InsaneJournal

Who: Charles Xavier and Sherlock Holmes.
What: Sherlock is oblivious and Charles hits him with a clue bat.
Where: The X-Mansion.
When: May 9.
Rating: PG at most.
Status: Log. Complete.

Charles knew that this had every chance of going badly, but he owed Irene. Sure, there was every possibility that Erik would have eventually confronted him about his feelings without her interference, but he doubted it. At the very least, it would have taken much longer. Plus she had helped the older version of the man with his problems, and Charles respected that. It was the least he could do to return the favour and talk to the rather idiotic man with whom his friend was infatuated. Fair was fair, after all, and he could read people just as well as Irene when his proximity to the situation and his own feelings weren’t blinding him to what was right in front of him. The fact was that Sherlock Holmes was quite the idiot.

It wasn’t that he didn’t respect Sherlock’s intelligence. He did. Honestly, he thought the man was incredibly brilliant. But that didn’t stop him from being irredeemably stupid where emotional issues were concerned. It was painfully obvious to Charles just how much Irene and Sherlock cared for one another. The only person who couldn’t seem to see it was the man himself. It was rather unfortunate, but that was where he came in. He had absolute faith in his ability to make Sherlock Holmes see sense where Irene was concerned, much as she had for him and Erik. The parallel was actually rather amusing. Plus, it was a chance to talk one on one with Sherlock Holmes, and he would hardly pass up that opportunity.

Irene was busy in a different part of the house, quite possibly prodding at Erik. She did seem to enjoy pushing his buttons and he could only hope that there wouldn’t be a repeat of the cutlery incident. There was so much metal in the house, after all, and eventually they would do real damage. He wasn’t too terribly worried though. They were both adults, and he trusted them to behave appropriately. Besides, he had other things to think about. Such as the man that had just walked into the kitchen where he was enjoying a cup of tea. He probably should have been amused that so many confrontations seemed to happen in the room.

"Mr. Holmes," he greeted the man calmly. "I believe Miss Adler is otherwise engaged at present, but I’ve no doubt she will be available shortly. In any case, I had hoped to speak with you." The smile he gave the man was friendly and affable, with an edge to it. "Would you please sit and join me for some tea?" He didn’t wait for an answer, simply pouring a second cup and fixing it the way he knew from observation that Sherlock liked it. The man had been around the house rather a lot lately. "I promise I will not take up too much of your time."

Sherlock had been avoiding his flat most nights since John had been sent home. At first, he’d stayed over at Irene’s, grateful for both the company and the place to stay that didn’t remind him so strongly of the best friend that he’d lost, but when she’d moved to the Xavier Manorhouse for the added safety and protection of Charles, Sherlock’s respite had moved here. It hadn’t really been something that he’d been comfortable with at first, not really sure whether he would be intruding in a way that he wasn’t welcome, but he’d gotten used to the idea rather quickly and had been coming and going from the place with a modicum of ease in the last few days. Of course, what Sherlock hadn’t been expecting was that the way that he had been comfortably passing Charles and the other manor inhabitants the last few days would suddenly be upgraded to a need to chat.

Turning from where he’d paused in front of the fridge, Sherlock swept his eyes briefly over the scene in front of him, trying to figure out exactly what the situation was which warranted this. Normally, Sherlock would assume that Mycroft had put Charles up to trying to curb some of his behaviors, but as his big brother and he had made a pact to try and each behavior more as adults rather than overprotective sibling and immature child, that idea was rather quickly dismissed. Whatever this was, it wasn’t likely to have anything to do with Mycroft, and, well, Sherlock did have a few minutes to kill while Irene finished up whatever task she was engaging herself with at the moment, so Sherlock didn’t really see any harm in listening.

"Call me Sherlock. Please," Sherlock said as he crossed over to the table and sat himself down across from Charles. He managed to muster a bit of a polite smile before turning the teacup towards him, quietly impressed with Charles’s observation skills. Other than the few people in his life who he truly called friends, Sherlock couldn’t think of anyone who actually knew how he took his tea. "Mr. Holmes makes me feel too much like my brother. Or, God forbid, my father."

Charles nodded his head, glad that Sherlock hadn’t simply brushed him off and gone about his business. It was hard to tell what the man would do without looking in his head, and he did his best to stay out of there out of respect for Irene. "Sherlock, then," he amended calmly. "I do understand. Whenever people call me Dr. Xavier, I cannot help but look around for my own father. I still have a hard time even answering to Professor, though the title is certainly apt these days." He took a sip of his tea. "So, obviously, you’re welcome to call me Charles, or whatever unpleasant names you have come up with in your head."

He knew well that Sherlock resented him to some degree for his closeness with Irene, and he wasn’t going to pretend that wasn’t an issue but he also wasn’t going to turn it into a fight. Acknowledging it and moving on really seemed the best bet. "Now," he said softly, "I could dance around this, try to be subtle and hope you understand, but that will undoubtedly be lost on you. So, instead, I’ll just get right to the point. You’re in love with Ms. Adler." He paused a moment to let the point hit home. "And she is in love with you. The situation, as I see it, is really very simple, but for some reason you feel the need to complicate it. I was rather hoping you would tell me why."

Sherlock had been mid-sip when Charles used the l-word. Sherlock very nearly choked on his tea, only able to save himself from an embarrassing fumble by holding the cup to his lips a moment longer than he might have otherwise before sitting in down on the table in front of him as he looked up at Charles with a hint of confusion in his eyes, "I’m complicating it because it isn’t a mutual feeling, whatever you might think," Sherlock said, feeling the utter urge of honesty washing over him. He might have denied his own feelings had he the ability, but now, he couldn’t do such a thing. Only say what he believed about the situation from Irene’s end. "I’m fond of her. Yes. Extremely fond. She intrigues me, challenges me. She pushes me to be better than I actually am, to be more than I am. But that’s her job, isn’t it?" Sherlock asked with a bit more emotion in his tone than he liked. This wasn’t at all how he had intended on directing the conversation, but it was what his mind seemed to feel was necessary to say. "Or at least, what she seems to do naturally?" He asked. It was rather obvious that Sherlock really didn’t know what he was talking about or even asking about. "Besides, I’m not her type. Not beyond the realm of client, at least." Sherlock said, staring down at his tea cup for a long moment before looking back up at Charles. "Right?"

After all, Sherlock had really assumed that everything that she had said to him back in their own reality had just been part of the game she was playing, all of those things meant to throw him off and confuse his mental processes with other processes that he typically ignored, and it hadn’t been too hard to tell that her immediate interests lay elsewhere. So surrounded by beautiful women as she was, and coupled with what she had said to John, well, why would he ever stoop to think that he could somehow upset that balance.

"We’re just friends."

"The only way it isn’t a mutual feeling," Charles said with absolute certainty, "is if you do not care for her. And to say that you don’t would be quite the falsehood." He sighed at Sherlock’s insinuation that Irene’s regard for him was all an act. How could the man be so utterly blind? It made no sense, and he shook his head and sipped his tea before speaking. "For a genius," he said, "you really are quite the idiot. If you really think everything Irene feels for you is an act then...well...I honestly don’t know how you’ve managed for so long. Irene feels more for you than she has for perhaps anyone else. It is abundantly clear to anyone with the sense to actually notice." It baffled him that Sherlock could have missed something so very obvious, but he supposed the man had taken Irene at her word regarding her preferences. Charles, however, knew that it wasn’t quite so simple as all of that. He’d seen firsthand how feelings could take even the brightest of individuals by surprise. Still, he could hardly be surprised that Sherlock had missed what was so obvious to him. This area of things, emotion and the way it impacted people and relationships, seemed a sort of foreign ground where the other man was concerned.

"Is this about Irene’s sexuality?" he asked patiently. "Look, Sherlock, I’m going to explain something. I generally prefer women. So does Irene. If I had to define my sexuality, I would classify myself as primarily heterosexul with incidental homosexuality. Irene would most likely call herself homosexual, with more than incidental heterosexuality due to her work. And yet, when it comes down to it, I am in love with Erik." He paused. "Not because he’s a man, but because of who he is. And the same is true for Irene. Her feelings are not dependent on your gender, but on everything that makes you the man that you are. I’m a very cerebral individual as a consequence of my mutation, and my association with Irene has shown me that the same is true for her. Is it really so difficult for you to believe that your sex is a negligible concern for her? Attraction is not limited to the physical. That’s just what holds the rest. It’s decoration."

He smirked. "Besides, Irene’s sexuality did not stop us from enjoying a very active sexual relationship for a time, before Erik and I became involved. She appreciates clever people. And you are, arguably, a very clever man."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Sherlock asked, not really wanting an answer to the question. He already knew why everyone (everyone being those particularly close to him) said it. Because, in essence, it was true. Sherlock might have a mind capable of grasping things which most other people missed, ignored, or otherwise denied existing, but when it came to the average, ordinary interactions and information required in everyday conditions, he was completely clueless. This included pretty much all kinds of relationships particularly those that went beyond the bounds of mutual friendship. So instead of talking over Charles or trying to interrupt him, after the initial comment, Sherlock just sipped his tea and let the other man talk.

It was a baffling prospect, that Irene really did feel the same way about him that he felt about her. Or at least, thought that he might. His own feelings were about as mysterious and unknown to him as those of other people, and the warm contented twist in his stomach that he got around here wasn’t really something that was easy to put into words. You make me feel blurry and queasy didn’t really sound like much of a compliment or even really positive, and it was hard to outline, even in his own mind, how those two feelings really translated into something good. And yes, he had thought that her preferences had precluded whatever fondness he might have had from becoming anything more than that. As much as he appreciated Charles putting things plainly, Sherlock couldn’t help but feel that he was being condescended to just a little, as though these were things that he already should have known. Whether his thoughts about that were real or were more just a result of his own frustration with himself, they proved to be a bit too much for him to hold back when the pressure of the honesty kicked in.

"I thought that was how it worked," Sherlock said after a moment, setting his teacup down in front of himself. "I’ve never felt any need to overly concern myself with these sorts of...mating rituals, but it always seemed to be either or, one or the other. No matter how little success one might have with forming lasting relationships with them."

"I think, perhaps, if people keep saying it then it just might have merit," Charles said mildly. "You are a very intelligent man but, when it comes to interpersonal relationships at least, you have quite a bit to learn. It is obvious how Irene feels about you. She cares greatly for you, and she would do most anything for you. But she’s also not the sort of woman to sit around forever, waiting for you to see what’s right in front of you. I just hope that you realise that."

It was a bit sad, how oblivious Sherlock seemed to be to how other people felt about him. And it wasn’t because he didn’t understand feelings, so much as he didn’t seem to want to believe that people would actually care about him. It was honestly a bit tragic and suddenly Charles wanted to help not just for Irene’s sake, but for Sherlock’s as well. The man deserved to have a bit of happiness in his life, but he seemed reluctant to accept it as a possibility. It was really terribly unfortunate, the way Sherlock closed himself off from other people and latched on to the idea of rejection to avoid letting anyone in. Charles only hoped that he could help with that and make the man see what was right in front of his face. Especially considering how little the other man seemed to understand when it came to the wide spectrum of sexual attraction.

"It’s never quite that simple," he said, "and even if it were, Irene is hardly a typical woman. There are some people who, in spite of their typical preferences, simply find themselves attracted to people. There is a whole range of ways in which human sexuality expresses itself. And sometimes you meet someone who is just different, and who makes you feel things you would never expect. Such is the case with you and Irene."

"Definitely things that I would never expect," Sherlock said quietly before looking up at Charles with a long, confused gaze. "I’m not even really sure how to describe it. Are you supposed to feel sick all the time?' Sherlock asked with the quiet sincerity one might expect from a twelve year old with their first crush. "I wouldn’t think that...that... love would make you feel like you’ve got a positive version of the flu." Fiddling with the teacup, Sherlock shifted his gaze back down after the question, unable to conceal the embarrassment that filtered through him after that.

Friendship had been difficult enough to get the hang of, and they had already existed. And while he had thought to maybe ask Mycroft what it was like, what he felt like towards Pepper, to try and compare the two feelings to see whether he was anywhere close to being in the same place with Irene, it would have required him to admit to Mycroft that he had these feelings. And then, well, Sherlock wouldn’t entirely put it past Mycroft to make Irene disappear if he found out before he had actually sorted this out with her. He didn’t think his brother actually would, what with their agreement to try and treat each other more like adults, but there was still this tangible worry in the back of Sherlock’s mind that he might. Mycroft, after all, really was afraid that Irene might destroy him again.

And she might. Though not in the way that his brother feared. "Are you sure?" Sherlock asked, the doubt in his tone clear. "Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand her?"

The way Sherlock spoke, it was as if he’d never felt any sort of romantic attachment in his life and, the more he thought about, the more obvious it was to Charles that this was the case. It was a bit sad really, seeing the man so out of his depth. He gave Sherlock a patient smile and shook his head. "It’s different for everyone," he said softly, "but that sounds about right. Love is...a decidedly unsettling emotion. It throws everything off balance, but in the best way possible. And yet it can be terribly overwhelming all the same. The thing to remember is that you can’t judge your own feelings on any sort of scale. You can’t measure love by what other people feel. It’s a deeply personal experience."

He sighed. Sherlock was so terribly uncertain. It was strange, coming from a man who was so sure of himself, but that was just the effect Irene had on people. "Irene is a very complicated woman," he said after a moment, "but she and I understand one another quite well. She cares for you deeply, my friend. That she loves you is certain to me as anything. Irene and I have...discussed a great many things in the course of our friendship." He sighed. "But the fact is I’m not the person you should be talking to, Sherlock. Our mutual friend is around here somewhere, and this is a subject best discussed with her. I imagine she will be able to offer you a measure of assurance that I cannot."

Maybe Charles was right. Sitting here and thinking on it wasn’t going to clarify things anymore than talking to Charles was going to, even if the other man had given him more than enough to think about. Sherlock needed to go right to the source to make sure what Charles was saying was at all correct, to figure out how he was supposed to react to this, whether he even should react. If the telepath was offbase, he’d just be making an utter fool out of himself by telling Irene how he felt. But then again, maybe that was exactly what he needed to do.

Because, at least, if she laughed at him, she would know he was willing to put himself out there for her. If that wasn’t already obvious with him taking on a terrorist cell to make sure that she got out alive.

"I think that’s what I’ll go do," Sherlock said after a moment, pushing his chair back and standing. "Thank you."

Charles gave Sherlock a smile and nodded his head ever so slightly. "You are most welcome, Sherlock," he assured him. "And, in case it wasn’t obvious, you are welcome to stop by any time, whether it’s to talk or simply because you’re bored. I love a good game of chess and I wouldn’t mind a game with someone who presents an actual challenge." Erik was quite good, but he was so easy to distract these days. Not that Charles was complaining, of course, but it might be nice to have their chess games actually reach a conclusion, rather than ending abruptly when one or the other of them got bored with the pretence and cast it aside for more physical pursuits.

"Good luck in your conversation with Ms. Adler," he said, taking a sip of his tea to hide his grin. "I imagine it will be quite revelatory for the both of you."