These Situations
How John got himself into these situations, he thought as he helped held the world's only consulting detective by the elbow as he tottered, staring at his feet, occasionally falling sideways on the thin blade. The occasion had been- unbelievably Christmas shopping. With Sherlock. Now at the best of times that would seem to be a bad idea, but with a bored Sherlock even more so.
Desperately trying to occupy his mind from the dull, incessant lack of cases, he had agreed begrudgingly to come out with John in an attempt to find something for Mrs Hudson's present. Admittedly it had been fun for about 20 minutes after arriving in the shopping centre, but after Sherlock's first two suggestions were passed aside, Sherlock soon became bored, picking up random objects and muttering about experiments how the object may live a fall if dropped a certain way. John hastily got Sherlock to drop the object; no pun intended and kept him well away from the Swarovski that he was eyeing eagerly, ushering him from the shopping centre by the arm, his best "were really not gay" look plastered firmly on his face. Sometimes he was beginning to wonder himself.
They were only a few minutes outside the centre, Sherlock moaning about how John had dragged him out... John had done nothing of the sort, complaining how they would struggle to find a cab in Greenwich at peak time at this time of the year, complaining about well everything really, when he saw it. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open into a childlike gape.
"Oh my-" he whispered. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance. John followed his gaze and frowned. Nothing out of order for a typical December in London. People cupping steaming mugs of tea, coffee or hot chocolate in their hands. Bobbled hats bouncing in the breeze, scarves blowing behind them.
"That... is beautiful" he whispered the same look of childlike wonder on his face and apparent in his voice. John followed his gaze once more.
"What the ice-skating rink?" he asked perplexed. There were several men thrashing a puck around the glossed surface, sticks and occasionally limbs crashing against the others. Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the icy surface, his eyes following the puck, a smile on his face that John rarely saw.
"What you've never been ice-skating?" he joked. Sherlock nodded not taking his eyes off the rink. It was John's turn to gape. Grabbing Sherlock once more by the arm, he pulled the detective across the road towards the rink.
It seemed that the hockey game was only lasting a few more minutes, when they arrived at the rink. The man on the booth had passed them two sets of skates after John had for once eagerly paid the fee upfront. John had loved skating and ice-hockey as a young man, and had even played for his county team, and he was glad to share something he loved with his friend... probably his closest friend if he thought about it. It was then the problems began.
Sherlock had stared at the skates dumbstruck, looking at the hooks, laces, resisting the urge to test to see if the blade really was a sharp as it looked. John was already done and was sitting beside him. Sherlock looked at him desperately attempting to copy the expertly laced shoes beside him, but ended up tangling himself even worse. To save Sherlock the embarrassment of having to ask the assistant, John bent down and as quickly as possible laced the shoes. Sherlock still blushed and muttered that he would have worked it out eventually, but John knew deep down that Sherlock was actually grateful. And with that Sherlock attempted to stand up on the blade... and promptly fell right back on the seat behind him.
"Little help?" John tittered, standing up perfectly on the thin strips of metal. Sherlock tutted and rolled his eyes.
"No" he said stubbornly, heaving himself to his feet once more. This time he managed to balance for a couple of seconds before falling backwards once more. This time however John caught him by the elbow and pulled the man towards him. The man gripped to his forearms with a grip like a vice, both hands squeezing, his eyes locked on his feet, desperately trying to gauge the balance. John could hear people laughing and whispering in the background.
"Look let's just get you on the ice" he whispered, trying to pry Sherlock from his arms. He managed to pull one arm loose and holding Sherlock steady gingerly made their way to the rink.
"Easier on the ice then?" a timid voice came from beside him.
"Urm..."
"BLOODY HELL!" Sherlock shrieked after falling onto the ice for the 7th time. John looked over from the sideline, where he had been having a conversation with a single mother, stemming from the awkward moment when she asked which one was his. He'd pointed at Sherlock and she'd given him a knowing look, just as he realised that she meant which of the children's. And she was no under the impression of him being gay... like most of the population of London it seemed. The scary thing was he didn't even bother to correct her.
"Better get back to him" he muttered, accelerating towards the heap of blue coat on the other corner of the rink. He halted expertly just as his flatmate heaved himself back to his feet with the railing. He glowered sourly at the doctor and muttered something about showing off under his breath.
"HO-W DYO DO IT JOHN" he panted, out of breath. John shrugged.
"Dunno really, always had a knack for it, you've fallen over more times in one hour than I have my whole life on the ice" he said not in any way sarcastic. Sherlock pushed at him in a vain attempt to push him over but he simply slid backwards before digging his heel in and grinding to a halt. He smiled cheekily at the frowning detective.
"Do you want me to help you?" he said. He'd asked this every time he'd fallen over. Sherlock paused for a moment, still leaning heavily on the railing.
"I'll pull you over" he muttered softly. John chuckled skating over to his side and linking his arm through his. He pushed off followed gingerly by Sherlock.
"You pull me over? Sherlock you're about the weight of- WHOA!" he squealed as Sherlock's feet began to slide in opposite directions and true to his word, Sherlock nearly dragged John down with him.
"Told you..." Sherlock muttered, steadying himself against John's shoulder. John laughed huskily getting his breath back again.
"Ok let's try this then..." he said, skating so that he was in front of Sherlock. Sherlock looked up from his feet for a split second, looking at him in confusion. John gripped Sherlock's arms and Sherlock did the same to his, not instructed to but purely out of desperation as his feet began to slide once more.
"How the hell are you going to d- oh I see the man can skate backwards..." Sherlock muttered as John began to pull him slowly forwards, skating backwards expertly. John rolled his eyes.
"Oh shut up Sherlock... you know how ridiculous we look doing this?" he asked. Sherlock's eyes met his again. He peered around, nearly slipping once more.
"Ah... I see your point John. We- we -appear to be holding hands..." Sherlock started as John's hands moved into his, prising his arms from his grip. John nodded and gave him his 'trust me' look. The grip returned but this time causing John's fingers to tingle. Or was it the idea of holding hands with Sherlock that was making his hands tingle?
"Well I already look gay enough, so why not hold hands..." John muttered without thinking. Sherlock managed to cock an eyebrow at him, even though his eyes were fixed on his feet. They slid once more leaving Sherlock flailing and gripping even tighter.
"JOHN-JOHN- ARMS-HOLD-ARMS-SLIPPING!" Sherlock gabbled. John grabbed his arms once more steadying him. They stayed fixed for a moment before Sherlock stopped wobbling.
"Jesus Sherlock... you have the ice skills and co-ordination of Bambi" John laughed. Sherlock frowned at him.
"John..." he began. John hummed at him, his eyes now fixed on the detective's feet.
"What's Bambi- OOF!" Sherlock yelped as he collided into John who had stopped dead in his tracks at Sherlock's words, they collapsed to the ice, the lanky 6"3 detective sprawled over the smaller man. John groaned his breath knocked out of him. Sherlock flapped and jumped to his feet.
"OH! Are you ok John? JOHN?" he called. John's face creased up and for a horrible moment Sherlock thought he was going to cry until a booming laugh echoed from the man's chest. John looked up at him from his spot on the ice.
"Sherlock... you stood up on your own... Kind off" he muttered, smiling at him. Sherlock looked down and saw that indeed he was, even though his legs were beginning to splay apart like some kind of awkward splits.
John got to his feet, bending and clicking his back and neck. He turned to the detective who was trying to stop himself sliding.
"You need me Sherlock... to get back to the shack, our hours up and the man's staring at us." He said dusting himself down, getting the ice from his back. Sherlock looked at him.
"When don't I need you John" he whispered tenderly. John started before taking the man's elbow.
"Soppy git... you didn't hit your head when you pulled me down did you?" he asked as he began the slow journey across the rink. Sherlock snorted unattractively beside him.
"I think you'll find you fell Watso-" "I bloody well did not Holmes!" John interjected, loudly but with no real venom in his voice. Sherlock shook his head.
"Well I'm not the one covered in- OOF!" he said as he sprawled forwards onto the ice. Watson managed to stay on his feet just about, and in between laughing heavily managed to get his flatmate back to his feet albeit covered in ice and water.
"You were saying Holmes?" he giggled. Sherlock glared at him, brushing ice from his coat.
"Oh shut up..." he muttered. John merely shook his head, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He didn't know how he got into these situations, but when they got home John would dig out a VHS copy of Bambi and have to contend with Sherlock's joking glares at the skating scene as the cuddled under a blanket , Sherlock's cool gentle fingers tracing the calloused skin on John's palms, never letting go.