Author's Note: Hey! My first non-Harry Potter non-Drarry fic. I would have included Lestrade with the other characters, but there's a limit of four, sorry Gina. Props to Joanne for the teaspoon line. Please comment, either compliments or constructive criticism and nothing else. Thank you, I really hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. Duh.
Sherlock Holmes was known to the entirety of the British nation and even beyond that as a genius detective, intelligent, logical, and highly skilled at what he did. He was known to his friends as the obnoxious, pompous and self-centered high-functioning sociopath they all unwillingly and unwittingly adored. Sherlock Holmes, this phenomenal human being with more sides to him than there are criminals awaiting their capture at his hands, didn't believe in love.
Well, that's not entirely truthful. Sherlock recognised the existence of hormones, chemistry, and mental, emotional, physical and sexual attraction, all of those put together making what ordinary people claim to be love. Although typically quite inept when it came to matters of the heart, he knew very well the science behind it.
But Sherlock was sure that he himself would never become subject to this so-called "love". When he proudly told people he didn't believe in love, he meant he didn't believe it would ever happen to him. He cared only for a select few people, and developing said affection for even them had taken years (save for one exception). How could he, Sherlock Holmes, with his strange, although genius, brain, immediate dislike for most people, and emotional range of a teaspoon, ever fall prey to love? When he so seldom chose even to condone people, let alone like them enough to admit them into his life? Sherlock was completely, absolutely, one hundred percent positive that he'd never fall in love with anyone, ever. He was that sure.
But now and again, rare as it is, Sherlock Holmes is wrong.
"It's your turn to buy the milk," the sole exception said as he entered their flat. "Again."
"Mmm," Sherlock replied passively, never looking up from his phone.
"I'm going downstairs to have tea with Mrs. Hudson," he said after placing his keys on the table. No one said anything said back.
Doctor John Watson, skilled veteran and doctor, friend by most and liked by all, believed devoutly in love. How could he not? Unlike his famed companion, John was more heart than brain. While Sherlock was a genius, John was just about the most likeable person you'll ever meet.
Although John believed fully in love and the influence of it, enough to even call himself a romantic, he never seemed to have much luck in it. He had been turned down and dumped more times than he could count, and he was sick of it. Not that everything didn't start out okay, no, he did have a knack for asking women out on dates; his unwavering confidence, natural charm and winning, almost bashful smile always got a positive yes. But for some unknown reason, it always went downhill from there, and John needed to know why. He sought out the advice of the wisest and most knowledgeable person he knew; his landlady, (not his housekeeper), Mrs. Hudson. She had more life experience and good ideas than anyone else he knew and was delighted when he suggested they have tea together that afternoon.
"So, how are you, dear?" She asked in her light, friendly tone once they were seated at the little table in her kitchen.
"I'm fine, just fine," John said, reaching for a few biscuits from the generous assortment Mrs. Hudson had provided with tea. "You?"
"Oh, it's my hip again, dear," she told him, sipping tea from her cup. "How's Sherlock?"
"Bored, complaining, driving me up the wall… the usual," John said, "I think he's put a couple of new holes in your wall, though."
"Oh, that young man," Mrs. Hudson fumed. "I don't know how you put up with him, John. I remember, my husband used chew his gum ever so loudly, it simply drove me batty. Though, I suppose, as in my marriage, there are certain benefits that must make his immaturity worthwhile." She smiled and winked.
John tried to pretend not to hear this comment, but ended up scowling and stuffing a few of her biscuits in his pocket in annoyance.
"Mrs. Hudson," he began, but wasn't quite sure how to put it into words. "I need your help in figuring something out."
"Anything you need, dear," Mrs. Hudson said sweetly, placing her hand on his.
"Why do you think it is it that I, well, continuously prove to be rubbish at dating?" John asked desperately. "I can't get a woman to go on a third date with me. Always third. Don't you think that's odd?"
Mrs. Hudson had a rather impressive "are-you-bloody-serious" face, one which was primarily reserved for Sherlock and his infuriating habits of keeping body parts in her kitchen appliances and putting bullets through her walls, but today John Watson had the honour of having it directed at himself.
"John," she said, frustrated beyond belief but doing her best to conceal it through a clenched, and very fake smile, "on the second date, do you usually invite the woman back to your flat for a cup of tea?"
"Of course," John replied. It was true, he always did this on the second date. It had become something of a habit.
"And, when you bring her home for tea, who is usually there?" Mrs. Hudson asked him.
"Sherlock is," John said, somewhat dubiously. "Always. Why is that remotely important?"
"Well," Mrs. Hudson said, stirring her tea, "it seems to me that the women you take out are observant enough to see what I see, even if you don't. They see how you and Sherlock act around each other, and wisely think it best to leave well enough alone. That, and the little threats I send the rare ones who aren't totally repelled by seeing you and Sherlock together…" She let this last sentence trail off into nothing, hoping John wouldn't pay any attention to it.
But John wasn't focusing on that. "What do you mean, how Sherlock and I act around each other?" He asked, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
"John," Mrs. Hudson said slowly, "has it ever occurred to you that there might be a reason that literally everyone you meet thinks you and Sherlock are a couple?"
"Sherlock and I are not a couple!" John yelled, jumping to his feet.
"Alright…" Mrs. Hudson was forced to admit," ...but have you ever wondered what it would be like if you were?"
No, he hadn't. John had always dismissed the notion as ridiculous, preposterous, insane. But now, just from the power of simple suggestion, John did. He wondered. He let himself go and considered something he had never allowed himself to.
"Oh," John simply and quietly mumbled, and collapsed backwards into his chair. That was all he could say. He was shocked to his core, the feeling easily comparable to actually being struck by a bolt of lightning and surviving, the difference being John didn't think he could ever live after this.
Have you ever heard the expression that falling in love feels like being hit by a truck? Though not exactly falling in love, (but something close to it), John felt like he was being run over by a massive motorcycle gang, bike after bike after bike. The immediate force wasn't as great, but it was possibly even more painful, and it went on and on and on, seemingly forever.
He was seeing Sherlock, himself, and his entire life in a whole new way. His whole world was being violently torn apart. Because the idea of him and Sherlock, a couple? He liked, no, he surprisingly loved that idea with all his heart. He had always cared about Sherlock tremendously, but he had never realised that he had been suppressing his actual attraction to Sherlock and his desire to be with him, so strongly that he hadn't had the slightest clue they even existed. But exist they did, so ferociously that John was nearly knocked out from the sheer force that came from letting these feelings surface. Realising something had never affected him so much.
"Oh," he whimpered again. He felt like smiling and laughing and screaming and crying. But he did none of those things. Instead he just sat there, defeated, his eyes brimming with tears.
"I know, dear, I know," She comforted him, and under her breath, muttered, "we all knew."
"Is it really that obvious?" John asked wearily.
"John," Mrs. Hudson said seriously, "it's so tremendously clear to everyone but you two how compatible you are with eachother, how your affection for eachother is far beyond 'just friends', how attracted you are to eachother… so much so that we've made bets on when you'll stop being complete and total idiots and realise all this."
John's head, which had been resting between his hands, snapped up to face Mrs. Hudson, eyes wide and mouth open.
"We?" He asked. "Who's 'we'?"
"Let's see… there's Mycroft, Detective Inspector Lestrade, Sergeant Donovan, Molly, Anderson and myself," she listed. "That's it."
"That's everyone!" John exclaimed, arms flailing in every direction. "How can everyone know about this but me and Sherlock?"
"You and Sherlock share an uncanny ability to suppress your feelings. I think you're much better at it than you think you are."
"You think?" John scoffed and rolled his eyes. His didn't enjoy being mean to Mrs. Hudson, but in his current shocked state, reduced to such emotional shambles, he was in a more than irritable mood.
"Anyway, none of us play fair. Mycroft, Lestrade and I all bet you two would 'happen' this week, so while I'm telling you all this, they're probably texting Sherlock right now. We really do hate to lose, especially Mycroft."
At hearing this, John promptly passed out. And to think he had simply come to her for relationship advice.
Sherlock was texting.
Sherlock was texting his good friend Gavin and his annoying brother Mycroft.
Sherlock was reviewing what he was doing in his head, (and referring to himself in the third person, no less), so the situation would seem calm and orderly and manageable, and he would be able to keep himself from freaking out.
An hour earlier, Sherlock had received an invitation to a group chat with Gerald and Mycroft. This wasn't uncommon, for as well as their shared love of bragging about their new relationship until Sherlock's ears bled, one or both of them usually needed him for one reason or another.
Oddly enough, the chat was titled "I've never once lost a bet and I'm not about to start now". Sherlock accepted the invitation.
SH: What is it this time?
Greg Lestrade: We need to talk to you about something.
Mycroft Holmes: Enough is enough, Sherlock. I've always known that I'm the smart one, but I never thought you were stupid either. I expected more of you.
SH: Story of my life.
Mycroft Holmes: Sherlock!
SH: What are you going on about?
Mycroft Holmes: Are you really so socially blind and emotionless that you are unable to detect not only the feelings of others, but even your own?
Greg Lestrade: Bit harsh, don't you think?
Mycroft Holmes: Harsh is the only thing that'll get through that thick head of his.
SH: To answer your rather rude question, I probably am.
SH: Also, I really don't have any idea what you're talking about.
Mycroft Holmes: As ever, Sherlock, you see but you do not observe. I'm talking about you and John.
SH: What about me and John?
Mycroft Holmes: Oh dear lord, he really has no idea.
Greg Lestrade: About how you two obviously have feelings for eachother, and it's high time you did something about it.
Mycroft Holmes: Clearly.
Greg Lestrade: We want our money. We're going to buy an island.
SH: You're both wrong. I don't know why people keep thinking John and I are a couple.
Mycroft Holmes: He admits he doesn't know something! That's a first.
Greg Lestrade: Maybe people keep thinking that, Sherlock, because they're not blind and they see how perfect you are together.
Greg Lestrade: Except for the people who really are blind. But it doesn't matter, because they can bloody hear the chemistry between you and John.
SH: It may look as though John and I are so close the only possible explanation is that we have romantic feelings for eachother, but like I said, you're wrong. You've just never had friendship like John and I have.
Greg Lestrade: You're wrong. I do have a friend I'm as close with as you are with John.
SH: And who might that be?
Greg Lestrade: Mycroft ;)
Mycroft Holmes: Very well executed, love… and also correct. Sherlock, when are you going to realise that you're not an emotionless robot who only cares about his work? We both know that's not quite true.
SH: So what am I then?
Mycroft Holmes: You're a human being with obvious feelings for someone, who quite obviously reciprocates said affections. You care about John so as so much more than a friend. It's sickening and sad watching you lie to yourself, just because you're too proud to admit you're in love.
SH: You're wrong.
Mycroft Holmes: I sincerely doubt that.
SH: You're wrong.
Mycroft Holmes: For once, little brother, try opening your mind to more possibilities than just the ones you like. If you'd only consider it, you'd realise how true it is, and how much you agree with it.
SH: You're wrong.
SH: You're wrong.
SH: You're wrong
SH: You'r
SH: Oh
SH: Oh my god
Mycroft Holmes: Finally catching up, are we Sherlock?
Greg Lestrade: Thank god, I was going insane watching them deny it.
SH: What is this
SH: Mycroft, Ginevra, what is this
SH: This pain in my chest
SH: Am I having a heart attack
SH: Is this how I die
Greg Lestrade: I'm sorry to say, Sherlock, that you're in love… at least I would be if Mycroft and I weren't about to come into 2000 pounds each!
SH: Just all of a sudden? Also, 2000 pounds each?
Greg Lestrade: We bet big money.
Mycroft Holmes: Well, you've probably been in love for ages now, but since before now you've always suppressed it the best you could, you never even had the faintest idea.
SH: My god, my brain has even more capabilities than I thought. I am incredible.
Greg Lestrade: Is that really what's important right now?
SH: My astounding intellect is always what's most important.
SH: But… I'm Sherlock Holmes. I don't fall in love. I just don't.
SH: I don't even believe love exists!
Mycroft Holmes: Little brother, it is time you stopped priding yourself in your pathetic ability to suppress your emotions. It's one thing to not ever fall in love, and another to disown the genuine love you have for someone for the sake of being "Sherlock Holmes".
Greg Lestrade: What he said.
SH: Mycroft, Geraldine, maybe you're right.
Greg Lestrade: My name is literally displayed!
Mycroft Holmes: Maybe?
SH: Definitely. You are definitely right.
Mycroft Holmes: So what are you going to do about it?
SH has left the group chat
Greg Lestrade: We're getting an island!
Mycroft Holmes: We are indeed :)
Mycroft Holmes: ...You want to come over?
Greg Lestrade: Oh yeah, definitely.
Hours of thinking, pondering and contemplating later, John gingerly entered the flat to find the object of his obsession sitting his chair, waiting. He looked up, and, despite himself, Sherlock felt a hot, sour blush creep into his cheeks.
"My brother and our friends are dirty cheaters," Sherlock said. "You know Sally'll never forgive them."
John forced out a laugh that sounded so fake and so dead that it was practically screaming, "Don't even try to relieve this tension, Sherlock. This tension is here to stay."
They stood at opposite ends of the room, in smothering silence, for what felt like eons.
All was quiet, save for the clock on the wall, echoing an incessant 'tick-tock', with every second growing louder, faster.
They didn't dare meet each other's gaze.
Eventually, Sherlock spoke, "John."
Tick-tock. Silence.
"John, look at me."
Tick-tock. More silence.
"Look at me," Sherlock pleaded, desperation bleeding from his voice, "John, please, look at me."
John slowly raised his head. Their eyes met, and John suddenly burst out laughing.
"What?" Sherlock asked, startled and perplexed, "What's funny?"
"Everything," John gasped through chortles, "I mean, this is ridiculous." Sherlock studied him. He was shuffling his feet, refusing to meet Sherlock's eyes, his voice was an octave higher than usual, he was fidgety, clearly restless and uncomfortable and he was swallowing and clearing his throat an unusual amount of times. And even though he was laughing, his eyes were the saddest Sherlock had ever seen. His eyes betrayed him. Sherlock knew the signs of lying all too well, and these ones were just plain textbook. So… why would John be lying to him?
"Ridiculous why?" Sherlock asked, deciding to play along.
"Well, because we can't possibly date," John replied, no longer laughing. "Isn't that obvious?
"I don't understand," Sherlock said, "why can't we date?"
"Because it's us, Sherlock. I mean, it's us. And although I am now, I've never thought of you that way before. The concept is more than a little hard to grasp."
"But, even though we haven't discussed it together, it's been established that we have feelings for eachother, and are attracted to eachother. Aren't those grounds for dating?"
"Well, yes…" John said. "But don't you think it would be weird?"
"Why would it be weird? We already know and like eachother, and technically, we've always felt this way, just suppressed it because you dismissed it as impossible and I didn't think I would ever fall in love."
John's heart started beating rapidly.
"In love?" He asked, failing to hide waver in his voice. "You're in love?"
Sherlock's face fell. "Aren't you?" He had to remind himself that John was telling lies, not to feel absolutely heartbroken.
"Well…" John said, unsure of what to tell him anymore. His palms were sweaty, his stomach churning. He had never been any good at lying.
"Oh, come off it, John," Sherlock said sharply, regaining his composure. "I may be hopelessly in love with you, but I'm still Sherlock Holmes. Your pupils' are dilated, your cheeks are flushed, and your pulse-" Sherlock swept swiftly across the room and grabbed John's near vibrating wrist, causing a electrifying shiver to pass through him. "-Well, that speaks for itself."
The truth was out, even though they had both already known it. More so, the truth was spoken.
Sherlock moved in even closer, much closer, and the hairs on the back of John's neck stood up.
"There's just one thing I want to know," Sherlock said softly, his mouth mere inches from John's ear.
"What?" John barely got out.
"Why you lied," Sherlock said. "Why you pretended you don't want this as much as you do." He took John's hands in his own.
"Because," croaked John, "I wouldn't be able to stand it if I lost you. If we broke up, if it didn't work out, I'd lose more than love… I'd lose my best friend. I wouldn't be able to stand it if that happened. "
"Do you think if I thought there was any possibility of that happening, I would be doing this?" Sherlock said, and, seizing John by the collar of his jacket, he kissed him.
At first, John was shocked. Then his eyes fluttered shut, and he melted.
His hands wrapped around the nape of Sherlock's neck, while Sherlock's firm grasp on John's collar held them together. They kissed one another like the world was ending, but it was the exact opposite. Their world was only beginning.
After a few minutes of what they would later describe as the best few minutes of their lives, they reluctantly broke apart, though their hands held eachother still, refusing to let go.
"I suppose," John said, exhaling a sigh of relief and wearing a huge grin, "ignorance isn't always bliss."