The Other Half
'Sherlock paused on this thought.
How odd.
John had worked his way into the shielded heart of the Detective.'
"John" Sherlock whispered as he stared down at the new text message in disbelief.
The living room was dark with only the streetlights to illuminate the silhouette of the standing Consulting Detective.
He wore his usual attire, sporting a blue scarf and his long woollen coat as the old house was cold without the living room fire in place, without John his mind whispered numbly.
Sitting down torpidly in his own armchair, he brought his heron-like legs up to his chest, bending them at the knee to accommodate his feet.
The only sound that filled the dark room was the noisy taxi's and buses on the street outside; the sound of London late on a Saturday night.
Sherlock brought his phone back into view, touching the screen with his left hand dully, he re-read the message he had received and felt a prang of emotion well up inside his gut. Something he wasn't privy to feeling, before John had come at least.
John, the reliable, strong and caring Army Doctor; the man that had saved Sherlock inevitably from himself without his knowledge.
The curly haired detective felt anger ebb along his brow for a brief second before it was replaced with grief. He was confused; didn't John want to be with him? Didn't he want to solve crimes and have a life full of adventure? Surely, living a pensioner's life at his age was dull? Surely socialising was boring?
Sherlock shook his head a fraction and re-adjusted his eyes, his eye-lids squinting a little as he thought deeply.
It wasn't just the feeling of John not being there to be reflect his thoughts and make cups of tea; it was something more that had a hold on the 6 ft 2" genius. He allowed his photographic memory to run itself ragged; playing pictures behind his closed eyelids – like home-movies made in the 70s.
John's smile, John laughing, John confused, John hurt, John's caring expression and his gentle dark eyes. Sherlock allowed the memories of the previous year to wash over him; the look on the Doctor's face when the detective had returned from death, he had stood upon their doorstep and explained himself to the broken man he had greeted. Sherlock now remembered with a weak smile the hug that had followed. The smile grew wider as he remembered that night curled up to John, holding him just as tightly as the shorter man had held him.
Sherlock focussed on this particular memory, wrapping his arms around himself and smiling lightly, his eyes closed tightly in order to hold the images for as long as possible.
It was a low whistle that broke the dream some time later, Sherlock cracked open an eye to view the Doctor himself currently bustling around the kitchen; the main lights were now on and the fire was warming.
"How long have you been home?" Sherlock asked; his voice raspy and quiet.
"Oh, you're awake. Only been in an hour or so" John said warmly, flashing a friendly smile towards the huddled man.
Sherlock didn't reply, he simply unfolded himself to remove his coat and scarf, before resuming his vulnerable shell-like position once more.
"Tea?" John asked lightly, raising his eyebrows and his shirt sleeves.
"Please" Sherlock replied quietly.
John immediately paused, stock-still as he watched the detective cautiously.
"Is this because I was out with Anderson?" John asked with a sigh of realisation.
"Is what because you were out with Anderson?" Sherlock bit menacingly, turning his head fully to face the army doctor.
"It is isn't it? You, this dark mood of yours that you are obviously in" John said with a disbelieving smile.
Sherlock turned away with a 'tutting' sound as his eyes scoped the wall.
"It is." John said with a shake of his head, he turned back to the kitchen and continued making the fresh beverages.
The flat remained quiet as John brought the tea cups across and placed them in the no-man's land on the coffee table between the two arm chairs.
"Sherlock, it was a work night out with Scotland Yard. The way you are acting, it's as if I have betrayed you. You were invited too, you know" John said truthfully, groaning slightly as he took up occupancy in his own patterned armchair.
"And don't give me that face" John said, picking up his laptop from the floor, knowing without looking that Sherlock was staring at him.
As the clock struck 2am, the two men remained in their armchairs, silent and still with the exception of John's monotonous typing. If that had been anyone else making that racket, Sherlock would have shot them – but it was John. It was the sound that accompanied the faithful blogger; and that equalled the sign of comfort, home, safety.
Sherlock paused on this thought.
How odd.
John had worked his way into the shielded heart of the Detective after all.
"What?" John asked as his eyes darted past the screen to see Sherlock's disturbingly wide-eyed stare.
"Nothing" Sherlock stated hastily.
John thought no more of his strange flatmate's behaviour and resumed his two fingered typing.
"You mean a lot to me, John" Sherlock stated a moment later.
John froze. Staring with wide eyes at his laptop screen, his eyebrows high on his forehead.
"I mean a lot to you?" John asked, resting an elbow on the armrest and eventually looking up at the detective, his hand accommodating his chin as he peered over the top of his laptop.
"Yes" Sherlock said abruptly, his stare un-moving from the shorter man.
"Well, thank you, you…err….you mean a lot to me too" John said with a stammer.
"I know. I heard you talk to my gravestone remember" Sherlock said dully.
"That….that was a long time ago, Sherlock" John said gently.
"And nothing has changed" Sherlock finished for the Doctor.
John pursed his lips – an obvious sign of holding back bottled emotion.
"John, I have recently begun to believe that we are going to spend the rest of our lives in each others company. No matter how hard you try to socialise with other people…you will always be mine" Sherlock stated mechanically, raising his hands to his chin and clasping them together, steepling those long fingers delicately below his nose as he surveyed the effects his words had had upon the gentleman opposite him.
If possible, John's expressional eyebrows had lifted higher.
"Yours?" John questioned – an obvious sign that he was convinced he had misheard.
Sherlock smiled dangerously. "Mine" he confirmed.
"Sherlock, I'm not sure what youthink you mean, but I'm sure that you are unaware of what that would suggest to any normal person" John said with a nervous smile.
"What you are thinking now?" Sherlock asked, awaiting the nod he so forwardly received before he continued; "Is exactly what I mean".
John closed the lid of his laptop and stared at his flatmate with an expressionless face.
"Are we going to have this conversation?" John asked flatly.
"What conversation?" Sherlock asked, furrowing his brow.
"Sherlock, I have just endured an evening of criticism, five hours of being told what a 'cute couple' we make. 300 minutes of questions; 'what is it like to live with him?', 'have you shagged yet?' and 'is he a gentle lover?'" John said hastily, using air quotation marks for each quote.
"Ah, interesting." Sherlock stated, narrowing his eyes at his human test subject.
John's hands dropped from the air as he looked at Sherlock. "What is interesting about that?" he asked in exasperation.
"You are talking as if it was an endurance test, however, you're reverse psychology is lying open for me to read, John. You wonder those things yourself. What its like to spend the night with me and what I taste like. I know you do, because I do and you usually do everything I do" Sherlock stated in one breath, his tone of voice level – as though he was discussing the pickled thumbs in the coffee granulator. "Am I wrong?" he questioned.
John swallowed hard and kept his stare level. Sherlock was impressed with John's strength of character as he felt sure the shorter man would be more verbal about this particular attack on his sexuality.
"I'm not gay" John blurted, his hands scrunching firmly into strong fists on the armrests of his chair.
"No, neither am I." Sherlock stated, lowering his own arms to lie parallel with the black leather armrests. "It doesn't matter what you're other half is wrapped in, John. Whether male, female or….goat – in Mr Wilsons' case"
The two men shared a light chuckle at the memory of a previous case before Sherlock continued; "I am attracted to intellect and bravery. How many females do you think could fill your position? Most females are unreliable, unpractical and unintelligible. For all their artificialness, they generally do not mean anything to me, all that does; is you."
"Sherlock…that was….very romantic" John said weakly as he half-smiled toward the detective.
"Romance is a chemical reaction in the brain, John. Do not let it convince you. If you do not feel the same – even though you clearly do by the current state of heart rate – say now" Sherlock said quickly.
John laughed darkly, looking down at the lid of his laptop before looking up once more;
"Partners?" John asked.
"Partners" Sherlock confirmed.
After a beat of silence and a curt nod from the soldier; John opened his mouth and frowned as though a thought had just come to him.
"What did Lestrade text you?" He asked, a faint smile adorning his thin lips.
Sherlock watched his blogger carefully as he lowered his legs to the floor.
"Oh, nothing of consequence" he said dismissively.
"Give me your phone" John ordered, placing his laptop on the floor.
"It doesn't matter, John" Sherlock said matter-of-factly.
"Sherlock. Give me your phone or I will take it by force" John said threateningly.
"Oh, is that supposed to scare me?" Sherlock asked, scrunching his face up in fake fear.
"Right" John said affirmatively with another military like nod he pounced across the coffee table and promptly landed atop the detective.
With an off-guard "oof!" from the consulting detective, John dug into the pocket he knew he would find the device in before he turned to sit against the taller man, against his chest, holding the phone just out of his reach as he touched the screen.
Sherlock moaned dully in defeat as the message lit up the screen.
Anderson and Watson would make a lovely couple – L.
John guffawed. "Like hell we would. The man could get lost in his own trousers." The doctor said, laughing loudly.
Sherlock remained tense underneath John but couldn't suppress the laugh at the imagery John's words had conjured.
"Worked on you though, obviously" John mused as he lay his head back against the detective's shoulder, giving the phone back to him.
"Did not, I have been thinking about us for a long time now" Sherlock said defensively, inhaling John's scent as though it were cigarette smoke.
John rolled his head slightly in order to lay his forehead against the taller man's jaw.
"I've been thinking about it since the night you came back to life" John said weakly.
Sherlock encircled John with his arms around the shorter man's midriff in response.
The pair sat like this for over an hour until Sherlock heard quiet snores from under his chin. He smiled down at the armfuls of Doctor before he decided they would be more comfortable in his room.
Struggling only slightly, the detective moved his arms to more suitable locations to help him lift the doctor.
With an initial burst of effort, Sherlock lifted John cleanly in his arms and got to his own feet. Carrying John carefully towards his room – turning sideways through doorframes – Sherlock came to the edge of his own double bed, where he placed the sleeping man down and curled up beside him. Curling an arm around the Doctor; Sherlock held the shorter man just as tightly as he was held back.