"Sherlock, do I really need to go to America with you?" John asked whilst packing his luggage.
"I really need you for this case John. It's crucial." Sherlock replied.
"You're the one who does all the work; I don't see why you bring me along anywhere in the first place!" John fumed.
"You're more helpful than you think. Just pack your bags, and don't forget your laptop. We wouldn't want your blog to be not updated for a bit."
"Isn't this just a one day case?" John questioned suspiciously.
"Of course it is."
"Here are your tickets, sir." The receptionist at the airport replied, batting her eyelashes suggestively.
Sherlock hovered almost protectively over John, "Thank you." He grabbed the tickets before John got the chance and walked quickly towards where they were to get on the plane.
Sherlock huffed as he sat down.
"What's the matter with you?" John asked.
"What," Sherlock replied, "Nothing's the matter with me, why do you ask?"
"You just seem," John paused to look for the right word, "annoyed."
"I'm not annoyed." Sherlock replied.
"Well, whatever." John shrugged.
John settled in as comfortable as possible on the seats in his limited amount of space. His leg ached with every movement and his back ached with the lack of them. He guessed he was just getting old. Sherlock noticed his friend's comfort level, or lack thereof, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it. Contrary to popular belief, Sherlock had some feelings; they were just very subtle. He thought that shifting his body lower than, and closer to, John's would give him the hint that Sherlock didn't mind John leaning against him, but it didn't seem like John was getting the hint.
Honestly some people can be so dense, "John."
"Hmm?"
"Would you be more comfortable if you leaned against me?"
"Wouldn't that make you uncomfortable though?" John asked quietly.
"Not really," Sherlock replied, "I'm fine with it."
John looked over at Sherlock, taking note at how Sherlock usually doesn't usually care if anyone is uncomfortable unless it was himself. John leaned himself over and laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock was definitely right, this position was so much more comfortable, but people were definitely going to talk now, no matter what they had to say about the matter. John felt extremely embarrassed as his face heated up without warning when Sherlock's breath ghosted over his face.
"Your face is getting warm." Sherlock whispered.
John jumped, "N-no it's not, it's just warm in here!"
"Whatever."
The flight was going to take a while, and eventually John lolled to sleep. Sherlock quietly entertained himself by deducing why others were flying to America. One man had just left his wife, while another was going to meet his own. A woman was just seeking out a new job opportunity as a lawyer, while another woman was running away from her street life of before. There were large varieties of people on the plane: doctors, interpreters, teachers, chefs, police officers, and yet there was only one consulting detective and only one ex-army doctor.
Once he had finished deducing all of the people on that plane that he could see, he entertained himself by running his fingers through John's short hair. Relative to length, John's hair was strangely soft and almost hypnotizing.
After the long plane ride, Sherlock woke John.
"John," He shook him, "John, it's time to wake up, we're here."
"Huh?" John said, groggily whipping at his eyes, "Oh, let's go."
As John stood up, he wobbled slightly, and Sherlock had to help steady him, and ignored the looks the two of them got.
John cleared his throat, "Um, thanks."
"No problem." Sherlock replied awkwardly.
After collecting their baggage, Sherlock and John made their way to the hotel. For a couple of days they would be living out of their suitcases in the nicest hotel they could have possibly wanted, complementary of Mycroft. The walls were clean and white; there was a large bathtub and a shower plus two sinks. This room was obviously made for two people, but John wasn't sure if it was made for two friends that shared a flat. That was because the room only had one bed.
"Um, Sherlock?" John hesitated.
"Yes?"
"There's only one bed, what are we supposed to do?"
"I guess we'll have to share." Sherlock replied matter-of-factly.
Unknown to John, Sherlock was smiling on the inside and quietly thanking his brother for being so clever for choosing this room. Mycroft annoyed him relentlessly, but at least for once he was thinking. Sherlock flopped down on the bed.
"Sherlock, shouldn't we go investigate?"
"Investigate what?" Sherlock asked while smirking.
"The case, Sherlock, the case!"
"Oh, yeah," He said, "I meant to tell you on the plane, but you fell asleep. There isn't really any case."
"Then why are we here?" John nearly shouted.
Sherlock stood back up, "I thought we needed some time off. Come on then." He walked toward the door.
"What do you mean? Come with you where?"
"To dinner, we haven't eaten all day. I'm used to it, but I know you aren't. You have to be hungry."
John shrugged and followed him, not sure if Sherlock even knew of any places to eat in Hawaii. They eventually found their way to a tropical and stereotypical Hawaiian food place. They ended up ordering the same thing on the menu because they both agreed that the picture of chicken on the menu looked extremely delicious.
"Here's your food." The waiter said, placing a single platter on the table.
"There's only one plate." John pointed out.
"Yes, you two ordered the same thing, it's normal that you should just double helpings on one big plate; it helps get rid of the unnecessary overuse of plates." With that, he walked away, ignoring all of John's half-hearted protests.
"At least he gave us separate forks." Sherlock pointed out.
John just nodded and grabbed his fork. He wasn't mad, and even if he were it wouldn't be at Sherlock. He knew Sherlock wouldn't eat anywhere near half of this, so he wasn't worried about not getting enough. He just felt that it would be a bit awkward for a couple of friends to share a plate. After a while, Sherlock reached over with a napkin and wiped the corner of John's mouth.
"You had a bit of sauce." He said simply, not pointing out the blush that had quickly crept its way across John's face.
"T-thanks Sherlock, but you could've just told me."
"It was easier just to get it myself." Sherlock replied nonchalantly.
They finished their food in silence, both listening to the sounds of the restaurant as people came and went. When they were finished, and the waiter came by, Sherlock asked for the check.
They made their way back to the hotel room in silence. They had gotten a nice high room with a view of the sea, a nice touch in John's opinion. As they walked in, John unceremoniously flopped down onto the bed.
"I am exhausted." He said, sighing.
Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and chuckled a little, "Yeah, I'm a little worn out myself. Shall we just go to sleep then?"
"Yeah, and tomorrow we should go back to London! I came out here for a case, and now there isn't one." John replied, feeling the slight anger well up in him again.
"No John, we're staying for five days. Mycroft is paying for all of it, so you don't have to worry about money. It'll be fine, just take a break for once."
John laughed, "Usually I'm the one telling you that. I thought you would explode without cases."
Sherlock smiled, "I think I'll be good for now. Figuring you out is harder than any case I've ever had to do."
"What?"
"You're difficult for me to understand John." Sherlock replied, laying down on his side of the bed and pulling the covers over himself, "It's probably because I let my emotions get in the way of reading you."
John got on his side, as far to the edge as possible, and asked, "What do you mean your emotions are getting in the way of reading me?"
"I don't want to talk about it." Sherlock said.
John scooted a little closer in the queen-sized bed and turned Sherlock over to face him. Sherlock's breath caught in his throat for a second, and then he covered his face with his hands, feeling the blush that he has been trying all day to fight back flood his face.
"Tell me Sherlock. I want to know."
"No John."
"Yes."
"No."
"Tell me Sherlock or so help me God when we get back to London I will refuse all your cases for at least a week." John replied sternly.
Sherlock mumbled incoherently.
"What was that?"
"I said, it's kind of like a school-girl with a crush, I suppose." He said slightly louder.
"As always, you are difficult to understand Sherlock." John said, looking at Sherlock confusedly.
"I mean. I like you. I more than like you. Therefore, I read you completely wrong; I could be thinking, 'Oh, he moved his hand closer to mine, he might be interested,' or, 'He actually laid his head on my shoulder, maybe he does care about me.' I know I'm going about my deductions about you all wrong lately. I've been trying to twist it around so that I can think there is a possibility of you being interested in me, even though you are the straightest person I know. Therefore, I can't read you correctly."
John just giggled, "Is that a confession."
Sherlock sighed, "I'm going out."
John grabbed his hand as he went to leave, "Sherlock, if you don't face your problems now, you might regret it."
"What am I going to regret, walking away before a rejection? I don't think I would regret that, it would just save me pain." He tugged free.
"No, you would regret not listening to what I have to say and possibly hurting my feelings, so get back in the bed." John's voice was completely full of sincerity.
Sherlock got back in the bed and pulled the covers completely over him to obscure his face.
"Now, now, Sherlock, don't cover your face. Look me in the eye and listen to what I have to say. I'm one hundred percent serious about this." John said.
Sherlock slowly uncovered his face to find John barely and inch away. Sherlock could feel his breath ghosting over his face and felt shivers running up his spine.
"What do you have to say to me, John?"
John pulled Sherlock close into a careful embrace, taking in Sherlock's slightly minty smell, "Contrary to what you may think, I'm not the straightest guy you know. I'm just good at making people believe so."
"What does that mean?" Sherlock questioned hesitantly.
John softly pressed his lips to Sherlock's in a chaste kiss, "I like you, too."
Sherlock sighed contentedly and fell asleep. John would soon do the same after stroking Sherlock's hair for a bit.
