Sherlock was nearly vibrating on the couch. He was so so bored. He really could not stand to be so bored. And John was just sitting there reading the bloody newspaper. Sherlock attempted to curl farther into himself. Perhaps if he could do that he could stave off those horrid thoughts just a little longer. No, he couldn't let John see that side of him. The last time that happened, he'd been left alone for far too long. In all honesty, he thought he'd like the isolation. Those ordinary folk were really just too much sometimes. But the time alone inside his head, God had it really been so many years? He didn't start coming out of his head until he started helping at the Yard. And now John was here and no he couldn't let John see. Then John would hate him like he hates himself. And Sherlock didn't think he would be able to handle that.
"Any hint of a case then?" John asks softly.
"Nothing." Sherlock replies, surprised at the edge in his voice. His voice never surprises him, not unless. No he could feel it, the drowning. He could feel his mind taking a hold of him, dragging him down, down. "NO!" He shouts, leaping from the couch, dressing gown flying around him.
John looks at him, fear well hidden in his face, but visible nonetheless. Sherlock isn't sure what expression his own face holds, and he's not sure he wants to know if it's scaring John. But the blackness of his mind begins to creep forward again, and Sherlock puts a fist to each of his temples and pounds them there, hard as he can.
"Hey now! Stop that!" John stands quickly and goes to grab for Sherlock's wrists. Sherlock slips easily out of his reach. "Sherlock, what's happening?" John asks, fear now plain all over his body.
Sherlock slams himself against the wall. "They can't catch me John, they can't." He looks at John in what he can only assume is a pleading look. "Don't let them, please." Sherlock slides down the wall, hitting his head against it as he goes. Anything to keep his peace for just a while longer.
"Sherlock, who? Who will get you?" John is still keeping his distance; he's confused as well frightened.
Sherlock curls up into a ball against the wall, pressing his eyes into his knees. "The thoughts, the bloody inner sanctum of my mind." Sherlock is once again surprised at the roughness in his voice. He really is not in control of himself now, never a good sign. "Please John." He adds almost silently.
John is at his side in an instant. John takes Sherlock's face in his hands. "Look at me." He demands quietly. Sherlock doesn't open his eyes. John shakes him, a small shake but forceful nonetheless. "I said bloody look at me."
Sherlock appeases and finds John looking at him with military hardened eyes and the stoic expression of a man who has seen this before and hates it with a burning passion. Sherlock feels bad that he's made John feel this way, react this way, which also surprises him. It's so rare for compassion to rear its ugly head.
"What kind of thoughts are these, then?" John asks quietly.
"Thoughts that tear. They tear everything apart, nothing is sacred, nothing is surprising. Thoughts that really don't warrant life continuing, because if this is who I am then why should I be allowed to exist?"
Fear has crept into John's expression, hands tightening on Sherlock's face almost to the point of pain. "What helps?"
"Cases. Really truly unexpected surprises. Fascinating new, relevant information." Sherlock closes his eyes again. "I don't want you to be caught up in this John. Sometimes these thoughts only consume me for a couple days, though sometimes it's longer. I do not want you to run from me out of fear when they hit." Sherlock opens his eyes again, looking at John with purpose now. "You should leave. I can tell you when it's safe to come back, if you are even willing."
John's head begins to shake before his brain can send words to his mouth. "Nope. Not gonna happen. You're not the first one I've had to deal with."
"I'm the only one with this kind of massive mind." Sherlock retorts hotly.
"That maybe so, but that just means I have to change my tactics." John licks his lips to steady himself. "You said surprises work?"
Sherlock tries to nod, but John's hands are still on his face. "Someti-"
John's lips silent Sherlock's words. Sherlock's eyes pop open wide. He's had people attempt to kiss him before but he's never let them. He's never been in a state where someone could just kiss him. Sherlock realizes suddenly that the world has gone silent except for his pounding heart and John's breathing. All he can feel is where John's lips are touching his, John's fingers sliding back into his hair, John's chest barely touching his knees. His nose is filled with John's scent, homey and earthy and good. All he can see is John's face, so close he can see the tiniest details, the pores, the tiny hairs between his eyebrows. He needs to see more, smell more, feel more, what's missing? Taste! Sherlock tentatively parts his lips. John pulls away for not even a second to adjust and then he's back.
Their lips move together. Sherlock tilts his head to the side for a more perfect fit. John's lips are perfect. They're soft but strong, forceful but not demanding. Sherlock can't bear to be without all the information and brings his tongue to taste John's lips. Oh and he can taste the coffee there, and the toast and jam he'd had earlier, but there's something else. Something that matches his smell. Yes, he can taste John, and John tastes good.
John's tongue joins his and, dear God, the textures. Smooth and rough and wet and warm. Why has he not let people kiss him before? Are they all like this? Sherlock attempts to mirror John with his hands, running them through his hair. Sherlock pulls away from John, opening his eyes, distracted. The number of textures in John's hair is simply astounding. Sherlock pretzels his legs and pulls John into his lap. John's hair is fascinating. He'd never really looked at it before. Sherlock runs his hands through it again, slowly this time, marveling at all of the different colors. Here's a smooth thin blonde on, oh and a thick course brown one, hell, John's even got a few grays. More than a few, and they're almost like the blonde ones, but thicker.
Sherlock really isn't sure how long it takes, but he catalogues every hair on John's head. John hasn't said a word the entire time. Sherlock thinks he heard him sigh a few times, felt him shiver a few more. "John," Sherlock says quietly now that he's finished. "You are beautiful." He takes John's chin in his hand and turns his head so they are looking eye to eye. "I need to know every part of you."
An expression flits across John's face that Sherlock isn't sure he can identify. "What, right now?"
"Yes." Sherlock answers simply. Christ, John's eyes are beautiful as well. Dark ocean blue, with darker contours in them. How could Sherlock have missed this amazing specimen in front of him? They'd been living together for almost a year now.
"Maybe we should take things slowly?" John suggests, nervousness in his voice. "I don't want you to get bored of me too quickly."
Sherlock thinks that John needs to come to terms with this development in their relationship, and that's why he wants to take things slow. John has said before, he's not gay. Yet he just kissed Sherlock. Was that a ploy? Just to make him feel better? Why would John do that? He needs to know what was happening in that funny brain John has. He needs to know how John feels. Why does he need to know? He's never needed to know how others felt, nor has he ever felt compelled to. What was wrong with him? Sherlock felt his eyes flood with tears. His body was reacting to something. Then he consciously felt the stiffness in his posture, could feel the stress and fear from before the kissing incident added to the confusion and frustration of the current moment. He felt his air way constrict. Damn his body. Damn physiological reactions that really were out of his control.
John's brow puckered in confusion. "Sherlock, what's…?"
Sherlock threw his face into John's shoulder as a sob ripped through his chest. Christ, when was the last time he had cried? He was usually able to keep things like this at bay, keep himself stoic and separate from these stupid, useless emotions. What was John Watson doing to him?
"Sherlock I'm sorry. What did I say, huh? You can study me all you want. Christ, just what happened here?" John's hands were tracing small circle on Sherlock's back. His voice was honestly surprised and a bit fearful.
"John," Sherlock attempted to tell him to stop, but his voice was too cracked and for some reason his body wasn't letting his mind control it. So he just kept crying, clinging to John, whispering his name because it was the only thing he had control of at this point. John continued to run his hands over his back, and really it was comforting.
Finally, Sherlock could control his diaphragm enough to take a few deep breaths. He lifts his head and wipes angrily at his eyes. He couldn't look at John. "So sorry you had to see that." He says darkly.
"When's the last time you had a good cry?" John asks, a knowing tone to his voice.
Sherlock threw up his shoulders and shook his head, red puffy eyes rolling slightly. "I can't recall the last time I was this full of emotion." He hisses. "Why does it matter anyway?" He adds bitterly.
"Sherlock, everyone needs a good cry once in a while." John tells him gently.
Sherlock scoffs. "I'm not everyone John."
"Yeah, but you're human, and you can't ignore human needs, even though you seem to push that at every single opportunity." John raises an eyebrow.
Sherlock can't help but quirk one side of his mouth up in momentary amusement, knowing John means the lack of sleep and food. He's still not meeting John's gaze though. He is thoroughly embarrassed. He is surprised at himself that he's still got John in his lap, still has one hand on the small of this man's back, that he doesn't want to push him away. He never imagined that would happen.
"Sherlock," John whispers gently. Sherlock opens his eyes. He didn't realize that he had closed them. "Are you feeling better?"
Sherlock turns his head so he can see John. There is a look of concern about him. John really does care about him. Why? His lips are pressed thin. The whole episode couldn't have been easy on him. But those lips, they're taunting him. Mocking him because he won't get to taste them again. John had just been trying to surprise him, it meant nothing. And Sherlock was surprised, yet again, to find that that made him sad. He could feel his head shaking a little. He had to try.
"Am I allowed to kiss you again?" He asks evenly, quietly.
John goes very still, his face blank. Sherlock desperately needs to know what is going through that head. But of course, he should take this silence as 'I wasn't kissing you because I wanted to, I was kissing you because you needed it and I wanted to help.' John isn't gay, probably isn't even bi, though Sherlock knows he has quite the manipulative power over John. But how? He's never been so intrigued by a person, so attracted. He wants to touch John everywhere. Not even in a particularly sexual way, he just wants to explore John's body, understand and catalogue every millimeter of it. Perhaps then he can understand his compulsion for this man. But he can't get there without permission. Hell, he's not sure how to get there in the first place. He's never had to try and dance his way into an intimate relationship. Please John, just say I can kiss you.
"Did it help?" John asks tentatively.
"Immensely," Sherlock answers immediately, leaning his head forward toward John.
"I thought the hair thing helped a bit more?" John smiles nervously, motioning towards his head.
"It did help. But the kiss, John. It silenced everything in my head. All of my sense were filled with you and only you." Sherlock hesitates for a second. "It was beautiful John. The silence was beautiful, you were – are beautiful. And fascinating. I've never…" What is he doing? Sherlock Holmes does not reveal these kinds of things about himself. Besides John is what – blushing? Is this good or bad? What kind of expression is that? Flattered or frightened? Christ how he hates being so unsure! "Help, John. I don't know what's happening to me." He admits quietly.
"How can I help?" John asks, serious again. "What is it now? Is it still the thoughts?"
"No, not anymore." Sherlock says, waving his hand in front of his face. "Thank you for that, by the way." He looks away from John's face, tired of not being able to read exactly what is on, terrified of how he will react, not sure what expression his own face holds. "It's you John. You've gone and stuck yourself in my brain. I can't stave off emotion with you, I can't always read you. You are making it incredibly hard for me to function as I usually do."
"But what I'm doing now isn't enough." John states.
Sherlock looks back at him slightly confused. "What do you mean?"
"Well, if you're getting bored enough to punch yourself in the bloody head, then obviously I'm doing something wrong, or you've gotten bored of how I usually am." John tells him, completely and utterly serious. His expression is guarded, though Sherlock can see a bit of sadness in his eyes.
"I … I never thought of it like that." Sherlock admits.
"Of course you didn't, you clot. You never think of anyone but yourself. Or you use the people around you until you don't have a use for them anymore." John breath is coming a little faster now. Sherlock is sure he's angry. But why? "Don't think I don't observe you Sherlock because I do." John's eyes close and he shakes his head a little bit. "I see what you do to others, I can see what will happen to me, what is happening I guess. You're going to get bored and you're going to move on. It's already happening. And I don't – I really don't want it to happen, Sherlock, because I've never been so close to someone in my life. I can't let you go and I'm scared as hell because I don't know how to bloody keep you."
Sherlock's mind goes blank. Had he been so blind? Had he never realized what kind of friend he'd had in John Watson? He couldn't let John go either, because as much as he messed with Sherlock's version of normal, there was a part of him that knew that John was good for him, was helping him. Yes, maybe he did subconsciously understand what John was doing for him. Knew that he couldn't let go of what John was giving him willingly. Such easy friendship, though it had to be hell for John. Sherlock knew he wasn't easy to live with, yet John seemed to thrive with him.
Sherlock didn't think which was strange considering. He never did anything without fully calculating it first, but apparently he'd lost control of his body again. He leaned forward, closing the inches between his and John's faces. He didn't ask for permission, he used it as a way to answer John's question. If you want to keep me, surprise me.
Sherlock could feel John's body relax into the kiss. Another something he didn't fully expect. If anything, he would continue to do this just to see how John would react to anything he did. He needed to crack the code of John Watson. It wouldn't be an easy task and he wasn't entirely sure if John would want to be cracked. Would John still be interesting after he learned all he could about this man? Would John want to stay? What –
"Stop bloody thinking so much and kiss me better, you fool." John says, his breath hot on Sherlock's face.
Sherlock obliges, thrusting his hands into John's marvelous hair, letting himself get lost in the taste and smell that is John Watson, letting his entire world shrink down to the spaces and non spaces between them. His questions could wait because this distraction was the best he'd ever encountered.