Hi ya'll, this is a little Drabble thing that is useless and fluffy like me. Please r and r!
Snow days. Most people love snow days. Sherlock Holmes HATES snow days. Being stuck inside. Doing nothing. Bad telly. BOREDOM! And no one to complain to, except the skull and John. Lucky them.
"John," the doctor turned his head slightly in acknowledgement of the young detective. "I'm BORED" the dark haired man said, shifting in his seat so he was upside- down, staring at his fair-haired partner who hadn't bothered to look up from his paper,
"Well, do something then!" John was getting impatient with his friend, whose constant boredom had become the bane of his existence. Well, maybe he was being a little over dramatic, but it was kinda cute. WAIT, WHAT? Nevermind, strike that, he wished he never thought that because now he couldn't stop. He shifted uncomfortably and stared at the page, not reading anything. They sat in an uncomfortable silence that was only present when they were fighting for a good five minutes. Finally, Sherlock craned his head up and said,
"Something's' wrong, isn't it?" his tone had changed, his 'I'm reading you, and I know something's wrong and now I won't stop 'till you tell me what it is' voice. John hated it, Sherlock was incessant, and he wouldn't shut up until he knew what it was. Time to play his game.
"Why would you think that?" he was baiting the detective, and they both knew it, but Sherlock Holmes always had to prove his mind. Always.
"Because, you're not reading your newspaper, you're just staring at it, you haven't moved a page in five minutes and you can read one in two. You also are uncomfortable because you've got that look on your face, and I know that look because I know you. And the way you are looking at me indicates that it has something to do with me and you don't want to bring it up for the same reason, possibly sexual because that's the only thing you won't talk about with me because you're ninety percent sure I'm gay. Am I right?"
"I hate it when you do that."
"Am I right?" he said, like it was killing him to not know.
"Could you just, like, not, do that to me?" John continues, ignoring the other man's query.
"AM. I. RIGHT?" his coat, which John hasn't bothered to ask why he's still wearing, whirls as he gets up and punches the neon yellow smiley face in the mouth.
"Jesus, Sherlock, yeah, you're right!" he realizes now that he's gotten up too and stepped closer to the agitated detective. Sherlock whirls around to face him and finds that they are nearly nose to nose dark brown, almost black eyes meet bright blue.
"About everything." he whispers as he turns and walks to his room.
Four hours, 3 cups of tea, 2 'I will break your damn door in's' and Sherlock Holmes is leaning against John Watson's door, the wonder of what his sleeping partner was thinking. He had always felt something for John, but he didn't think that the doctor had known or noticed. Or cared. Added the little voice in his head "Oh, shut up." he muttered.
Watson leaned against the door, wondering how badly he had screwed things up. But he couldn't just go out and talk to that man and pretend everything was okay. Stupid Sherlock Holmes, with his stupid coat and cheekbones, stupid mind palace, stupid ' I can see right through you' looks, stupid, stupid emotions. He felt like a PMSing teenage girl. But there was nothing he could do. Not when Sherlock would never love him the same way, not that Sherlock could even feel emotion. Okay, he could, John had seen that, but love? Never. Wait, LOVE? He must be out of his mind.
But a quiet "Oh, shut up." derailed his train of thought as he was alerted to the fact that his dark haired partner was sitting right outside his door. He was about to open the door when he heard faint muttering that could only be Sherlock, he paused and listened. If he strained his ears he could just hear the murmurs of the man in the hall, something about idiot bloggers who can't notice a clue if it hit them in the arse. John sighed again, wondering what he had missed this time as he opened the door. Sherlock wondered how many more hints he was going to have to drop before John saw the truth, when he realized that he was muttering aloud. Normally that wouldn't bother him, but John could be listening. He was about to get up and leave when he felt the door swing open behind him, and he fell back onto his bum.
"Crap." He muttered. "Just leaving, sorry John, got to borrow something from Molly for an experiment." His tone was brisk, and he knew the lie was simple and good. But as he grabbed his scarf and his gloves the look on his friend's face made him hesitate. The sadness, the pain in his eyes. The pain of a million things that went unsaid. "John, I-" the blogger took a hesitant step towards him, and he could see the soldier's fire still in those blue-grey eyes.
"What clues?" It took less than a second for Sherlock to deduce his meaning, and he started slightly. He hid it well, or so he thought.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." his tone was all business. "Sherlock! You know perfectly well what I'm talking about!" John exclaimed, his anger getting the best of him,
"What bloody clues!?"
"EVERYTHING JOHN!" Sherlock roared as his voice broke, "Everything."
"Boys, what is all this yelling?" Mrs. Hutson chose a very bad time to call up the stairs her head came into view as they both simultaneously yelled,
"NOT NOW MRS. HUTSON!"
"Oh, you two are having a bit of a domestic, aren't you, well, please don't shoot the wall this time!" she muttered as she walked back downstairs. They stared at eachother for a moment, that seemed to last for eternity, trying to judge what the other would do next. But the walls they had built were too strong, their minds too well guarded. So John did the first thing he had been inclined to do.
John's laughter rang through the pale detective like a clear bell, beautiful, and wonderful, breaking through the tense silence. Soon, after the the shock wore off, Sherlock laughed too, his soft melodious laughter creating a beautiful, slightly haunting, harmony to John's. He crossed the room towards his blonde friend, and shocked him with a hug. John had no idea what to do at first, he had never been in a situation with a hugging Sherlock before. He relaxed slightly and held his friend to his chest, trying to ignore how amazingly soft and warm his body was.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry." he murmurs into his friend's shoulder
"You have no reason to be, I really shouldn't do that to you, if it makes you… uncomfortable" he replies as he pulls away, but not too far, to look at his partner.
"It's okay, I wouldn't change it, ever." was his soft and assuring reply. They were done, argument resolved, they could go back to their work, but they didn't move. And then, suddenly, though they would for a long time afterward argue over who moved first, they were kissing, and all connected thought was wiped from his mind, the only thing left was a monologue of Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. Hair, lips, teeth, everything. When they pulled away for lack of oxygen they stayed as close as they could, as if they would be hurt if they were to be more than a meter apart. The smile that crept slowly over John's face, unbidden, said it all.
I wouldn't change this for the world.
PS this is my first JohnLock so don't kill the author please.