Labels

At some point, on some level, Sherlock had realized that John was the most important person in his life.

Of course, that doesn't seem like much when, in the entire world, your regular interactions are limited to six people, you only converse with four, only like three, and, of those, consider only one a friend, but to Sherlock, it was as close to the normal relationships of a normal person as he was ever likely to get.

They moved in their relationship to a place beyond 'friends' that he wasn't quite prepared to label. After all, what exactly could you call someone who shot a man for you after knowing you for less than a week? Who threw himself on your enemy to save you from the bomb strapped to his chest?

They'd never really been acquaintances. Their first meeting had been normal, boring, enough, but once you threw your lot in with Sherlock Holmes, you either stuck close or got out as fast as you could. John, interestingly enough, had been the former, a rarity. And… at the risk of sounding disgustingly clichéd, something about him had clicked.

They weren't brothers; he would hate to argue with John the way he did with Mycroft. Their fights had poisoned their once-amicable, if somewhat caustic, relationship, to the point where they couldn't stand to be in each other's company for too long. Something told Sherlock that if things ever got that bad with John, he'd never be able to get that close to another person again.

Whatever Moriarty, Sgt. Donavan, or Mrs. Hudson implied, they were hardly lovers; Sherlock simply wasn't interested in romance, be it with a man or a woman, though The Woman had come the closest to changing his mind. But then, of course, she'd descended into sentiment, and, somehow, she'd lost a bit of her allure, though he knew he would likely never meet another woman who could operate consistently on his mental level. That was fine with him. Romance would take away from the work, and John understood that.

So, what did that leave? In some respects, John took care of him as a mother would, patching up minor injuries and making sure he remembered to eat, but if Sherlock suggested it, he suspected that John would laugh until he fell out of his chair and then laugh a bit more. He was also like a bodyguard, protecting him when he was in danger, but bodyguards didn't make tea for you when you weren't feeling well. And while John was his doctor, at the same time, their relationship was much more personal than just a man in a lab coat pushing down your tongue and ordering you to say 'ah'.

Sherlock was tempted to leave his label for their relationship as 'friends' and save himself the oncoming headache, and then it hit him.

John looked at him and raised his eyebrow at the triumphant smirk on his face. "What is it, Sherlock?"

"We're partners, John," Sherlock declared, his smirk widening at the confusion on the doctor's face.

His smile faded a bit at John's response, though. "Of course we are; what did you think we've been?"

And Sherlock sputtered for a moment, but then he sighed and picked up the mug of tea John had made for him.

'Well,' he thought, in a rare moment of reflection, 'if it had to be anyone, I'm glad it was him.'

Fin