Chapter Text
John tilted his head in confusion. His finger brushed along the authentic leather-bound notebook in his gentle hands. He noticed the inscription on the front:
"S. Holmes.”
Mrs. Hudson was on a brief holiday, and he’d decided to dust their apartment after having noticed the accumulated dust bunnies in the corner of the kitchen. He’d stumbled across it while dusting their shared bookshelf; admittedly, more than half of the books were Sherlock’s. He’d been dusting the bookshelf when he saw the unfamiliar notebook tucked between two books. Normally, he wouldn’t have felt compelled to open it, but after discovering Sherlock’s secret drug log under the wood blocks in the fireplace, he felt driven to be sure it wasn’t another notebook Sherlock used to document his drug use. He opened it, and the first page presented a large title.
“J. Watson’s Pressure Points
By S. Holmes.”
John’s eyes squinted in confusion. Sherlock conducted numerous experiments and made plenty of documented observations, but he didn’t know there had been any experiments concerning himself. He flipped to the next page and read the elegantly cluttered, cursive writing of his detective flatmate.
“ January 7th
Context : Rather painless case, today. I made a deduction aloud concerning the ash present on a dead woman’s corpse, which ultimately assisted me in solving her murder. Anderson made an antagonistic comment. Clearly out of envy and overcompensation. I wouldn’t usually look at John after a typical remark, nor would I take any offense to such a comment, but I noticed John straighten his stature next to me. I looked directly at him.
Observation : John’s face contorted, and he was quick to exert a witty, yet defensive statement back at Anderson.
Conclusion : I don’t know. Perhaps John finds Anderson equally bothersome. Potential pressure point; Anderson aggravates him as well, it seems. That makes him, me, and the rest of the population.
S. Holmes”
John felt nervous looking through a journal that clearly belonged to Sherlock, and he looked over his shoulder with unease before reading the next entry.
“January 18th
Context : I went to a coffee shop today with John. I needed to collect information concerning coffee. John ordered a caramel macchiato, as I presumed he would. He craves sweeter caffeinated drinks during the winter season, whether he’d like to admit it or not.”
John snickered and shook his head before continuing to read.
“Once my turn to order, I inquired about the quality of the coffee beans and the origin, as well as the approximate date on which the beans had been ground into powder. Simple questions to aid me in the study of foreign coffee beans versus local ones. For a case I had three months ago. Anyways, I asked, and the barista may have given me an expression of annoyance. Not sure. Too busy observing that she’d just snorted a milligram of cocaine ten minutes prior. She asked me if I were serious, to which I responded with, “Yes. Quickly, now.” To my surprise, she muttered, “Freak.” I didn’t mean to look at John, but I did.
Observation : I must’ve looked at John in confusion, which I often do when I can’t correctly read a social situation in the way that he can. I had a slight worry that he was about to pester me because his face looked angered; however, he quietly, yet sternly informed the barista to get the information before he decided to speak to the manager. I quickly took in the man in front of me; tense neck muscles, teeth pressed to grind, and straight body stature. Indications that a point of pressure has been pressed.
Conclusion : John may also be interested in the results of my coffee experiments. He seemed angered, though. Unsure of this display of emotion. Likely that a delay in getting information irked him.
S. Holmes”
John had just finished reading the entry when he heard the distinct sound of the door opening downstairs, and he anxiously closed the journal, placing it between the two books on the bookshelf. He continued to dust the shelf but remained in his thoughts. He felt perplexed as to why Sherlock would waste his time documenting John’s reactions to social situations. Chaotic footsteps approached as Sherlock climbed the stairs to 221B.
John’s attention was drawn to the man at the door. “Hello, John. I’ve finished the case.” Sherlock said while removing his scarf and coat. John watched him, unknowingly examining his quick movements.
“Lestrade failed to mention the whereabouts of the deceased man prior to the murder. He’d been riding a bicycle!” Sherlock exclaimed. He spun around enthusiastically. “It had one of those flashing lights to inform nighttime drivers of his presence. Having learned that information, it was transparent that the sister-in-law had committed the murder.” Sherlock made his way to the kitchen, eager to hear John’s response. Sherlock noticed the delay in John’s response. His eyebrows furrowed as he recalled that John's responses were typically under four seconds. He walked to the coffee table and turned to John.
“Did you hear what I said?” He asked impatiently. Sherlock enjoyed the line of questioning often presented by John after a case, so when the dusting man didn’t respond, he was swift to question him.
John moved his head as if yanking it from focusing on something.”Oh, yes! Yes. Please tell me how you knew any of that.” John said, looking directly at Sherlock. Sherlock’s senses told him that John’s mind was lying elsewhere, and he could tell from John’s arm that he wasn’t focusing on dusting; his ineffective dusting patterns pointed towards the fact that he had something else on his mind. Sherlock, however, decided not to press it. Truthfully, he’d been a bit keen to share the details of the case with John since wrapping it up an hour prior to returning to Baker Street.
In a quick fraction of a second, though, Sherlock changed his mind and waved his hand as he turned around. “Never mind it,” he said. John felt a twinge of guilt for ignoring his flatmate, and he worried Sherlock would think he was disinterested. John sat on the couch. “No! What happened?” he asked. Sherlock walked near him and grabbed the leather notebook from the shelf, looking at John. He walked in the direction of his room, keeping his body faced away from John, who remained sitting.
“Perhaps some takeaway tonight?” Sherlock said. It was a rhetorical question, as Sherlock closed his door behind him.
John sucked on his lip in thought. “Maybe I’m thinking too much into this,” he said quietly to himself. John grunted as he stood and decided to continue dusting, noting a clear path where the notebook had been. He wasn’t Sherlock Holmes, but he could infer that meant the journal had often been pulled from the shelf. Rolling his eyes at himself, he moved on to the desk. He felt guilty for looking and decided he wouldn't be looking at it again.
Roughly twenty minutes later, John called their local Chinese restaurant and ordered some food for himself and Sherlock. He walked toward Sherlock's room and knocked gently before cracking it open a hairsbreadth. “I'll be heading out to get the takeaway,” he said. Sherlock didn't look up at him; he merely hummed in acknowledgment as he wrote in the familiar journal.
“Right, then,” John said before clearing his throat. He closed the door and sighed in annoyance. He wasn't going to be able to let it go. He’d read the journal again.