Sherlock is sprawled out on the sofa, his hands steepled against his lips, eyes closed. It was quite possible he hadn't moved in a few hours, instead he let his mind wander the rooms of his mind palace.
"Did you know," Sherlock began, "that bees can learn foreign languages?"
His mobile chimed somewhere across the room, but otherwise there was no sound to be heard.
He opened his eyes slowly and looked around the room. It had become rather dim actually, and only then did he realise that John must have left the flat quite some time earlier.
"John?" He tried nonetheless, but of course there was no answer.
.
Sherlock stared at the empty room a moment longer, before he got to his feet with a sigh to retrieve his phone.
This hadn't been the first time he'd talked to nobody.
He thought back to the months he'd spent away and how completely and utterly he had felt the weight of John's absence. So much in fact, that Sherlock had talked to an imaginary version of John in his head, until he could perfectly recall his voice.
And God, how much he had missed him then.
When he was now speaking to nobody, he at least knew that John would come back in near future. And then John would let him talk about cases, and ramble about things that just happened to poke his mind, without interrupting him. Or they'd sit in silence, because John somehow always knew without fail, when Sherlock needed him to be silent, but present.
.
Sherlock blinked his eyes into focus. He had stopped dead in the midst of the room, completely lost in his memory.
Maybe he should tell him. Tell him how much John had helped him through his time away and how much he still meant to him.
Who knew, maybe another villain would come their way and finally succeed in killing Sherlock or John, or at least get one of them sent away.
.
Sherlock sighed again and reached blindly for his phone on the side table.
The text was from Lestrade of course, asking for his help with a, what Sherlock could gather, rather boring theft.
But there was also a message from John:
Going out. Sending this only because
you didn't acknowledge me at all.
So, not kidnapped, if you were wondering.
Don't wait up.
.
Sherlock scowled at the message. Where had he gone?
Not that Sherlock wouldn't be able to find out. No.
He would find him in ten minutes. Quickly he composed a text to John, something brief to alarm him, the shorter the message the better:
Possibly poisonous smoke in the kitchen.
Sent Mrs Hudson out, just to be sure.
S
.
If John would write back immediately, he was probably in a bar alone or maybe with Mike.
If it would take him a few minutes or wouldn't reply at all, possibly even a date.
Sherlock stared at the mobile in his hand, willing it to chime with a text or even a call; instead the screen turned black and nothing happened.
He scoffed and sent a text to Lestrade affirming his presence in about thirty minutes. This way at least, he'd have an excuse to go and hunt John down. A bad one surely, but nonetheless.
.
He darted up the stairs to John's room and found his date shoes missing, as was the red shirt and the dark jeans. Definitely a date then. Where would he take her?
He let his eyes drift through the room, over the clean surfaces and the perfectly made bed.
Sherlock walked over to check the closet and found all of John's ties and dinner jackets still present.
So not one of the overly fancy restaurants.
.
He rushed out of the room, furiously typing on his phone:
Find John Watson.
SH
He attached a picture to the message, though it probably wasn't necessary. His homeless network would know where to find him, or at least where he'd walked past.
.
His mobile chimed with the first message, just as he was buttoning up his dress shirt.
Sherlock smiled.
Dinner went well so far and John had to congratulate himself for the choice of restaurant. The food smelled delicious, the atmosphere was warm; and the murmur of conversation paired together with some quiet instrumental music formed a low, cosy hum in the background.
The conversation with Amy was easily flowing, after their first awkward start.
.
When the waiter had shown them to their table, John had nodded his consent with a smile and reached for the chair facing the entrance. He felt more comfortable, being able to watch people come and go. Especially after living with Sherlock for a couple of years.
Now though; Amy cleared her throat in this sort of brief, disapproving way all women seemed able to wield like a weapon. And John of course had stepped back and offered his chair to her, like the gentleman he had never become.
Naturally, this meant he was now sitting with his back to the door and he hated it.
.
Amy had an infectious laugh and the stories from her office job were amusing, but every so often he instead found himself listening to the people walking by; the delicate clicking of heels and the measured, heavier steps of men. Though after a while, he felt more and more relaxed. And after the second glass of red wine and a few exquisite mouthfuls of steak, he was perfectly at ease with the world.
Which was also one of the reasons why he didn't even flinch, when someone walked up to their table and stopped just a bit to the side behind him.
.
"John," an all too well known baritone drawled in his ear and John froze.
Amy's eyebrows drew together in confusion, while her gaze slid from one man to the other.
Why? Couldn't he gave him just one bloody night?
John closed his eyes briefly, reaching for composure, before he laid down his cutlery with an apologising smile at Amy. He turned around to look up at Sherlock, whose eyes were glued on his date instead, undoubtedly gathering who knows what information from her with only a glance.
"Sherlock- What are you doing here?"
Sherlock's gaze slipped to him. "I was talking to you and you weren't there," he said, his voice a clear accusation.
"Sherlock- I told you I was going out. I even sent you a bloody text, saying I was going out. And I purposefully didn't tell you where, because I didn't want you to follow me."
"You haven't checked your phone. I sent you a message." The corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched. "Also it wasn't very hard to find you."
John took a deep breath and clenched his fist. "Well- you have found me, good for you. So now you can leave again. Good night." He turned around and looked at Amy again, who was following the exchange with interest.
.
Sherlock scoffed behind him and John did his best to ignore his lingering presence.
"John-" Sherlock started once more, but was interrupted.
"How is your fish?" John asked with a forced smile, indicating Amy's plate.
"Um-" She turned her gaze back to him. "Uh- very good. Thank you."
"Oh- dull." Sherlock huffed and John could practically hear the eyeroll in his voice.
Amy chewed another forkful of her meal, smiling awkwardly at John.
.
"John."
He ignored the man further, cutting one of his potatoes in half.
Sherlock made a noise of frustrated annoyance and stepped closer, until he was standing next to John.
"Lestrade texted me- there's a been a robbery. He wants me to have a look at the evidence."
John turned to him. "Then you should probably leave," he advised curtly.
Sherlock glared at him in return, his pale eyes blazing. "I need you."
John snorted amused. "No, you don't."
"I do," Sherlock insisted.
"Then you could bloody well start listening to me once in a while! I am on a date."
Sherlock sniffed. "I always listen to you."
John stared back at him in disbelief. "When are you ever listening to me?!" He hissed and felt anger swell under his skin.
He sent Sherlock his deadliest glare, but Sherlock just locked eyes with him and returned it unperturbed.
.
Amy cleared her throat delicately, and both men turned to her with a scowl.
"If you need to leave, John-"
"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said, whilst John simultaneously deflated with, "No, it won't be necessary."
John glared some more daggers at Sherlock; who was this time just directing a pleased, and obviously false, smile at Amy.
John looked back at her and could tell, that Sherlock had won.
This was rather obviously the last time John would invite her to dinner.
.
He sighed in defeat and deep exasperation.
"Sherlock, could you wait outside? Please."
He felt Sherlock stiffen beside him, apparently surprised that he got his will in such a short time. But he caught himself quickly and nodded. Looking up at Amy he said, "Sarah," with a tilt of his head, before he whirled around and left for the door.
Amy turned her eyes on John again. "Sarah?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
He winced and shook his head with a deep exhale. "He's not good with names. Just ignore him."
Amy watched as he reached for his jacket to search for the wallet.
"I think he does it on purpose," she mused aloud.
.
John paused in his movement and looked up at her. "It's not like that with him."
Amy folded her hands together and laid her chin down on them, her gaze never wavering. "Do you want it to be?" She asked silently and watched John's posture go rigid. "Because I think he does."
John's eyes flickered to the side, before he returned his gaze to her. "We're not a couple," he said stiffly.
Amy sighed. "I never said you were, I just- Look. A minute ago, when he stood here and you two had your little staring contest, I could almost see the sparks fly between you. The air practically crackled with tension, is all I'm saying." She lifted her hands and shrugged.
John stared at her and didn't know what to say.
"Listen, John. I don't know what this is between you, or what happened between you- All I'm saying is, if you wanted more than just friendship somewhere along the way, you should definitely try." She leant forward a bit and lowered her voice. "He is still standing in the doorway, you know. Watching you like a hawk," she gave him a wide smile.
John was still perplexed into immobility and Amy stood up to kiss his cheeks. "Now he'll probably be jealous, but you were angry before so- it's a tie, I guess. Also I heard somewhere make-up sex is the best in the world, so- go and get some." She winked at him and sat back down, taking up her fork.
John felt his cheeks heat up and stammered a 'goodbye' at her, before he turned to leave.
Sherlock was still waiting at the door.
It had started to snow while John was on his date and the world around them already showed a thin layer of white. The world seemed to have slowed down somehow and everything felt hushed.
The silence the cap, on the other hand, was deafening; the tension almost palpable and John decided that, yes, he could be angry. He felt comfortable with anger.
As soon as the cabbie pulled up at their destination, John jumped out of the car, leaving Sherlock to pay the fee for once. And - fuck! - it was bloody freezing outside after the warmth in the cabin.
John buried his hands into his pockets and ducked his head into the collar of his jacket - his date jacket - which wasn't really made to keep him warm, but rather to make him look sophisticated. As were the shoes.
.
"John."
He walked on.
Sherlock sighed behind him. "You're going into the wrong direction."
John stopped with a huff and turned around. He stomped pointedly past Sherlock with the grim determination not to look at him at all.
"You're being ridiculous."
John stopped once more mid stride, a few feet ahead of Sherlock. He clenched his fingers in his pockets and turned around. "Sorry - I am being ridiculous? Are you fucking serious right now? Who of us is the ridiculous one?" John felt even more anger rise, as walked back to face Sherlock.
"I said 'I need you'," Sherlock recited, "you left on your own. You were not obligated to come."
John scoffed and shook his head. "Yeah, not really though." He said, his anger slowly being replaced with exhaustion. He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He was still thinking about the things Amy just told him and wasn't yet ready to just go for it. So instead, he just said, "What's this about Sherlock? We both know you can solve the case perfectly without me."
Sherlock looked down at his shoes without saying anything and just as John gave up waiting for an answer, Sherlock said, "I wasn't talking about the case."
John frowned up at him. "Yes, you were. Look at us- we're here!" he motioned at the air around them. "Case." He added, just for the hell of it.
"I said 'I need you'. I didn't say, I'd need your help with the case."
.
Had he just- Did Sherlock just- What?
"What?" John tried again, this time saying it out loud.
Sherlock gave an exasperated huff and turned around to stomp away.
John stared after him for a few moments, his heart in his throat. So- Amy had been right? Was this enough evidence for him to do something about it?
Right at this second all he knew was, that his heart was running a mile a minute and his stomach gave a twist. He closed his eyes briefly.
.
"Sherlock, stop," John said eventually.
He kept walking.
"Sherlock! Wait!" He called again, finding the strength in his legs again and jogging up to the man. He caught him with a hand on his elbow. But Sherlock broke away and strode on.
"For Christ' sakes, Sherlock!" John huffed, "don't make me tackle you to the floor- because I will."
Sherlock slowed and stopped a second later, to turn around; and John found himself on the receiving end of another dead glare, that followed his pace until John was standing in front of Sherlock once more.
"What do you want me to say?" John asked, his voice bearing a tone of exasperated fondness. "Shall I stop dating?"
"Yes! Uh- No." Sherlock conceived a millisecond later, before he broke eye contact to look at the ground. "I don't know. What if some madman kidnaps you, while you're out without me? I was told, I'd be a jeopardy for people near me and hadn't that been true before? I hate it when you leave me behind, especially to take some stupid woman on a date." He almost spit the last word with distaste.
Silence settled around the pair in the snow, while both took in what Sherlock had just said.
John watched snowflakes land in Sherlock's hair, his head still bowed.
"Okay." John said and stepped around Sherlock to hide the wide smile spreading across his face. He started to follow the trail of footsteps leading to the row of houses down the path.
.
Sherlock was quiet behind him and John had to suppress the further up surging wave of mirth.
"John?" Sherlock asked eventually and if John hadn't been waiting for him to speak, he might have overheard it. Now though, he stopped in his pace and watched his breath cloud in the cold winter air.
"I mean- I will be there when you need me." John clarified without turning around. "I won't go out to dates with random women. It's always the same anyway. They meet you and realise they just don't have a chance against you. They just can't compete with everything you are to me and what you have done for me- that I even became the man I am now."
God. Were they really doing this? Here? Now?
John took a deep breath, but he'd already said too much anyway. "I wouldn't even get dates if you hadn't completely turned my life around, so-"
It was strangely quiet behind him and when John looked back, he found Sherlock hadn't moved from his place, and was quietly watching the stars above them.
.
John watched him for a second, while he felt disappointment raise in his chest and he clenched his fists. "Sherlock I swear, if you didn't just listen to me- because I won't say it-"
"I did." Sherlock interrupted him gently and lowered his gaze to settle on him.
John turned fully around to face Sherlock and nodded slowly.
"I heard you." He assured John again and he had heard this before somewhere…
Sherlock then looked at John with his piercing eyes that seemed to change with his mood or possibly even the colour of his shirt. And just then and there Sherlock looked so stunning that John was speechless for a moment: His hair wild from the breeze, melting snowflakes in his dark curls, his cheeks and nose slightly pinkish with the cold, his hands buried in the pockets of his great coat.
John swallowed, wondering since when exactly he felt this way about the man and decided that it didn't matter at all.
"Sherlock," he breathed and without thinking, closed the distance between them in three long strides.
.
And Sherlock didn't even flinch when John got hold of his coat lapels and pulled him down into a kiss. He felt Sherlock's warm breath against his cheek, a rush of air that might have been a laugh once and John found himself smiling into the kiss.
Though as Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled him tighter against him, John was helpless to do more than open his mouth to deepen the kiss.
The sweetest taste in the world is rarely ever the easiest to come by, John's mother had told him once when he was younger. For some time he had wondered about the meaning of this; but right now, wrapped up in Sherlock's arms, he thought he understood perfectly.
Because honestly: when had it ever been easy with Sherlock?
.
Sherlock broke the kiss with a frown, staring down at John's lips. "Stop thinking, it's annoying."
John couldn't help it, he huffed a breath of laugher and buried his hand in Sherlock's curls to tuck him back. "Then make me," he advised.
And Sherlock did.
A/N: Thanks for reading everyone! Find me also on AO3 as crossroads! :)