Apparently it is International Fanworks Day, so I couldn't resist. Instead of writing my ongoing stories, I had to get this tiny thing out. Unbetaed, unbritpicked, and all around rushed. Also, any fandom/character bashing inside is strictly Sherlock's personal opinion, not mine! Disclaimer (almost forgot): Obviously I do not own anything!
Representation and its happy consequences
Sherlock used to ignore pop culture. It was, after all, useless data cluttering most idiots' brain space. But since John took residence in 221B, and deemed his mission to educate his flatmate about all the man has missed on, the sleuth allots ever-expanding areas of his mind palace to entertainment.
One thing movies, shows – and whatever else the doctor clearly feels are indispensable to one's state of personal accomplishment – seem to achieve is creating bonds between fans. The world over. When he's not pecking at his blog, John will sometimes check Doctor Who forums and other fandoms' (see? The sleuth is even learning the slang! The things he does for John…) websites, remarking on the best and worst of them with people ranging from USA to Indonesia.
So, if Sherlock submits to watch hours and hours of telly despite the plots being illogical and the special effects sometimes questionable (according to him) in an effort to strengthen his relationship with John, well, that is just the most logic move, isn't it? The blinding grins his friend offers every time he doesn't protest against having to watch yet another episode, or – in rare cases – drops a reference in conversation are well worth it.
They slip from Doctor Who to Torchwood – obviously. That John would want to know everything about a 51st century bloke who's shagged his way across the universe is no surprise, probably he sees the man as a role model. What Sherlock finds offensive is being compared to the man. Really, John? Just because the both of them wear a long coat? Harkness is a bumbling fool!
Still, that is not the most annoying thing their Torchwood nights entail. They're still at the first episodes, and Sherlock blurts out loudly, "Do doctors have something against brain cells?"
"What?" John asks, brow furrowing.
"Doctor Harper. It seems he's made his mission to have sex with any woman of age in Cardiff – and apparently some men, because why not – and the only one he steadfastly ignores is his colleague, the technician, which seems the only one with a brain and willing to use it. It's not a colleague thing, because he's shagging the other one. Tosh would be amenable – someone who's this used to picking up people can't miss that! So what is it? Is the fact that she's capable such a huge turn off?" the consulting detective rants. If it hits rather close to home than he'd like (though, of course, for him there's the wrong body parts excuse John always pulls off) he doesn't say it openly.
"Maybe he thinks she could do better than him. That she deserves better," his blogger replies, shrugging. "She's gorgeous and a genius. She deserves someone who's not using people to forget his past."
"Let me judge what I want or deserve, will you?" The detective snaps, before blanching and correcting himself quickly to, "I mean, let her…If she's so smart, she's smart enough to decide what she wants to be entangled with or not."
John lets out a startled laugh. "Are we roleplaying now, Sherlock? Is that what the slip was? I didn't know that you were interested in that."
It's a good excuse. Another one would be, I'm just too tired. Or pretty much anything denying what he's let out of the bag. But Sherlock has always been reckless, and now he gets up from the sofa he shared with his friend, starts pacing like a caged beast, and gives in a months-long urge. "What if I wasn't, John? What if I wanted to know what doctors have against people smarter than them, because I want to know why you keep denying being interested and rebuffing my attempts? You aren't straight. You'd have said so, and you never did. You say 'not gay'. Well, news for you, there's a whole scale between the two extremes, and details matter to me," he declares, talking quickly to keep his teeth from chattering because of nerves.
"You rejected me, that first night. Married to your work, remember?" John replies, outwardly calm but with wariness in his eyes.
"Yeah…well, I have reconsidered the opportunity of such an onesided relationship. The work won't love me back. And if you won't either, fine, I can delete tonight entirely, but I want a reason. Not avoidance or partial truths," the detective demands, hands tugging nervously on the curls at the nape of his neck.
That seems to stun his flatmate. "You said…love me back," he echoes slowly. "Not that I'm surprised that you have feelings for the work, but does this me you love me too? Already? As in – being in love?"
"I'm afraid I loved you since I first glanced at you, and while I might have been blind to my own feelings for a short while, there was no denying them to myself since Hope's death," Sherlock says, almost glaring at his beloved. There. The metaphorical ball is in his court. That deserves an answer, surely.
"Come here, you," John prompts gently, and when the sleuth plops on the sofa next to him, the blond turns toward him and kisses him breathless. "Is that a good enough answer?" the doctor queries afterwards, grinning. "Since I have loved you since forever too, giving a reason not to date you seemed rather counterproductive."
They both start giggling, elated and almost dizzy with love. When they regain their breath, the doctor mentions, "You do realise you'll have to come to the next Torchwood convention with you, don't you?"
"What?" The consulting detective's brain has forgotten even the existence of the show.
"Well, we need to thank Burn Gorman personally," John states, smiling. At his beloved's blank stare, he adds, "The actor who plays Doctor Harper. Without him playing an idiot, we wouldn't have got together." And yes, he might have implicitly called himself an idiot too, but that's what Sherlock always says anyway.
Finally Sherlock's brain has recuperated from its short-circuit enough for that sentence to make sense. "I'm not cosplaying Harkness," he warns, a frankly adorable pout already starting.
"Agreed. I certainly don't want you flirting with anyone else," John replies, before stealing another kiss.