arm.
"Don't leave," I heard him plead, but no matter how much I wanted to listen and give him whatever he wanted, everything inside me recoiled. I couldn't face him just yet before having sorted this out with myself. Without turning towards him, I tried to free myself from his grasp, but he wouldn't budge. "No, don't leave," he said again, and I felt my resolve crumble. Yet, I knew I couldn't stay.
"Sherry. Please. Let me go," I whispered. As if burned by these words, he finally released my arm and stepped back. I had not meant to sound so definite, but my words had the desired effect. Instead of prolonging this any further, I left.
I wouldn't say I knew where I was going, but I finally understood why they called it a broken heart. There was an invisible wound in my chest, and it refused to stop bleeding invisible blood. Meanwhile, my feet took me to arbitrary spots on Cordona, not minding the apocalyptic weather conditions. Yet, no amount of walking and rain could clear my head. I regretted how I had left, but I couldn't return. Not being loved by the only person I loved was too much, and the hurt made me hope I'd dissolve in the rain instead of being confronted with this ever again. Rationalising and bargaining with myself did not help me feel better, and I found myself wondering how these useless methods always worked for him. I concluded that they didn't.
So I walked. And I walked. And I walked.
It felt like hours had passed, and my strength slowly left my body when I finally reached yet another gazebo close to the shore. After considering my options and realising I had no options to begin with, I fell on the bench and closed my eyes. The leaky roof barely provided any shelter, but it was the best I could get without having to walk further, and I felt too exhausted to function.
Dark thoughts rushed through my mind: how he'd never want to see me again. How I'd let him down. How I did not deserve him at all - I, the most unnatural being walking on earth: a phantom made flesh. And lastly - how I'd likely get terribly sick if I fell asleep in the rain. It was still summer, but the night was cold, and I felt its chill seep into my bones.
Yet I couldn't get up, not keep myself awake for much longer, even as my whole body began shaking. There was no way to get warm in that storm; no dry wood for a fire, no warm hotel room for a man without a penny on his name. And still, sleeping there seemed better than going back, although I missed Sherry's warmth more than ever.
Would he find sleep that night? And who would be there for him if he awakened from yet another nightmare? I knew he didn't deserve to be deserted like this, but knowing wasn't enough to make it hurt less. I wanted to go back to being my old self again, but that ship had sailed the moment I'd hit my head on that door. And no amount of guilt could make this new me settle for not being loved by him.
Then so be it, I finally thought. There was no point in trying to solve a problem which couldn't be solved, and I was becoming too exhausted to think.
But before giving in to an unpleasant, wet, and cold sleep, I cracked my eyes open again for no other reason than to scan my surroundings one last time. And there it was - a dark figure only a few feet away from me, staring at me while the rain released all its anger on its frame and soaked it just as much as I had been. Of course, I knew it was him. Despite my dwindling strength, I pushed myself up and brought my body into a seated position.
"I couldn't... I cannot let you go." He stepped into the light of the gazebo, looking devastated and suddenly aged by a decade. It didn't need a genius or a detective to tell he was freezing, too - he still wore the same wet clothes I'd left him with. He'd likely followed me all the way there, through the whole island. My escape had backfired miserably.
"Sherry, you will catch your death like this-"
"I do... love you." A pained laughter shook his body, but it didn't stop shaking even as the laughter died. "I haven't said this to anyone for over a decade, Jon. I have difficulty saying these words again. The last person I said them to left me when I needed her most. But I mean them. How could I ever not love you? My dearest friend and companion."
I didn't know how to answer. Guilt made me stare at my feet. He gave me no reason to doubt his affection, but I felt like I had forced this out of him, and I felt ashamed. And yet, I found myself feeling happy, too. With a couple of words, he had made the pain disappear and no amount of guilt and shame were enough to ruin the great relief that I felt. How selfish I was. But he had never told me he loved me before.
"I don't know what's going on with me. This is why I needed to get away. I don't understand myself. You should have stayed home. It's freezing cold," I whispered.
Yet he simply said, "Nothing," and walked closer to sit on the bench beside me. His lips had an unhealthy pale shade now, and he was trembling.
"Nothing?"
"Nothing is going on with you. All humans want to be loved. No matter how much they deny it or pretend to be selfless, they all want to be important to someone. It's how they... no... how we are. One could argue it's our animal ancestry, but we can't always win against our nature."
But I was not meant to be like this, I thought. "I'm sorry. For everything I've put you through. None of it was planned."
"I believe I have put you through more through the years, and none of this is your fault. But we should go home instead of addressing this now," he replied. After some time we spent sitting in silence and freezing together, he got back on his feet and beckoned me to follow. It was a discussion worth having, but my frozen limbs agreed with him, and the way to our manor was long.
It was dawning already, and despite the storm, the sky had begun changing its colours into a warm, peachy-pink shade. I stepped into the rain while Sherry lingered by the gazebo. After a few steps, which I took alone, I turned back to rush him to come along, only to find him looking at me. He stood there and stared with the same expression I'd seen so many times. A softness. A pensiveness. All tense and bothered by something he'd not share with me. Only this time, he held my gaze.
"Oh, Jon. If only you knew…" he whispered as he slowly walked closer, but I was too mesmerised by him to ask him to finish his sentence. I couldn't tear my eyes from his face now that he was finally looking at me.
And suddenly, the world had stopped spinning. Only we two existed, only Sherry and I, safe for the vanishing distance between us. I no longer cared about the cold, even if I knew we'd likely end up with a fever again. But at that moment, I knew I'd rather suffer a hundred fevers than miss this. His wet hair was stuck to his face, and I brushed it away once he reached me and placed both hands on my sides. He looked strangely ethereal to me.
It lasted only a brief moment. First, I felt his warm breath against my face, and then, the brush of his lips against mine, gentle and soft like the touch of a feather. I was left breathless and drunken. I remember him stepping back, suddenly worried he'd done something stupid, but I could only smile before I pulled him close to kiss him again.
At that moment, as our lips met again and again, the only thoughts on my mind were how I could do this forever. How kissing him made my heart leap and my head - delightfully dizzy. How I could taste the rain on his cold lips. How feeling his gloved hands on the back of my neck gave me goosebumps. How he gasped against my mouth and made my whole being tingle. How hungry his kisses were, and how they awakened the same hunger in me.
And then I knew that some truths could be conveyed without words.