So I saw a beautiful piece of artwork by anotherwellkeptsecret on tumblr and I just couldn't let it go. Be sure to check it out! This is the first chapter which I see turning into a multichapter Johnlock piece. Hopefully you all like it! Battle of the Blades is a real show, this fic is so far not beta'd but if you're intrested please leave a comment or shoot me a message.
Hockey is rough sport to say the least. The constant collision and flowing movement is entirely brutal on your joints. Causes bruises all over your body. It makes your muscles ache. John Watson was all too aware of this painful fact. At 29 he was already on the outer stretches of his career as goalie for Vancouver Canucks. His playing was still superb but despite the reassurance of his coach and his fellow players he couldn't help but hear the whisperings. Tabloids and papers talking about the best new boys fresh out of secondary school tearing up the ice ready to take off on new careers without a mention of the prehistoric goalie anywhere. John had once been one of these boys with a very promising career ahead of him. But those days were more than a decade past. By all standards John had been very successful in his years. He'd even taken his team to the playoffs four times. But John would be damned if he didn't secure a Stanley Cup win before the only job he'd ever known tossed his sorry body to the street. John was willing to do nearly anything to secure one or two more seasons in the professionals so he could win the cup. And yet he had doubts about whether any team would carry a goalie who was nearly 30 years old, practically ancient in such physically damaging sport.
On the morning that his agent rung him up he was willing to advertise any product or sign with any advertiser or to do literally anything to keep his career from fading into obscurity before he reached the full potential he saw in his own ability to keep playing. He knew he could do it, just had to convince someone else of it as well. But, nevertheless when his agent Greg Lestrade rung him up and asked John how he felt about being on Battle of the Blades he was less than enthusiastic. He'd done figure skating as a boy. His mother insisted it would make him a better hockey player. All the top boys were doing. And she may have not had enough money to buy him new skates but she poured every cent of the child support checks she received from John's absent father into his lessons. Physical therapists and private coaches, they'd lived with barely any money for food but she saw potential in John and wasn't going to let that go to waste. Somebody was going to make it out of the three generations of poverty. His younger sister Harry was often left with less attention and far less money directed towards her activities, but as soon as he was old enough, John began working to pay for his own lessons, insisted on any extra funds heading towards Harry's activities. He loved his sister more than nearly anyone and the guilt of her neglect for his talent often still left him with a feeling of guilt. But despite the support of his mother and somewhat reluctant support of his sister his peers were less supportive of his figure skating lessons and so he'd dropped it before he'd begun secondary school. But at the instance of his couch, had kept with the hockey. In a different life, John thought he would have been a good doctor but in this life he wanted to provide more than enough for his family.
So, despite the teasing , he'd always kept his figure skating skates in the back of his closet. Even he wasn't sure why but they always brought something up in him when he saw them, something warm and comfortable and familiar. So he'd held on to the tiny skates. But yet even years passed the pain of school yard teasing with a successful hockey career behind him, he was less than enthusiastic to lacing up in those thin bladed skates again. But then again he couldn't risk fading into obscurity and this would be exposure of a sort. And he couldn't be choosy right now. So after a pause and a moment's contemplation John agreed. But then he asked who his figure skating partner would be. And he could not believe his ears. Sherlock Holmes.
John was not gay. "I'm not gay" he had told every reporter and talk show host and news anchor who'd ever questioned his seeming lack of relationships. John had been in relationships with several previous girlfriends. He just hadn't allowed the media to catch wind of them. He'd preferred privacy. But entirely heterosexual was not a word John would use to describe himself. He'd had earlier sexual encounters with men and often found them very attractive. But the media didn't need to know more the than the fact that he was not gay. Not a lie but not entirely the truth. It had been years since John Had lusted after a man but when watching the 2010 Olympics in Vancouver he laid eyes upon Sherlock Holmes. He was angular and thin in the most gorgeous sort of way. He was pure muscle and angular bones. Not usually John's type but there was something about Sherlock that captured his attention. So when Greg told him they were going in a different direction this season of Battle of the Blades and that they were going to include same-sex partner pairings and that John was to be paired with the bloody gorgeous Sherlock Holmes. His face turned a red colour and he was glad no one could see him.
"Brilliant" John had stammered into the phone a little too quickly.
"Are you sure you're okay with this John? We can pursue other options." Greg said back.
"No, No, tell them I'll do it" John said. And with that he hung up. Holy shit John though tubbing his temples and hiding his face in his hands. What had he gotten himself into...