Charming Man
Charm, in and of itself, is a unique quality. Many claim to have it, or they aim to have it, but few, few, have the actual essence of charm. What is the essence of charm, one might ask. Much like the essence of 'cool', charm varies from person to person. One person might think it charming to buy the coffee of whomever you are with, while another might think it charming to offer a ride to a stranger. Charm always has a certain quality though. Whoever is the 'charming' person is usually kind, handsome, thoughtful, or well-dressed.
These thoughts on the matter of charm all went through John's head as he biked up the little, bare hill. There were not a lot of things in the immediate area, but the road on which John was riding was popularly used to get to and fro the downtown and residential parts of his town. Currently, John was travelling to the residential part.
Very suddenly, John's bike lurched under him. He quickly threw out his legs and stepped down before the bike managed to topple onto him in that odd fashion which bikes tended to fall. He barely managed though, and ended up leaping into the grass and off his bike which quickly fell over. John sat up, slightly dazed, but unharmed save for a cut on his ankle. He stood up to go and see what happened to his bike that caused the accident.
He examined the bike. The chain was still there and connected properly. The bars were aligned properly. He looked down to the tires and checked them when he saw, "Oh," flat. He sat down next to his bike, seeing no other option save for walking the rest of the way home which was a good sixteen miles ahead. He caught his breath before he stood up and pushed his now useless bike up into a standing position. He looked at the hill ahead and sighed to himself before he pushed the bike and himself along the path.
There was a small cluster of trees on the top of the hill. Once there, John was quite breathless and not looking forward to pushing deadweight on wheels downhill. If you have ever pushed a bike downhill, you understand, one begins to prefer pushing it uphill. John stopped at the top and leaned heavily on the object that would have once made this trip as easy as it now made it hard. He looked around the top of the hill, panting heavily. He wondered vaguely about nature and manliness and how the two were somehow intertwined. Then he spotted a man, bent over in the plants on the hill. John watched him for a moment before deciding it was useless to pursue anyone in the state he was in. He just kept walking, slowly now because he was trying to regain his strength to go downhill and the land was flat on top of the hill.
Then John heard a voice from behind him, "Hello! Hey! Need a ride, there?" John stopped and looked back at where the man he had previously seen was now standing up, a bottle of green plants was held in his hands. At first John didn't say anything and the man, who was tall and thin, reached up a hand and waved. He smiled at John.
John found himself smiling back as he raised one hand from the bike and waved it at the man, "Hello," he called out. They both started walking towards one another, John out of the street and into the field and the man out of the tree-line and into the middle of the field. Eventually they met in the middle.
The man looked at John's bike, "Oh, bad luck there, pal. Flat tire?"
John nodded, "Yea." He stuck out a hand, "I'm John."
The man with short black curls smiled and stuck out his hand, "Sherlock." They shook electro-static hands and smiled at one another.
"So," John said when they released hands, "got a car, Sherlock?"
He nodded, "Yes, I have a car. You got a destination?"
John nodded, "Yes, I have a flat."
Sherlock smiled slyly, "What about a date?"
The sly smile was mirrored on John, "I dunno, you first."
"I think I just might," he patted John's back and started walking to his car, presumably.
John laughed to himself and followed, "I would go out tonight, but I haven't got a thing to wear."
Sherlock feigned disgust when they got to the car, just three or so paces away. It was revealed to be a sleek black thing tucked behind a tree. "It's gruesome that someone so handsome should care."
John could only laugh at himself and the situation. Sherlock helped him put the bike into the trunk of the car which was surprisingly big enough for the bicycle. Then Sherlock opened the door for John and motioned for him to go in. John quirked a lopsided smile, "You're not a mass murderer, are you?"
He laughed, "Though my colleagues would love to imagine and prove I am, I am not." John smiled and stepped into the car. The leg on his trousers pulled up a little and Sherlock noticed the cut, "Hey, mind if I put a bandage on that?"
John looked down to where the other man pointed and then looked back up, "Oh, well, I'm actually a doctor. I have medical stuff at my flat if you'd like to help me some there."
Sherlock smiled, "Is that an invitation?"
"It depends on whether you say yes or no," he shrugged, smiling softly.
"Well," Sherlock closed his door and quickly ran around to the other side, opened his door, and got inside, shutting it in a hurry, "I suppose it is then." He started the car, putting his jar of flowers behind him in the backseat.
John furrowed his brows, complexed as to why this charming man was picking flowers on a hillside, "What are the flowers for?"
"Oh, I mentioned my colleagues a minute ago, right?" John nodded; he had, "Well they're not really my colleagues, I'm a consulting detective. Those plants back there are going to help me solves a murder case." He smiled at John, "So what's your address?"
John shook his head, he was a what? He blankly said his flat number before asking, "What is a consulting detective?"
Sherlock let out a small laugh as he began to drive away from the hill, "I'm the only one of course. Basically whenever the police are in over their heads, which is most of the time, they call me and I come and solve the case."
"Didn't know charming men could be so full of themselves," John mused light-heartedly.
Sherlock looked at him from the corner of his eye, "You think I'm charming?" John shrugged, smiling at him. After a little while Sherlock asked, "So which was it? Afghanistan or Iraq?"
John whipped his head to him, "What?"
Sherlock smirked, "Well, you've got the stance of a soldier. Recently returned, originally an army doctor, you've got your shoulder shot, haven't you?" He smiled once more, "Just can't figure out if it's Afghanistan or Iraq."
"Afghanistan," John mumbled. "That's brilliant by the way."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "Brilliant?"
John raised his shoulders in slight exasperation (but mostly growing fondness), "Well what do people normally say?"
"'Shut the bloody Hell up,' or some other phrase describing how annoying I am," Sherlock again looked at John from the corner of his eye and saw John smiled like a dork at him. He quickly turned his gaze back to the road, smiling to himself.
Not wanting conversation to die John asked, "What do you do in your spare times?"
"Oh, I study things and do science experiments and forget to buy groceries. What about you?"
John shook his head, laughing. This man was getting more charming and more annoying every second, "I blog a little, I suppose. Take walks. Work. I try to get integrated back into society; I did actually just come back from the army not a year ago."
Sherlock hummed understanding. He suggested, "Would you mind if I went with you on one of your walks sometime? Probably wouldn't help you get too integrated into society on account of a lot of people don't really like me, but I'd still like to if you're up to it."
"Yes, that sounds brilliant," he said quickly but took time to say each word.
Soon they began to see the city and they both knew that John's flat was getting nearer and nearer and their time together was getting smaller and smaller. Sherlock asked, "So are you doing anything tonight?"
John shook his head, "Not really, no. No, don't let me lie, nothing actually. I was probably going to write an entry in my blog, which honestly will probably be mostly about you, read a book, and watch the telly then go to bed. That's my life."
Sherlock nodded nervously, "Well I didn't have much planned tonight either. Though I do have to check on this experiment at a precise time, but really I can have the landlady do it, however incompetent she may be."
John pranced around the idea. He really wanted this man to stay at his place so they could talk and eat and be civil together and maybe, maybe form a relationship with. He tested slowly, not wanting to sound too eager but not wanting to sound put upon, "Would you like to maybe hang out at my place tonight?" Hang out? Oh, John! That's something teenagers say whe-
"Yes, yes. That sounds lovely, John," he quickly smiled at him before turning his eyes back to the road and trying to keep himself from blushing.
He obviously failed though as John pointed out, "Oh my god, you're bloody adorable," and he promptly started blushing too.
Sherlock laughed, "I could rightly say the same for you!"
John laughed as well, "Well, mister, you have to keep your eyes on the road right now. Trust me, there's plenty of time later." And they both giggled like school children for the inevitability of their actions.
Sherlock drove and John rode, both in compatible silence for a short ways. There was much that needed to be learned from both of them, but the questions refused to present themselves and thusly they were silent. John looked over at this decidedly charming man.
He wasn't quite sure what it was about him that was charming. He was handsome, sure. He seemed kind enough, and inescapably well-dressed. John thought back to his earlier notions at charm and thought, none of these make sense. I've only known him for twenty minutes! So John threw his ideas of charm out the window of Sherlock's black sedan and just went with his feelings, his feeble emotions, his inadequate instincts, trusting Sherlock to an extent uncommon with acquaintances.
Sherlock glanced over at John and smiled. He turned back to the road and said, "Charm is a relative term, John."
"How did you know what I was thinking about?" John asked incredulously.
He shrugged, "Just a notion."
That night, Sherlock ended up staying at John's house until late. He had helped patch up John's ankle right away and after that, John made Sherlock a cup of tea. They talked for quite a while. They talked until eight that night and Sherlock finally saw the time and mentioned leaving. Neither were too pleased at the idea but it had to occur. Sherlock left at eight thirty after they agreed to meet up again, "for coffee or something." At the end of their time together that night, Sherlock pecked a quick kiss on John's cheek, leaving them both pink and grinning.
Two years later, after tea was shared and thoughts were received and moments were passed, John went to a jeweler's.
He showed the ring to his father, asking his opinion and, unhappy with this whole arrangement, his father had told him to return the ring. Seeing as how John's dad had been married four times, he seemed as if he should know his stuff. But John didn't agree. He did not return the ring, even if his dad did know loads about marriage.
On their honeymoon, John whispered to Sherlock as they sat on a beach, "You never did tell me how you knew I thought you were charming on that first day we met. How did you know it was that one specific word? Charm?"
Sherlock smiled slyly, his eyes glittered with remembrance, "You had been humming Charming Man by the Smiths."
Punctured bicycle on a hillside desolate
Could nature make a man of me yet?
Well blinding, live's complexities
And the leather is smooth on the passenger seat, yea
I would go out tonight
But I haven't got a stitch to wear
This man said it's gruesome that someone so handsome should care
Just a pantry boy who never knew his place
He said return the ring
He knows so much about these things,
He knows so much about these things
I would go out tonight
But I haven't got a stitch to wear
This man said its gruesome that someone so handsome should care
Wow!
Just a pantry boy who never knew his place
He said return the ring
He knows so much about these things
He knows so much about these things