A/N: This is basically an experiment in writing. It was a prompt given to me by my friend Brainy (she's a wonderful person, I'm probably gonna mention her a lot this summer) and its purpose was to ease me back into the process of getting into a character's skin and producing decent-quality fanfic. I'm actually rather happy with how this turned out. This is set post-Reichenbach, I suppose, although I guess it's more of an AU-ish scenario in which Reichenbach and, indeed, Moriarty just...didn't happen. There isn't much plot, and despite my best intentions, it turned out to be fluffy Johnlock. But meh, whatever. Happy reading! :)
Secrets
He's not sure what Sherlock's deal is, honestly. The younger man has been brooding for a good week, and yet every time John expresses any sort of concern, he simply shrugs it off and turns to the nearest experiment. It's gotten to the point where the entire conversation has become nonverbal.
A raised eyebrow. What's the matter, Sherlock?
A quick half-shrug. It's nothing, John. Don't trouble yourself.
A cocked head. Are you sure? It doesn't seem like nothing.
An irritated eyeroll. Leave it, John.
An exasperated sigh. Whatever. Far be it for me to care about my flatmate.
The entire exchange takes less than a second.
And really, if the arrogant sod doesn't feel like sharing, it's not as if it's John's duty to find out what's bugging him. Sherlock knows it, too, the bastard. Which is probably why he's continued to ignore John's queries over the course of the last week. And despite himself and his genuine concern for his friend, John just sighs and accepts it. If Sherlock won't put John's mind at rest, then John bloody well isn't going to get upset about it.
But that doesn't explain why Sherlock is now examining John like he's one of the detective's experiments. It's starting to get a little irritating, actually. John isn't too fond of being examined so closely, a remnant of his time in the army. It makes his skin crawl, as if there's someone who's got designs on him and there's nothing he can do to stop it.
John doesn't say anything, though. His jaw clenches and exhales sharply, but he continues nonchalantly reading his newspaper. It's a test, he can tell, but he won't let Sherlock win this time. If Sherlock has something to say, he can bloody well say it.
"I have a secret," the younger man finally says.
John raises an eyebrow but otherwise ignores Sherlock. "Oh?"
"You aren't curious?" A note of disbelief has crept into Sherlock's voice, and John suppresses a chuckle.
"Well, of course I'm curious, it's only human nature, but they're called secrets for a reason, aren't they?" he reasons. "I mean, if you want to tell me, go right ahead. But if it's secret..." He shrugs. "Well, it's secret. That's the whole point of secrets. You don't announce them to the world."
"But it doesn't bother you?" Sherlock keeps on. "It doesn't bother you that there's something you don't know about me? Even though we've been living together for over a year?"
John does laugh a little this time. "I don't expect to know everything about you, and I honestly don't want to know everything about you. There are too many layers to people, and trying to suss them all out gets a little tiring. At least, it does to ordinary people. Our 'funny little minds' can't hold that much information. I suppose you know all about me, though. It'd be hard to keep something hidden."
"Surprisingly, no," Sherlock muses, and John finally puts his newspaper down. It appears this conversation is going to be a long one. "I haven't thought to examine you properly. I felt it would be an invasion of your privacy, and you wouldn't appreciate it."
Oddly enough, John feels a little touched that Sherlock would think to respect his privacy. "You, respecting my privacy?" he says instead. "There's something I never thought I'd see. Well, I suppose I've got a secret, too, then."
Sherlock pushes himself up so he can pull his feet under him, settling into his preferred crouch on the chair. He's truly examining John now, and John has no doubt Sherlock's analyzing John's every detail in an attempt to find out everything he's missed. "A game, then," he proposes. Despite himself, John's intrigued. "Your secret for mine."
John thinks about that for exactly half a second. "Nope," he says, picking his newspaper back up again and hoping Sherlock hasn't seen the faint blush coloring his cheeks, although he knows it's impossible to slip one past Sherlock. "I'd rather not."
"Elevated heart rate, evasive actions," Sherlock murmurs. "What are you trying to hide, John?"
John feels his temper start to rise. "Remember how you said you were trying to respect my privacy before? Yeah, now would be a good time to keep doing that."
"Alright, then. My secret for yours," Sherlock offers. "I'll go first."
John's eyes drop shut as a gust of air pushes its way out his nose. "Look, Sherlock, I don't know what you're doing, but secrets aren't barter chips. You can't go around trading secrets just for the hell of it."
"But it's only fair," Sherlock replies, sounding confused.
"Yes, but some people don't want to tell their secrets," John says, exasperated.
Sherlock is silent for a moment, but John knows better than to think he'll let the subject drop. He's probably trying to discover John's secret for himself, so he can blackmail John into telling him. John sighs.
"I don't want you to marry Mary Morstan," Sherlock finally says.
John freezes and blinks slowly. One, twice, three times. "I'm sorry, what?"
"That's my secret. I don't want you to marry Mary Morstan."
"Whoever said anything about marrying Mary Morstan?" John says incredulously. "I haven't even proposed!"
"Yes, but you've been looking at rings, and you're more nervous than usual. You were going to propose, most likely next Saturday."
John blinks again, and then puts his newspaper aside again. "What of it? I'll bloody well marry Mary Morstan if I want to. She's a perfectly delightful person and I'd be happy to spend the rest of my life with her!"
Sherlock crinkles his nose and agitatedly waves his hand in the air, as if he's trying to push the issue aside. "Oh, no, she's a lovely woman, better than most members of her gender, but that's not the point. I don't want you to marry her."
John narrows his eyes in confusion. "What do you mean? What's your problem with her, then?"
"Well, she'll be taking you, won't she?" Surprisingly, Sherlock turns his head away, no longer looking John in the eye. "You'll move away, and you won't come back. Oh, you say you'll help out," he continues dismissively, forestalling John's protests. "But you won't really. We'll keep in touch for a few weeks, and then the texts will slow down and eventually stop altogether. You'll have a family to take care of and no time to help with cases."
John blinks again. "Are you actually jealous?" he says, disbelief blatant in his tone.
Sherlock bristles. "No," he says sullenly.
"Oh my God, you are. You're actually jealous," John says, trying to believe it.
"It's not that hard to believe," Sherlock says with a huff.
"Well, you can rest your mind, then, because I don't want to marry Mary Morstan either," John says. He looks longingly at his newspaper before realizing this isn't a conversation he can hide from.
This time, Sherlock is the one who freezes. "What?"
"You heard me. I won't marry Mary if it means that much to you."
Sherlock's eyes narrow. "That was not my intention, John. If you want to marry her, you have every right-"
"See, I only wanted to marry her because I didn't think I'd ever be able to marry you."
There's a moment before Sherlock really gets it, and John has to suppress a laugh. "You want to marry me?" Sherlock finally asks, and John can't help it, he giggles. He doesn't think he'll ever get the chance to pull one over on Sherlock Holmes.
"You know, what with your powers of deduction, I thought you'd have figured it out long before now," John remarks. He stands up and folds his newspaper, turning towards his room. "But then, I suppose there's always that one thing, yeah? And this is the one thing. There's my secret, then. We can look for rings later, I suppose. I'm off to get the milk, we're out of it again."
He pulls on his coat and heads out the door. "He wants to marry me? Oh, there's always something!" Sherlock mutters behind him, and John can't for the life of him stop the wide grin that settles onto his face.
FIN