I own nothing, but am eternally grateful for the genius of ACD and now MG, SM, BC, MF and the BBC crew.
I have no experience with asexuality, but have researched the subject on the internet, especially . I apologise if I have got anything wrong. Any errors are for the sake of the story and not to cause offence.
There have been some interesting fics dealing with sexuality and long discussions on tumblr.
I saw a lovely S3 spoiler pic which prompted a little "what if" and more to the point, an "am I good enough to write a Sherlock fic?"
"You'll never know if you don't try" I told myself, so I did some research, let my muse flow, probably bent microscopic parts of the universe to my will and here it is.
If you wish to comment, I would love to hear from you. Please be kind, I may never do this again.
John Watson paused a moment as he struggled with his tie and contemplated his reflection. Once again his life was at a watershed, about to be changed irrevocably by circumstance. This was one of the few times when that decision had been his and the result would be good, all good.
He was about to stand up in front of his family and friends with the two people who had saved his life. He would marry the woman he loved under the piercing gaze of the man he loved. He could think of nothing better.
Mary had saved him when the crippling desolation of the loss of his best friend threatened to destroy him. She had pulled him back from the abyss and helped him to realise the truth of that day. Between them they had quietly pieced together the sequence of events that led to tragedy.
Much of what had happened on the roof was supposition (John could not claim it was deduction as there was insufficient data), but a lot about that day could be deduced. Having stationed assassins throughout Baker Street, it was hardly difficult to assume Moriarty would not use snipers against those closest to Sherlock to force compliance. Mrs Hudson's complaints about the useless workman who had been in her flat during those dark final few days, and who had vanished mere minutes before Mycroft's man brought her the devastating news of Sherlock's fall and John's treatment in A&E reinforced this deduction.
Armed with his evidence, John had stormed the Diogenes Club and laid all before Mycroft, demanding to know his part in the debacle and the current status of his friend. Mycroft smirked and obfuscated as normal, but had failed to appreciate that long exposure to Sherlock had made John something of an expert at translating Holmes. In the end Mycroft had congratulated John on his excellent deductions (tacit agreement that he was largely correct) and a warning to continue his life as though nothing had changed and that Sherlock was gone, for his own continued well-being.
Many would have taken Mycroft's words as a poorly veiled threat, but John knew that it was an indirect plea for his help. Not only would he be protecting himself and Mary, but also Mrs Hudson, Greg, Molly and, especially, Sherlock himself.
"I expect nothing less than your best Mycroft. As to the rest of the matter, I will do everything necessary." Mycroft nodded and, between the two men an agreement was reached. Both men would do everything they could to keep Sherlock safe.
-0-0-0-
John Watson was an inquisitive and boisterous lad. He loved nothing better than being outdoors running, hiding, climbing, throwing and, of course, sports. With his friends or on his own, he didn't mind, he just loved to make his muscles work. But when he could not be outdoors, he would have his nose buried in books. He was just as happy curled up with an adventure story as he was with an encyclopaedia or his Grandfather's old medical books, quiet and still. His parents could not believe he was the same boy.
In the summer just before his 11th birthday, John was cycling along nearby country lanes with his then best mate, Pete. Rounding a blind bend, they narrowly managed to avoid hitting a teenager who had obviously mistaken the bend and had taken a serious tumble from his bike. He lay sprawled in the road, barely conscious and bleeding profusely from a leg wound.
Despite no previous training, John swung into action. He positioned Pete around the bend to warn any oncoming traffic while John carried out a check of the patient to see if he could be moved. Satisfied that this was possible, John and Pete manoeuvred the cyclist and his stricken bike to the relative safety of the grass verge. He then got Pete to leave his belt, hanky, and his bottle of water before ordering him to cycle to the nearest phone and call an ambulance.
John carried out what first aid he could, stopping the worst of the bleeding from the leg wound and keeping 'his patient' warm and as comfortable as possible. Despite the cycle helmet, the teen displayed obvious symptoms of concussion so John kept him talking. When the ambulance finally arrived the two were chatting about the football. The paramedics were very impressed with all that John had done and that his quick thinking had saved the situation from being a lot worse.
John had reached his first watershed. He now knew he wanted to become a doctor. He begged his parents to let him join St John's Ambulance. His parents were delighted at the prospect of their little boy becoming a doctor (although there were some lengthy late night discussions about university fees and savings plans).
John's big sister, Harry, was not so pleased. Up to this point she had been the golden girl and she did not appreciate her little brother taking her limelight.
-0-0-0-
All went smoothly until John was 15. In the course of one year, John's family fell apart and he reached his second watershed.
First, the engineering factory where his father had worked for 23 years closed down when the parent company relocated its manufacturing to China. John's father spent long periods away from home, supposedly looking for work, although as time dragged on, he more often returned dishevelled and reeking of drink.
John's mother, always a bright and cheerful woman, dusted off her secretarial skills, took a night class in computing and went back to work.
His father hated that his wife was now the bread-winner. He had not forced his wife to give up work when she first became pregnant with Harriet, but at the time it was what they both wanted and, whilst money was tight, it was not impossible as John's father made enough for them to live comfortably. Now he resented that she could work and he couldn't. Despite his skills and experience he was seen as too old. He bought some ladders and a bucket and started window cleaning, but it soon became obvious that the money he made was to feed his craving for alcohol.
John's mum grew angry with watching her hard earned money disappearing down her husband's throat whilst she struggled to put food into her children and keep a roof over their heads. She opened a personal bank account for her salary and transferred payment of all the household bills there. She also moved what little savings remained to her own account.
When John's dad found out, he flew into a drunken rage and lashed out at his wife. Luckily John was there and managed to protect his mum from the worst of the beating. With her usual impeccable timing, Harry chose this moment to swan into the kitchen wrapped up in her own smug world and, ignoring the tragedy before her, announced that she was leaving to move in with her girlfriend, Pamela. She then sashayed up to her room to pack leaving emotional devastation in her wake.
When she came downstairs a while later things in the kitchen had calmed. Dad sat with his head in his hands at the kitchen table repeating over and over "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." John was applying arnica to his weeping mother's arm where a large bruise was forming. Harry was annoyed that, yet again, she was not the centre of attention as she made her grand exit.
Oblivious to the pain around her, she marched up to her mother and slapped a page torn from a notepad onto the table in front of her.
"Here's my new address and phone number. Don't visit unless I invite you. I might be … busy." She smirked at the last word as though it held some secret meaning.
Her mother put trembling fingers on the paper, pulling it slowly towards her. She lifted her red-rimmed eyes to her sneering daughter. "Will you be OK? You will be careful? I'll worry about you girls living alone. You know how some men are, wanting to take advantage."
Harry sneered again. "Oh Mother, you really are naïve. You really are so wrapped up in Johnny-boy here that you haven't noticed I'm a lesbian. Have been for years. Pam and I will be just fine."
On hearing the word "lesbian" John's father roared. He leapt from the table sending his chair flying and raged towards his daughter screaming "Get out of my house you filthy whore!" as he tried to lay hands on her. For the second time that day, John intervened between his father and the object of his drunken rage.
Harry smirked, tossed her hair and flounced out of the back door as she sneered her parting shot. "Hardly a whore, but better that than a disgusting, useless old drunk."
John tried to soothe his crying mother, whilst his father, oblivious to his own failings, raged how Harriet had brought shame upon the family and demanded what the neighbours would think.
-0-0-0-
John's father's drinking continued unabated. His parents now virtually ignored each other and only remained in the same house for the sake of appearances. Heaven forbid that the neighbours should know the true depths of their fall.
John had moved into Harry's old room as, after being thrown out of the marital bed, John's father refused to sleep in the room once used by "that slut". John had no problems with Harry's choice of partner. He occasionally lay in bed at night wondering if his father would have preferred her to be sleeping around with blokes rather than being in a presumably stable relationship with a woman.
John had not started actively dating, preferring to hang out with the lads from his badminton and rugby teams, or studying for his GCSE's.
As his 16th birthday approached his father took to throwing his arm around his son's shoulder and asking him if he'd found a nice girl yet. "Come on son, you'll be legal soon. Got your eye on a nice girl I hope. Wouldn't want you losing it to some slapper."
One evening after the usual drunken 'man' talk his dad drew out his wallet and handed his son his own foil-wrapped condom. John wasn't sure what shocked him more – that his father was offering him a condom and more or less pushing him towards having sex, or that his father carried condoms and was obviously prepared to use them. The idea that his father was having sex with women other than his mother destroyed the last threads of John's relationship with the man he had once idolised.
When his dad fell of his ladder whilst drunk, landing awkwardly on a low garden wall and breaking his neck, John grieved for the man he had lost several years before, but was glad that the wreck he had become was gone from their lives.
He supported his mum through the funeral shaking hands with people he'd never met before and accepting their condolences. His mother was insistent that they keep up appearances.
He ignored Harry's loud remarks throughout the wake about his failure to help his father and what a useless son he was. She seemed blind to her own part in the whole mess. John tried to drag her away and begged her, for their mother's sake, to keep quiet.
"Ohh, Johnny-boy. Scared of what the neighbours might say?"
"No Harry. I just don't want to make things any harder for Mum than they already are."
"Well it's all your fault anyway. If they hadn't have been so worried about raising enough money to get you to medical school, none of this would have happened."
"No Harry, Dad losing his job and being unable to cope was what caused this. Turning to the bottle and then turning to other women just made it worse. He couldn't or wouldn't fight for his family and lost himself in his own, private hell. He just couldn't face his responsibilities and ran away straight into the bottom of a bottle." He bit back what he really wanted to say – but how would you know Harry, you weren't there. You ran away too.
"Yeah Johnny-boy. Easy to talk ill of the dead, when you could have done so much to help out."
"What like you did?" John could take no more. He was angry with himself for stooping to her level. He was angry at Harry for her selfish attention seeking. And he was angry at his dad for being a coward. He turned around, hugged his mum and ushered her into the waiting car.
-0-0-0-
Shortly after the funeral John and his mum moved to a smaller and cheaper house on the new housing estate. His mum continued in her job and seemed happy with her new life. She started making new friends and things began getting better.
John had aced his GCSE's and had started at sixth-form college. He still dreamt of becoming a doctor, and investigated ways to make this happen.
One day over the obligatory Sunday roast his mum suddenly set down her cutlery and looked at her son.
"John, I've noticed you haven't brought any girls home and you don't seem to have been on any dates. Erm, I don't mean to pry, but is everything OK?"
John was completely wrong-footed. All he could do was whine "Muummmm!" and try to focus on his lunch.
"It's just, if you're not sure or, even if you prefer, well, boys, you do know you can talk to me. I won't judge. I just want you to be happy."
John flushed pink from acute embarrassment and whined "Muuummmm!" again.
The matter was dropped and lunch continued.
That night John lay in his bed and thought about his love life or lack thereof. He had friends, both male and female and he had a great time being with them. He just wasn't interested in any of them, well not sexually anyway. Yes, he was still a virgin, but that didn't bother him. Some of his mates teased him that he was leaving it a bit late while they boasted of their own conquests. He preferred talking to girls, giving them his winning smile, listening to them and just making them feel special.
In truth he heartily disliked the way his male friends behaved around women. They treated the whole thing like a competition – how many girls they could pull and how many they could bed. Only a couple of his friends had partners, but even they were boorish when with their single friends.
John began to question what was wrong with him.
On his eighteenth birthday his 'mates' thought it would be a great laugh to take him to a local lap-dancing club, using false IDs to gain entry. John hated every minute from the loud music and the pulsating lights to the semi naked women pushing themselves into his friend's faces while they leered and groped.
He sat in a corner and got increasingly drunk on the pints and shots that kept being forced into his hand. Next thing he knew he was in a private room with his trousers and boxers round his ankles as a naked woman twice his age finished rolling a condom onto him before lowering herself and pretending like he was the greatest lover ever.
John quickly came back to his senses and shoved at the woman, yelling at her to get off of him. Removing herself from her position straddling his hips she sneered "Don't worry love. I'll tell your mates I took care of you. I don't give refunds." and then disposed of the condom and tidied him up with practiced hands before leading him from the room and back to his expectant and cheering mates. She winked lasciviously at the baying gang before sashaying away towards her next client.
His friends thought it was brilliant. They questioned him about what it was like and how he felt now he'd popped his cherry. John just felt sick to his stomach. A combination of alcohol and disgust made him head for the gents where he threw up.
Barry, a mouthy git who hung round with them but who John didn't like much, followed him into the loo. When John emerged from the cubicle looking pale and feverish Dave was waiting, leaning against the basins, arms crossed and a smirk on his face.
"Never pegged you for a shirt-lifter Johnny-boy. See it all now though. I suggest you stay well clear of me, cos I'm not having a fag like you touching me. An' if I catch you looking at me in the showers I'm gonna rearrange your pretty face." With that he left, after pushing John's ribs hard into the side of the basin where he was trying to rinse his face.
John just stared after him. He couldn't imagine what he had done to give the impression he was gay, not that being gay wasn't fine. It wasn't until the following day, when alcohol had cleared it's fog from his mind that he realised that it was probably Barry who was having the problem. He'd told John not to touch him but then proceeded to shove John causing his own groin to brush against John's buttocks. He'd told John not to look at him, but had made the effort to follow John into the gents, and he'd said John had a pretty face. John felt kind of sorry for Barry, that he couldn't accept who he was. But he was still a total arse and John steered well clear of him.
The encounter with the prostitute was John's next watershed. He finally faced his own sexuality and realised that he was different. He liked women and men, but was not sexually attracted to them. He liked the intimacy of talk, touch and to just bask in the glow of making someone else feel special, but didn't want to bed them. He didn't know what he was. Not gay, because he liked women, but not straight because he did like men. What was he? Did it matter?
He went to the library to try to find some source of information that would help, but there was virtually nothing. He did manage to find a small text referencing the Kinsey Scale. After much thought about his responses both to male and female friends and acquaintances he guessed he was about a 2 or a 3. It made him bi-sexual. But he wasn't actually interested in sex, just the companionship. What did that make him? And what would the neighbours think if they found out his mum had a lesbian daughter and a bi-sexual son? John decided, for the sake of his mum, to keep his discovery a secret.
In his final year at college he began to date.
It was as much for his mum as for himself. Dating made him seem normal, and all the girls he went out with spoke of him in glowing terms. He was such a gentleman and always made them feel like they were the only one in the room.
He only dated 'nice' girls and rarely dated anyone for longer than a few weeks. Enough to allow for the intimacy of cuddling, which he loved, but not long enough for them to question why he hadn't tried harder to get them into bed.
He found that he didn't much enjoy kissing them either, it was just too intimate. His first few dates, he'd done the 'normal' thing of chastely kissing the girl on the cheek at the end of the date. In each case the girl tried to take the kiss further. He really didn't like that, so contrived to only kiss the back of their hand whilst looking deeply into their eyes. This seemed to work like a charm.
His reputation with the ladies became legendary in that final year, and if he never spoke of his sexual exploits with the lads in his rugby team, well, let them assume that he was a gentleman and didn't give away a lady's secrets.
-0-0-0-
The next watershed came the summer after his A levels. He knew for certain he wanted to be a doctor, specifically a surgeon. He also knew that there was no way his mum could afford to pay towards him going to university let alone med school.
John had reviewed his options and found that the Army was the way forward. They would pay for his education and he was guaranteed a job at the end of it, admittedly in the RAMC, but that was fine. He was physically fit and enjoyed the thrill of a bit of danger. He filled in the paperwork and completed a medical. He just had to await his exam results and tell his mum.
She cried. Of course she cried. Her only son was putting himself in potential danger because she wasn't able to support him like a good parent should. He stroked her hand to re-assure her that he didn't see it like that. She was a brilliant mum and had done everything she could to hold it together so he had the chance to follow his dream. He was old enough to make his own decisions about his life.
"Come on Mum. It's not like surgeons are on the front line. If I do get deployed I'll be at base in the hospital, not out in the field getting shot at."
John's exam results were good, very good actually. Before he knew it he was packing his bags ready to leave to start his medical education at Queen Mary, University of London.
The prospect of being in the middle of London was exhilarating and that he would be at St Bartholomew's Hospital was a dream come true. He'd read that it had been a hospital and centre for medical teaching since the twelfth century. To actually be there was totally surreal.
Being away from home was hard. The workload was harder. He shared a pokey digs in Peckham with 5 other students – 2 women and 3 men.
Two of the blokes, Marcus and Andy, were total dicks who spent the entire time drinking and womanising. Luckily they kept most of their activities away from the flat so the worst they had to contend with was the loud and gruesome aftermaths of their partying. They'd tried to boast about their weekend spent with a couple of girls they'd picked up in a bar, but got short shrift from the other flatmates and so learned to keep their tales for their own mates. They'd decided that their other flatmates were all gay for not being interested in their exploits and because the girls had no interest in a quick shag.
Simon was very obviously gay. He minced around the flat and played the 'screaming queen' for all he was worth. John suspected it was all an act for their benefit. He had spotted him in a coffee bar near campus once with a slightly older man he was obviously very close to, possibly a partner. John was pleased that Simon seemed happy. It was fairly obvious that Bridget was either bi or a lesbian, while Mary seemed to be straight. Bridget and Mary shared a room (single beds) and became friends although John wasn't sure if it was as much to present a united front against Marcus and Andy as it was a genuine friendship.
The four of them all got along quite nicely and ignored the testosterone laden carrying on of 'the Wankers' as Marcus and Andy became known.
John quickly got back into the habit of dating, following the pattern that had worked so well for him at home. It didn't bother him that between studying, military training weekends and a part-time job to make ends meet, he rarely had time for dates. It actually suited his purposes because he obviously wasn't able to dedicate time to a relationship. One night stands, of a non-sexual nature, became the norm. Marcus and Andy in their usual insensitive way started calling him 'Shagger Watson' and assumed he was like them. He made it very clear to them that he had no interest in joining them for 'a few bevvies and exchanging war stories' as they so delicately put it.
He was dismayed to find that Bridget and Mary were beginning to avoid him. He suspected as a result of Marcus and Andy's innuendoes, so he decided to address the matter the next evening.
Marcus and Andy were out, probably at a pub watching the England v Ireland rugby international. It was John and Simon's turn to cook dinner. As they started to prepare the meal, John decided to ask Simon about his sexuality. John really hadn't progressed much further on analysing his own sexuality and he had questions.
"Simon, can I ask you about being, well, you know, gay?"
Simon stopped peeling the carrots and looked at him askance, trying to assess whether he was taking the piss, about to abuse him, or was genuinely interested.
"Why do you want to know? Did a bloke come on to you in the pub or something?"
"No. It's just, there's so little information about sexuality and what it all means. I just thought that, you know, being gay you might have a better idea."
"Oh, OK. Well ask your questions. I won't promise to know the answers or want to tell you about my sex life, but we'll see. Do you want to start by telling me about you so I know where you're coming from."
"Cheers mate. I should start by saying my older sister is a lesbian and, as far as I know, is in a long-term relationship. We don't talk much, she's a bit of a …"
"Bitch?"
"Yeah actually."
Simon snorted. "Yeah, I've got one of those too, except she's not a lesbian. But a cast iron bitch none the less."
John began to relax and, as the cooking progressed, Simon and John chatted.
Over the evening meal, Bridget and Mary sat on the opposite side of the table, coolly thanking him for cooking but keeping an icy distance.
Simon glanced between them, then decided to go in to bat for his new friend. "Come on sweeties, chill. John's not like 'the Wankers'. In fact he would quite like our help."
John wasn't sure about this. Asking Simon was one thing, but sharing personal information with two virtual strangers who regarded him with such suspicion was quite another. He glanced up in panic, prepared to dig himself out of the hole Simon had put him in, except Simon hadn't. Bridget and Mary were looking at him differently, with interest and compassion. Clearly they trusted Simon's judgement of John's character.
By the end of the meal the four had bonded. They agreed there was a serious lack of information about sexuality and it clearly wasn't as simple as gay, straight or bi-sexual. Bridget was quite clear that she preferred women, but that was as much about personality as gender or physical appearance. She occasionally had sex with men, but rarely found men who interested her, or who reciprocated her interest.
Simon was 100% homosexual and proud of it, which was no surprise. They were surprised to find he was in a long term relationship with his partner, Matt, who worked in the City as a trader. The only reason they weren't living together was because Matt hadn't come out to his family and feared what knowledge of his sexuality would do to his career in the testosterone fuelled world of the London trading floor. In the mid-nineties, it was still not unheard of for openly gay men to be ostracised or even beaten up and Matt didn't want to risk it.
Simon confessed he had once been on the receiving end of some 'queer bashing' and didn't blame Matt one bit. They had a lifestyle that suited them at the moment and they would review it once Simon had graduated.
Mary was the surprise. She said that she was mainly straight. She also identified herself as asexual.
"What, like snails?" John blurted out, before blushing horribly and apologising profusely.
"No, you dick." Mary smirked at John's embarrassment. "I'm not interested in sex. It doesn't stop me from being romantically interested in someone. I like the flirting, the conversation and the intimacy as much as anyone. I'm just not really interested in sexual intercourse."
"So you're celibate then."
"No, celibacy is more of a lifestyle choice, not an absence of interest. If you were to ask on the Kinsey scale I'm probably about a 2. I'm predominantly interested in men, but can be attracted to a woman. I have no interest in sexual intercourse or even … what's that adorable term they use in 'Rocky Horror'? Oh yeah, heavy petting. I like affection and closeness and just spending quality time with someone I find attractive and who wants to be with me."
John nodded. He couldn't believe that he was having this conversation, but also that he wasn't alone, or even particularly abnormal in his feelings.
"So, are you a virgin then?" Oh well done John, there goes your reputation as a gentleman!
"Actually, yes." Mary took it in her stride as a genuine enquiry.
Unfortunately, 'the Wankers' chose that moment to stagger through the door and catch the tail end of the conversation. "Who's a virgin?" slurred Andy, casting a lascivious eye over the group around the dining table.
John panicked, fearing he had exposed Mary to ridicule, but quick as you like Simon responded "No-one here, unless it's one of you two wankers which wouldn't surprise me the way you go on about it. Methinks she protests too much." He waved a hand in front of his face like a fan and fluttered his eyelashes at the beer soaked pair. "But we were actually talking about olive oil. Which was best for cooking and which for salad dressing, which is, of course, extra virgin."
At discussion of cooking, Marcus and Andy immediately lost interest in the conversation they had barged into, even the insult Simon had thrown at them, and headed toward the kitchen in search of more beer. The group relaxed as the two staggered away.
"Simon, you are brilliant!" John declared with relief. He'd have hated to be responsible for causing his flatmate's pain. "I guess this conversation will have to continue another day if you're up for it? But I really want to thank you for your openness. It's really helped me and I promise, nothing we have discussed tonight will ever leave this flat."
-0-0-0-
Uni progressed much as it had before. John found his free time growing more scarce as time rolled on and dating became a luxury. However, he found he was spending more time with Simon, Bridget and especially Mary. Increasingly he liked nothing better than curling up on the sofa with his flatmates, sharing a bottle of wine and watching a movie, or just chatting and gossiping. Often he had little energy for anything else, but these moments of intimacy with his friends kept him happy and focussed.
He'd come to the conclusion that he really didn't want to label himself. He was John Hamish Watson and he was comfortable with how he felt, thanks largely to the help and support of his friends and flatmates. Unlike Simon, he still chose to keep is private life private. He didn't want all and sundry knowing his business, and let the campus grapevine believe what they chose.
His relationship with Mary grew closer to the point that they described each other as best friends. They weren't in love, but were close enough to be treated as a couple by casual acquaintances.
They had long talks about what they wanted to do once they'd graduated and longer term. They expected to remain friends but didn't see their futures together. Of course, Mary knew full well that, upon graduation John was off to Sandhurst for officer training and then would be deployed as part of the RAMC, almost certainly as part of a trauma surgery unit.
Mary had decided that she wanted to make a difference, so was going to apply to Medecin Sans Frontieres. If accepted, she could be sent to almost anywhere in the world. She found the idea thrilling and John was delighted for her.
Graduation was bittersweet. It was the start of the next part of his life, but he was sad to lose the steady companionship of Bridget, Simon, his friends Mike Stamford and Phil Warren, and, especially, Mary.
Glossary:
shirt-lifter - derogatory term for homosexual
queer bashing - groups of men attacking and beating up usually lone homosexuals, or at least those they identified as homosexual
popped your cherry - lost your virginity
bevvies - drinks, usually beer or lager
The age of consent in the UK is 16.
18 year olds may enter pubs and most licensed premises and can purchase alcohol, although some bars and clubs only allow over 21s