John and Sherlock had just arrived at the crime scene for a new case. Lestrade had
only texted them a few minutes ago, informing them of the new addition to the
growing list of victims by a suspected serial killer. Sherlock practically dragged John
out of the flat, pulling him from his morning ritual of relaxing in the living room with
some tea and the newspaper.
Sherlock had always been pushy about cases that came up, but he was always
particularly eager about serial killers. He always loved to deduct their way of
thinking, seeing the distinct characteristics of a victim that led the criminal to kill in
that specific manner that identified them as the killer.
John was both repulsed and intrigued by his excitement. He admired Sherlock's
ability to completely detach himself from the grim circumstances of a murder and be
able to gloriously come up with an intelligent conclusion with ease and enjoy the
thrill of gathering the data to get to it.
Yet a murder was still a murder, so it is rather morbid and insensitive to enjoy it.
But that is what John is here for. Well, not intentionally in the beginning.
John had moved into the flat on Baker Street with Sherlock initially for the same
reasons as anyone else would, to have someone split the pay and to maybe have
some company. John had not been getting along very well on his own after returning
from the war. Well, those were the reasons John told himself why he committed to
sharing a flat with this eccentric man. But deep down, John knew that there was
more to it than that.
John was a very straight man, he reassured himself constantly in the beginning, but
even he couldn't deny that this man was gorgeous. Sherlock had sharp, high
cheekbones that were irresistible. He had blue and green eyes that glimmered as
they shook side to side as he thought. And his dark, curly hair that bounced in every
step he took, which shook in agitation. When Sherlock had to deal with someone
dull or couldn't quite make connections with the deductions he made. Sometimes
when the man was really frustrated with a case, Sherlock would take his large,
capable hands and fluff his hair in anger. And then his porcelain, thin yet muscular
frame was absolutely enchanting. The way his long limbs swayed in tune with his
almost instantaneous thought process of his brain. He had the body of a skilled
fighter. As Sherlock would often make enemies, he had become quite skilled in
defensive tactics. He had the grace of a highly trained assailant that showed with
every step he took.
"Oh this man is perfection," John thought to himself the first time he had met
Sherlock as he unintentionally checked him out and was slow to realize he actually
like what he saw. Though logically John knew he shouldn't feel that way. The man
was certainly heterosexual for goodness sake! But something in Sherlock made this
flexible.
But, John had jumped to this conclusion before Sherlock had a chance to impress
him not only with his stunning good looks, but also with his amazing deductive
skills. He then gave out John's life story with a mere glance and John knew he was
hooked. He subconsciously decided to stay with this man right then, before he even
knew where they'd be staying.
He, of course, responded as he normally would. Partially to see if he would, or even
could, shake these feelings off, as he was not used to them yet.
John had become fully content with and accepting of the idea of being completely
gay for this man, and this man alone, mind you. Sadly for John, Sherlock, however,
was not as receptive and readily accepting of love as John was. But John felt, as he
grew to understand the man better with living with him, he was probably in denial
or confused about his feelings toward John.
John was not wrongly optimistic in this thought. No, Sherlock was a sociopath, a
high-functioning one at that, but he was very closed off and uncertain about feelings
in general. He was easy to make others upset with rude, blunt remarks because he
didn't quite grasp why people would care for these things.
Not to say he didn't try. John helped him with this struggle in his life because he
would reprimand Sherlock if he became too offensive, in which he was very grateful
for because it had helped in a few cases and saved him from trouble with many of
his colleagues.
So if Sherlock could barely understand basic emotions, despite the physical side
effects of them that he can detect easily, how could he possibly comprehend
romantic feelings?
So Sherlock kept to himself. Never knowing how to get past the tension of their
desires. And Sherlock was not a machine; he still had the physical responses of being
attracted to John, regardless of his strong will to keep his real emotions hidden. But
John noticed. He saw that that Sherlock would blush slightly and get all flustered if
John would offer him a compliment or help him in anyway. He would tense up at the
slightest touch: when their hands brushed as tea mugs were passed to one another,
a friendly pat on the back, a brief bump in the halls as they accidentally run into
each other out of carelessness.
John knew this man had feelings for him; it was all just a matter of knowing how to
get it out in the open. But for now, John had to patiently wait for the time to come
when Sherlock feels comfortable in returning these emotions.
And so, with John being infatuated with the man, he did whatever Sherlock told him
to do. He loyally followed him to every murder case Sherlock accepted to
investigate. Though, John did not solely do it for Sherlock alone. He enjoys a good
case as if it was a good puzzle and they were quite an adventure. Granted, he doesn't
get as overly excited as Sherlock, but still the thrill of solving a case was very
exhilarating in itself. He did like the challenges presented before him at a crime
scene, using his medical expertise he had used in the field, and on occasion having
his military life that he had grown accustomed to mirrored, with the drama and
adrenaline of being at gunpoint or on a chase. It was all very appealing to John. It
was just a bonus to have a chance to be close to Sherlock and experience his great
intellect in action.
And today he was doing exactly that. They had just arrived at the crime scene where
the murder had taken place. After a short time of bickering with the wonderful duo
of Agent Donovan and Anderson about how the "psychopath" shouldn't be allowed
to work this case, as usual, in which Sherlock had responded with a few snide
remarks to both of them that even John had to hold back a snicker, Sherlock held up
the crime scene tape high enough for both he and Watson to duck under.
John stood back, admiring Sherlock as he did his work, who had become quite
personal with the dead woman on the floor, waiting until he was called to use his
medical prowess. Sherlock was just about to wave John over to look at the body
when a new guy came in. Sherlock and John had never seen him at Scotland Yard
before. The man took a few steps into the room, taking in the scenery quietly.
Sherlock immediately asked what he was doing here, without saying hello or
introducing himself.
This man wasn't much different from Sherlock. He was very tall, maybe a little taller
than Sherlock. He had a lean body with nice, perfectly pale skin. His eyes were
mesmerizing, much like Sherlock's, except with a hue that was bluer than the
stunning mixture of blue-green that Sherlock had. They both had extraordinarily
high cheekbones. He had nice, blond curls that couldn't have worked on anyone else,
but him.
He gave Sherlock an endearing smile, obviously entertained by Sherlock's rude
behavior. He strode forward to him and said, "You must be the famous Sherlock
Holmes. I have heard so much about you and your ingeniousness... My name is Tom."
He held out his hand to shake, but Sherlock kept his hands positioned behind his
back, declining his gesture with a quizzical look.
"Yes. Hello... Tom," Sherlock said slowly, " As I said earlier, what are you doing
here?" '
"Oh, I just transferred from another station, but that doesn't matter now," said Tom
briskly, as if he'd rather not think about it right now. He grinned again. "I have
always wanted to meet you. I have read your blogs, both of your blogs," he added,
finally acknowledging John, who was feeling a bit awkward.
"Oh really?" Sherlock said, he began easing up, intrigued and flattered by having a
fan.
"Oh yes. Love your work, must be amazing to have such a complex mind as yours."
Tom responded with a twinkle in his eyes.
Sherlock took a step closer with one hand resting on his chin in an inquisitive
manner, his other arm resting across his chest supporting his elbow to do so. They
began to talk to each other about Sherlock's deductions. John was obviously left out
of the group. He sternly crossed the room and sank to his knees next to the corpse
and began examining it.
As he listened to their velvety voices, he couldn't help to feel a ball of anger burning
inside him. He furiously flipped open the magnifying glass Sherlock handed him
before this Tom character came in to distract them from their work.
He looked at the woman's eyes as he heard the two men talk about the instruments
they played. Sherlock talked about how he has played the violin since he was a
young boy, while Tom flaunted off to Sherlock, obviously trying to impress him,
about how he can play the piano. Tom added how he could never be as musically
talented as Sherlock.
"The man has never even heard him play!" John thought angrily, "Its probably true.
Sherlock is flawless at the violin, but come on!"
John did not like this man. He heard Sherlock give a deep laugh at this compliment
and dropped the deceased woman's arm he had been pretending to closely at, as he
was eavesdropping, with a thud. Tom and Sherlock stopped to look at him. John
flushed and then stammered out an excuse for the outburst. He hid his face by
looking at the woman on the floor again.
Sherlock and Tom slowly started up their conversation again with a few glances
from Sherlock at John, who looked at him in subtle confusion. This time their topic
was about how Tom was interested in Shakespeare.
John knew Sherlock knew nothing about Shakespeare. He would've deleted it. It has
nothing to do with his murder cases, so why wouldn't he? "Good luck impressing him
with that," John snarkily thought.
Then, out of the blue, Sherlock quoted Shakespeare, nearly making John break the
magnifying glass he had been using. "Why in the hell would he know that? He can't
know about how the Earth goes around the sun, but he must be able to quote all
Shakespearean plays?!" John thought furiously.
Tom gasped at this and went on excitedly about the plays. Even quoting a few
himself. Sherlock eagerly listened, but was often broken from his excitement to
glance back at John in concern, noting the outbursts John had made.
Tom, with a sly grin, cautiously asked Sherlock in a sultry voice, "You know, in my
free time I like to act out a few plays at the theatre ... would you care to join?"
John quickly got up, went over to where Sherlock stood, and before he could
respond to the invitation, he sternly questioned, "Sherlock, have you finished your
deductions?"
"Oh yes," Sherlock said distractedly, pulling himself out of the trance he was put into
by the question Tom had asked. "Yes I'm finished." He turned to Tom. "Yes. Umm ...
nice to meet you."
He gave Tom a quick, yet genuine smile. Tom returned the smile and was about to
say goodbye, but was cut off by John who curtly said, "Yes, well then, off we go."
John tapped Sherlock on the elbow to get him moving and briskly walked out of the
room, with a dazed and confused Sherlock who mindlessly followed behind. Tom
looked after as they strode out of sight with a puzzled look on his face.
They arrived at 221B Baker Street shortly after.
The ride back was strangely silent. John had been fuming. He refused to make any
conversation with Sherlock. John knew this was childish behavior and realized he
was wrong to feel hurt by how well Sherlock responded to Tom's obvious flirtations,
but it did and it made it very hard to talk to or be around him without saying
something hurtful that he would regret.
As they sat in the cab, Sherlock was at a loss. He was frantically trying to decipher
why John was acting the way he had. He obviously knew something was wrong and
he had a suspected it while they were at the crime scene. The problem was he didn't
know why.
Maybe he had gotten into a fight with his sister, but Sherlock threw that thought out
the window because he knew John had not phoned her today.
He very briefly thought the murder had upset him because he actually cared about
the sentiment behind a death of someone, but that was highly unlikely and he felt
slightly idiotic for even considering it.
He glanced over at John. He noticed his posture was rigid. His knees were facing
away from Sherlock and he was looking out the window with an irritated look on his
face. His fists were clenched and were stiffly resting on his knees. His body language
showed that he evidently did not want to talk.
Sherlock had no explanation as to why this was. He sat back in his seat and began
retreating into his "mind palace" as he called it. He was trying to analyze all of what
happened since this morning that would change John's mood so drastically.
"What could possibly be making him so angry?" Sherlock thought to himself. He knew
it was aimed at himself, but what had he done to cause it? What could he have
possibly done?
Sherlock hated it when John was mad at him. Not because it was inconvenient for
him, though it was. Sherlock could never get anything for his cases done because he
struggled with focusing on the task at hand without John beside him, who refused to
join him when they were getting domestic.
He genuinely cared for John. He also had a slight fear that John would wake up from
sort of a stupor and realize that he doesn't belong here with Sherlock and would
leave him forever. It was when John was upset that he irrationally feared this was
true.
Sherlock knew he was difficult to handle. He understood that he was very hard to
get along with. He has known this all of his life, from the students in primary school
to his past flatmates who became quickly fed up with his "antics" and left.
John was the first to actually accept him for who he was, quirks and all, and Sherlock
thought it was too good to be true. He never wanted to let this go. So, when John
showed signs of exasperation, past the usual amount he displayed toward Sherlock,
he became extremely nervous. Due to his lack of self-confidence in his personality
and heart, he never felt that this could be permanent.
As they got out of the cab unspeaking, John marched ahead up the stairs and into the
flat. He haphazardly yanked off his coat and threw it recklessly onto the sofa across
the room. He went straight to the kitchen. He began feverishly making tea for the
two of them.
Sherlock, all the while, stood at the doorway to watch John attentively. He began
slowly taking off his coat and placing it gently next to John's. He was in a state of
confusion. Only John could make him feel this way. By this point, if an average
colleague were this upset, Sherlock would just check out and no longer deal with
their petty feelings.
But this was John; Sherlock was very much invested in him. Only he could put him in
this state of mind because he never felt the need to care beyond the point where
they became no longer useful to him. He cared for John, deeply. So, this was very
much new to him. He has seen John angry with him quite a few times, admittedly,
but never with such underlying tone of... what? Sherlock couldn't pinpoint it.
As he raked through his mind one last time, hoping there was no need to confront
John and would be able to figure out the cause without his help, he tentatively
approached John in the kitchen. He took small steps toward him; as if he was a
fragile explosive that could go off at the slightest tremor.
"John... are you all right?" he questioned, carefully choosing his words and eyeing
him warily.
"Oh, I'm fine," said John in a tone that definitely revealed he felt differently. He
muttered something to himself about Sherlock and Tom bitterly. But he said it loud
enough for Sherlock to just catch Tom's name and his own, but nothing else.
"Are you angry at Tom?" Sherlock queried.
"No!" John defensively shouted as he slammed two mugs onto the counter with
excessive force. John placed his hands on either side of the mugs on the counter. He
took a deep breath as he calmed down. "No, I'm not. Can we drop it?"
Sherlock was slightly shocked by his outburst, but he recovered. In the silence that
ensued, Sherlock began organizing this new data with his other calculations. But
before he reached a full conclusion, he stated an observation he had made. "Your
reaction suggests otherwise."
John was about to get angry with Sherlock again and opened his mouth to tell him
off, but the whistle the kettle was making interrupted him. He lost his train of
thought and proceeded to fix the tea.
Sherlock accepted the mug of tea John made for him and went to sit in the living
room as the kitchen table was always cluttered with Sherlock's experiments. They
sat in uncomfortable quietness across from each other as they sipped on their tea.
John tried to busy himself with the paper to calm down, but he couldn't. Sherlock
watched him fixedly, trying to see if he could deduct why John would be mad.
Obviously it involved Tom because even he knew that wasn't a normal reaction. And
how could Sherlock be connected to this? He had only a mere conversation with
him.
And then it hit him, John wasn't just angry as he suspected. "But how could that be
possible?" Sherlock thought, he was very flawed and was really only praised for his
mind, if people got past calling him crazy. Even then, he couldn't believe this
generous, courageous, smart man could ever get jealous over him.
Sherlock gave a wry smile and leaned forward towards John and asked quietly, "Are
you jealous?"
John yanked his paper closer to his face, but not before Sherlock caught a glimpse of
his crimson-red face, confirming his suspicions. John did not respond any further.
Sherlock saw an opportunity he couldn't resist. He got up and strode behind John's
chair. He gently placed his hands on John's shoulders and leaned forward next to his
ear, John froze. "Are you jealous?" Sherlock whispered slowly in a deep baritone, his
warm breath hitting John on the neck at each word.
John squirmed in his seat. He pulled out of Sherlock's reach and out of his seat in
embarrassment. He stood with his back facing Sherlock who was still fixed behind
the chair. Sherlock noticed that John's ears were going pink by this gesture.
Sherlock realized what he had just done to John. He always knew, at least
subconsciously, that John fancied him. He had acted rashly, flattered by John's
jealousy. He was toying with his feelings; Sherlock suddenly felt a pang of guilt. He
couldn't do this to John if he couldn't follow through it.
He hesitated, but then Sherlock realized he cared for this man too. He wanted this to
be more than just a friendship. Sherlock had made his decision.
John had started for the stairs to retreat to his room. Sherlock briskly and gracefully
walked from behind the chair where John had been sitting only moments ago. He
stopped directly behind him and slipped his arms underneath John's. He curled his
hands up to his chest and embraced him tightly.
John was initially shocked by this gesture, but slowly relaxed into it, feeling at home.
He slipped his fingers into Sherlock's and held their entwined hands up to his chest.
Sherlock nestled his head into John's neck and whispered gently, "It's okay I know
you are." he tilted his head up to kiss John's jaw.
John was overwhelmed. "Am I dreaming?" John thought, but he didn't care, this was
wonderful for him and he didn't want it to go away. John let go of Sherlock's hands
and twisted around to properly embrace him.
He looked up into Sherlock's eyes. John reached up as high as he could go, as he was
much shorter than Sherlock, and kissed him tenderly on the lips. Sherlock, despite
being the one to bring this on, was taken aback at this kiss; he didn't know how to
respond.
But then John pulled back and Sherlock felt the absence immediately. Sherlock
longed for the sensation to be back with such intensity that all the drugs he had
craved for during his first withdrawal, all the nicotine patches he relied so heavily
on, paled in comparison. He needed John. And so he kissed John back so
passionately and urgently that neither came up for air for a couple of minutes.
It was paradise for both of them. It felt as though they were missing something great
in their lives and they had finally found it. John and Sherlock completed each other.
They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms. John had snaked his hand all the
way up into Sherlock's curls, they had their foreheads touching, both panting
slightly from the intense kiss.
Sherlock finally spoke. "Why were you jealous of Tom anyway?" He smiled,
genuinely curious. John blushed slightly, but did not move from their embrace.
"He's, well, so much taller than I am, and handsome, and you two seemed to get
along really well, especially with the interest in Shakespeare and music. And well, I
am… just me." John replied shyly. He avoided his gaze and waited for his response.
Sherlock chuckled a deep laugh. John looked up into his eyes. "Yes, you are." And he
pulled him in for another kiss.