"Sherlock!" John shouted as he slammed the front door and started to run up the stairs to the 221B Baker Street flat, Sherlock looked up curiously from the freshly made cup of tea in his hands and cast a fleeting glance to the now empty kitchen and shrugged to himself just before John burst through the door. "Sherlock." John growled through gritted teeth, he was out of breath, his cheeks red from exertion and he was breathing heavily while he glared at Sherlock.
Sherlock cast his eyes over John and raised an eyebrow, keeping his calm composure, "You're angry with me." He stated, taking another sip of his tea, "Why? You've been away for the past two days at Mary's." He asked, interested at the unusual temperament of his flatmate and his sudden reappearance.
"Mary broke up with me, and it's your fault."
Sherlock sat up straighter in his armchair at this accusation, he remained calm, but for a fleeting second you could have seen a look of annoyance on his face. "How is it my fault, John? I've never spoken to the woman and I ignored her whenever you happened to burden me with her presence."
"No, Sherlock, she broke up with me the same way Sarah did, telling me to 're-evaluate' my feelings for you. That's two now, Sherlock, two. It's your fault." John said angrily.
Sherlock sighed, "John, I don't control your feelings. I also tend to ignore anything you bring home."
John continued to glare at him.
"And I don't know-"Sherlock paused for a moment, almost as though he was deciding if what he was about to say was the right thing, which was not a normal occurrence for the detective. "-maybe you should take their advice and re-evaluate how you feel about me." Sherlock said airily, as he shrugged lightly.
John didn't move, he just stared with confusion at Sherlock, "You're my friend, Sherlock, and probably my best friend. What is there to re-evaluate?"
Sherlock took another sip from his tea, glancing again to the kitchen before shrugging at John.
John sat down on the table heavily, hanging his head and playing with his hands, "I just don't understand." He said without looking up, Sherlock held back a comment about nobody understanding anything because they were all idiots with a lot of effort as John continued to talk. "I mean, that's two of them, and Sarah was wonderful and we lasted six months, but then all of a sudden she told me to re-evaluate my feelings for you and I didn't understand then and now I really don't." John mumbled, Sherlock sighed heavily as he placed his mug on the ground and glanced over at John, who was visibly becoming more and more worked up and upset, Sherlock bit his lip but stayed where he was.
"I mean, you're my friend, we live together, we're close...well as close as a person can get to you."
Sherlock seemed to flinch at that, but John still had his head in his hands and wasn't bothering in looking up to see how anything he might have said was effecting Sherlock, he was merely just thinking out loud and Sherlock was listening awkwardly, unaware of how to comfort someone in this situation, or should he.
"We solve crimes together, you made me better, I made you better, we made each other better people." John was mumbling now, and his words were lower, but Sherlock was staring at him with wide, interested eyes.
"I probably talk about you a lot. But you're different and interesting and I find everything you do fantastic and I've probably said that to the others and oh god, Sherlock, you're still here listening to this." John said quietly, looking up at meeting Sherlock's wide eyes, John's cheeks were now a deep red and his eyes were still glassy, with the tears that he wasn't going to let Sherlock see.
"I'm not going to interrupt you, John. Continue. You might just be heading for an answer." Sherlock said quietly.
John glanced at Sherlock before looking down at his hands again, aware of the fact that Sherlock was now staring at him intently.
"I mean, there was always a time that we'd end up talking about you, the genius. What it's like to live with you, and I say it's amazing, and interesting and different, but a good different. What are you like, and I say you're illustrious, they say they know that, but what they meant was what you're like to me, and then I tell them, I don't know what I'm saying, it just comes out of somewhere, I don't even have to think about it." John mumbles, his voice is becoming quieter and he's speaking faster, and Sherlock is now staring at John, really staring, as though there was nothing else in the world, no puzzles, no crimes, no dead bodies or blackmails that could interest him more than the man sitting in front of him could at this very moment. He looks as though he's waiting for something, for John to say what he tells the others, has he realized it yet?
Will he ever? If not, will Sherlock tell him?
He doesn't think he will.
I mean, what could he say?
"I know, John. I knew all along." That didn't seem right to Sherlock.
Not even from those times when John was screaming for Sherlock in his nightmares, and Sherlock comforted him, and maybe somewhere deep down, he hoped that John would remember the words he'd whisper to him as he soothed him back to sleep, but he knew he wouldn't and that was the only reason why he'd said them in the first place.
Sometimes Sherlock would be expecting John to say something, but it quickly became apparent to Sherlock that John never remembered anything about the night terrors, therefore never remembering Sherlock comforting, so for all Sherlock knew, John probably thought he was just a heartless bastard who would ignore John if he heard him call out during one of them.
John finally begins to talk again, "I mean, I have tried to think about it, where exactly the answer comes from, but it just sort of comes out. I tell them how amazing you are, how brilliant and enigmatic-even to me still, after living with you for over a year. I tell them how you saved me life that night in the pool-" He stopped, glancing at Sherlock uncomfortably, and he was just in time to catch that glimpse of pain? Guilt? That crossed Sherlock's features before he could mask them, that night would haunt both of them forever. "-How I enjoy your company, your jibes, your intelligence, and how you're really quite dashing. I tell them all of this and they stay silent, like you, and then they tell me ever so gently to re-evaluate my feelings for you. I don't understand, Sherlock, help me understand." John whispered, his eyes glassy once again, this time, Sherlock who was completely silent caught one tear slide down John's cheek, he sat awkwardly for a second and then stood up slowly.
John was watching Sherlock as he slowly walked over to the table where John sat, he sat down a few centimetres from John and placed his hand ever so gently on John's shoulder, and patted it once or twice.
It was so clear that he was out of his comfort zone, comforting anyone was uncharted territory for him.
John realized this of course, how couldn't he, but he tried to smile at the effort, but it came out twisted as he was trying not to cry more than he already had, which had brought Sherlock over beside him.
Sherlock stared at John with his eyebrows knitted together in confusion, what was he meant to do? John was clearly trying not to cry, although, he wasn't succeeding as small tears tracks were now becoming pronounced against John's lightly tanned skin.
Sherlock reached out and wiped away the tears with his finger gently, barely touching John's skin. John was unprepared for Sherlock to do anything like that and flinched slightly at the touch of Sherlock's cold finger, Sherlock, of course, noticed this and promptly returned his spare hand-the one that wasn't awkwardly patting his shoulder every few seconds-back to his lap. He was confused, he had seen people do that to each other in some of the boring TV shows John watches, but they'd never flinched away, did he do something wrong? Was John still angry with him?
John had closed his eyes by this point, and the only word he could get out properly was "No."
Sherlock looked even more confused at this, 'No' what? Did it mean 'Go away'?
As Sherlock was so taken over by wondering what that could possibly mean, he was taken off guard by John moving closer to him and wrapping his arms around his back and resting his head on Sherlock's shoulders, Sherlock could even have sworn that John actually sniffed his suit jacket and he was even more confused by the fact that John seemed to relax even further into him after he did this.
Sherlock's hands were left, held up in the air awkwardly, he didn't know if he was meant to wrap his arms around John the way John had done to him, so he decided not to do anything, he was aware at this point that John was shaking slightly, silently crying and he felt helpless. He had no clue what you were meant to do in this case.
Usually in the shows John watches, they tell each other that they love the hysterical person and it's all going to be okay, but as John had flinched the second Sherlock tried to wipe away a tear, he was not going to even attempt this.
They stayed like that for quite a while, Sherlock's hands still in the air, John crying. They stayed in silence, and time passed easier than Sherlock had thought it would, as his mind was so filled with questions about what he should do and so forth.
"You know, Sherlock, it is usually normal practice to wrap your arms around the person of whom is holding on to you." Mycroft's voice floated across the room, from where he stood at the kitchen door, with a knowing smile.
Sherlock jumped at the interruption to his thoughts, which made Mycroft practically gleeful, but John slowly pulled away from Sherlock, his eyes red, blushing at the fact Mycroft was eyeing him intently and the fact that he knew he had seen the darker patch on Sherlock's shoulder where he had been crying.
"Where did you go?" Sherlock asked, not noticing the look of confusion that was clear on John's face.
Mycroft smiled carefully, "I was having a wonderful chat with the lovely Mrs. Hudson."
Sherlock sighed, "And then you decided to come back up here and listen to anything that might have been said between John and I."
John glanced quickly between both brothers, where he saw Mycroft laugh lightly, and he was aware to the fact that it sounded unnatural or it could have been forced, Mycroft didn't seem like the type who would laugh often.
"Of course, I knew you'd re-appear, but how much did you hear?" Sherlock asked.
"Enough to explain to John why he was told to re-evaluate his feelings, which you're already somewhat aware of Sherlock, but knowing you, John will never find out if he hasn't already realized what you discovered quite a long time ago."
John caught a glimpse of Sherlock from the corner of his eye and saw that he was glaring harshly at Mycroft and his face looked as though it was chiselled from stone.
Mycroft carried his umbrella over to John's armchair and sat down, facing them both, his expression was a small smile, but John couldn't seem to figure out whether it was genuine or just a little bit condescending as though he should already know what Mycroft was about to explain, and why it was seeming to have such a profound effect on Sherlock.
"John, you have lived with Sherlock for over a year, correct?"
John nodded slowly, confusion visible on his face.
"And you're close?"
John hesitated for a second, "Well...I guess." He said shrugging. "You know Sherlock." He mumbled.
Sherlock, by this point had closed his eyes and his face was still devoid of any emotions, which wasn't unusual for Sherlock so John didn't really think there was anything different or unusual about this.
"You're been through a lot together?"
John shifted slightly, leaning in to Sherlock subconsciously, but Mycroft's eyes narrowing on the now smaller space between the two obviously observed this change.
"We've been through a lot." John mumbled, "We've both nearly been murdered...or blown up a few times by now."
"And how does that make you feel about my brother?" Mycroft asked.
John tilted his head, carefully looking at Mycroft, he was starting to feel as though he had decided to go back to his therapist all of a sudden. He shrugged, "He's special." John said suddenly, earning an interested look from Mycroft who obviously hadn't been expecting such a blunt answer.
Sherlock didn't react to what John had said, he still had his eyes tightly shut as though he was concentrating really hard.
"Special, in what way?" Mycroft prodded.
John had started smiling, mainly to himself, he hadn't actually realized what he was doing. "Well, he risks his life quite often to help make London-or the world for that matter, a better place."
"But you were a soldier, John. You also work with Sherlock, wouldn't that mean you're also special?"
John was still smiling to himself, "But he's Sherlock."
Sherlock opened his eyes at this and glanced at John before taking a look at Mycroft who was staring at John as though he was waiting for a penny to drop, then he closed his eyes again.
"And?"
"He's just him, I think he's brilliant." John replied.
At this Mycroft rolled his eyes, finally showing a tiny part of how impatient he actually was feeling. "Are we not getting anywhere?" He asked.
"Stop it, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped.
John stared between the two of them, "Getting where?"
Mycroft sighed heavily, this, he remembered was why he seldom visited his brother or even went anywhere other than the Diogenes Club, even there he didn't have to deal with the slowness of people and it was now he finally understood Sherlock's annoyance with many people in the Yard and he was surprised he hadn't hurt John yet.
Surprised, but pleased he hadn't.
"Do you not listen to yourself talk or are you completely oblivious to everything?"
"Mycroft." Sherlock said harshly, trying to condone his brother who was starting to sound incredibly impatient.
John was silent for a few moments, "That's why?" He asked, his voice was low and laced with shock and his eyes were wide as he glanced at Sherlock, who wasn't looking at him and had his head resting on his hands, with his eyes still closed.
"At last. I thought you'd never realize." Mycroft said softly.
John was still staring wide eyed at Sherlock. "But it's Sherlock!" He protested.
"Thank you, John, while I may not look like I'm listening, I can still hear you both." Sherlock mumbled.
Mycroft stood up slowly, using his umbrella to steady himself, "Well I believe I have done what was needed. I'll leave you both now to discuss everything. Goodbye John, Sherlock. I look forward to many happy announcements." He smiled lightly before he left the room, closing the door behind him, the room was silent while they listened to his slow footsteps thread down the stairs heavily.
John stared at Sherlock, who still hadn't moved. "How did I not notice?" He mumbled.
Sherlock sighed, but didn't move. "You're not the most observant after all, are you, John?"
"You-?" John stopped almost immediately, of course.
Everything made sense now.
The way Sherlock acted around him, especially after the Swimming Pool, he had been kinder, he had actually apologized to John, Sherlock apologizing.
John had a blurry memory of Sherlock kissing his forehead as he woke up in a hospital bed after being injured by a serial killer, but he had thought that had been a dream.
The way Sherlock acted around Sarah or Mary, he had no patience at all for either of them, he hated them.
The way he never denied it when people thought they were together.
The fact that he had once or twice gone shopping for John.
John was probably going crazy now, and his mind was probably just making up crazy scenarios at this point, but he could have sworn that Sherlock had talked him back to sleep a few times. Sherlock being caring? That had to have been a dream.
John glanced at Sherlock now, and was surprised to find him staring at him intently.
"I what?" Sherlock asked. "I think I know where this is going, but I don't want to accidently use the wrong word."
The wrong word? John played that over in his mind, this was bizarre, this was Sherlock. It wouldn't be that word.
"This is crazy." John said shaking his head, now pacing around the sitting room as Sherlock watched him with interest.
"I agree. It did take you over a year."
John shook his head, "It's not that." He mumbled, "You're Sherlock!"
Sherlock nodded slowly, "Yes, John, I was aware of that."
"But you said you were married to your work!"
Sherlock smiled softly at John, "In retrospect, John, I had known you for about an hour, collectively."
"But you said-"
"John." Sherlock interrupted, "I never knew at that time that I'd come to...like you so much." He coughed self consciously. "And anyway, the marriage to my work is not legally binding." He paused for a second and an amused expression crossed his features, "Anyway, you work with me now."
John couldn't help but laugh, he saw Sherlock relax at the sound of his laughter, and even he was laughing quietly to himself. He walked slowly over to Sherlock as sat down close beside him, so that their legs and shoulders were brushing against each other.
"I can't believe you never said anything." John mumbled.
Sherlock smiled down at him, "Well I did ask you out for a date."
"What?" John asked, "When?"
Sherlock sighed, "During that case that you typed up as 'The Blind Banker'" Sherlock said, glancing at John, "I was trying to get to you before Sarah, bit late though."
"Oh...I remember that."
Sherlock nodded, "I suppose it's good that I made an impression of sorts there."
"You made many impressions upon me. I'm just surprised you waited so long."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "John, you're probably a little shocked, but it seems the one thing you're most surprised about is the fact that I can actually have feelings."
John laughed, "I feel stupid for not recognizing that I lo-" He paused abruptly, receiving a curious look from Sherlock, "-felt more for you than I thought I did."
Sherlock hesitantly pulled John's hand into his, delicately intertwining their fingers.
"How about I make that long wait up to you?" John asked, "Lets go on an actual date."
Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, not letting go of John's hand, "John." He said somewhat awkwardly. "I've never been in an actual relationship before and-"
John cut Sherlock off, "That doesn't matter, there's a first for everything. It can't be that hard." He said with an encouraging smile aimed at Sherlock, squeezing his hand lightly, "How about we go to Angelo's? He'll have candles, apparently they're more romantic." He said jokingly.
Sherlock smiled, "So it doesn't bother you?" He asked.
"Not in the slightest. Let's just take it one step at a time." John said happily, "Hey, do you think Angelo will actually bake us a cake when he finds out we're finally on an actual date?"
Sherlock laughed at this, he almost sounded relieved. "Most probably."
"Brilliant! How about we go now? We both look very smart and presentable?"
Sherlock smiled at John, "You move on fast."
John's smile faulted for a second, but then returned, "Well it took your brother, of all people, to help me realize what had actually been in front of me all along and also what everyone else except me was seeing."
Sherlock was looking at John fondly, as though he was trying to commit this image of both of them to memory, which probably meant some unimportant fact was going to slip away from him, but honestly, he wouldn't have it any other way.
John Watson was the one exception for everything.
Sherlock and John stood up to get their coats and were prepared to walk against the cold English wind to get to the restaurant. Sherlock helped John into his jacket, and John handed Sherlock his scarf and by the living room door, they both seemed to have the same idea and at the same second they both turned to face each other and leaned in slowly, eventually brushing their lips against each other.
A few minutes later, Sherlock and John pulled away reluctantly from each other and joined hands as they left the room, they both had a new twinkle in their eyes as they were smiling to themselves.
This would be different, they thought.
A good different.