*** Author's Note ***
Towel Day Prompt: "Let us prepare to grapple with the ineffable itself, and see if we may not eff it after all." ― Douglas Adams, Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency
Once again, John and Arthur.
Arthur remembers as a child his mother telling him to 'just try and see it through their eyes, love.' He always hated it when she said that. As an adult he knows it was her attempt to teach him empathy. But as a child, it always seemed like an excuse to let people get away with being the worst possible versions of themselves.
Also, it was a bloody awful thing to imagine for a child who didn't actually have much imagination on his own, but who fancied the Saturday evening horror films.
Now that he actually is seeing the world through someone else's eyes - well, technically still his own, in his own body, but with John Watson's brain running things at the moment - it's so much worse than he thought as a child.
John is in love with Sherlock. Full stop. Has been for years. And from his vantage point, looking at it with John's eyes and his own mind, well, it certainly looks to Arthur like Sherlock is just as gone on John. But these two are idiots. And John couldn't see what was right in front of him. And Sherlock is Sherlock, and his own brilliance got in the way.
And sometimes there are just no words to say.
Arthur never loved anyone the way he loved Fenchurch, the way he loves her still. He knows he never will again. And one thing he knows for certain is that what John feels for Sherlock reminds him of that love. It's so deep. So consuming. So overwhelming…
If John doesn't kiss Sherlock again, with him standing there gazing adoringly and declaring that, above all, he trusts John, then Arthur may just impose himself into the situation and kiss him himself.
And Arthur's never kissed a man before.
Well. Until a few minutes ago, when John finally worked up the nerve. And even then, that wasn't really him. But he's willing to try if it means getting on with it.
And really, Sherlock's not so bad to look at, if he has to look at a bloke while kissing…
John groans. "Christ, would you just shut up?"
Sherlock is clearly crestfallen, stung by the words, and takes a few steps back. "John? I… I thought, well, you asked me."
You really are bad at this.
You I will kill.
It's not me I'm worried about right now.
Shut. Up.
"Sherlock…" John reaches for him, but doesn't touch. Not until he's made this right. "Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean you. Christ, I…" He covers his face with his hands, turns away in shame, takes two steps and stumbles to his knees. On the floor.
He's distraught and angry. And like an idiot his first response is to turn his back on the man he loves and forget how to do the one impossible thing he knows how to do.
"I'm sorry. Sherlock, I'm so sorry." He mumbles through hot tears.
You're kind of a mess, aren't you?
Please. Please just stop.
"John?" Sherlock kneels in front of him, his own eyes bright with tears. "John… It's okay. I…"
"No, Sherlock. I…" He groans again and tugs at his own hair. "It's this. Me. The both of us in my head." He looks up to meet Sherlock's eyes. "He won't fucking shut up. Just, constant running commentary, and it's so much noise and disorder. And I can't hear anything else over top of it."
"But it's not fair to ask one of you to go completely silent." Sherlock scoots nearer and cups his face in his large, gentle hands. "Which is part of the reason you feel it necessary to go on Mycroft's suicide mission. If you survive, you think we can find a solution."
He is very good.
Please. Just a few minutes?
And really, very lovely. He loves you very much.
I know.
John nods and presses more closely into Sherlock's hands. He swallows hard. "I love you. So much. And… the fact that you trust me…" He exhales slowly. "It's everything. Means everything…"
"Teach me to fly." Sherlock's eyes dance with excitement.
Did his eyes just?
Hmmm. They do that.
They were just blue, now they're…
Green. Yeah.
Are you sure he's not an alien?
No. No I'm not. I suppose nothing is impossible.
We could teach him.
Is it safe?
Not at all. Kiss him first. He'll get the hang of it. Remember, flying is just falling.
Right.
"John?" Sherlock is rubbing tiny circles with his fingers against John's scalp. It's incredibly calming. John never knew. No one ever...
"Sorry." John sighs, closes his eyes, and relaxes into the touch.
"Where did you go just then?"
"Arthur. He says…" John tilts his face just so, in order to kiss Sherlock's palm. "He thinks I should get on with kissing you again."
"Does he?" Sherlock smiles and shifts forward some.
John hums. "He's quite insistent."
"John?"
"Yeah, Sherlock?"
"It's fucking weird." Sherlock's brow creases in concern. "Sorry. It's just…"
And John giggles. He can't help it. "I know. Even when we're alone, we've got an audience. Honestly though, it wouldn't be us if it weren't the worst case scenario."
Just do it already.
I swear to god…
Every thought is silenced, finally, as Sherlock pulls him near and kisses him. It's deep, and slow, and John feels like he's falling and falling and falling deeper still.
When they part for breath, John is still on his knees, but hovering just above the floor. Sherlock is grinning conspiratorially at him.
See. Falling.
With a sigh, John presses a kiss to Sherlock's forehead and mumbles, "Could be dangerous."
Sherlock barely contains a shout of excitement. He doesn't want to draw anyone to his room. He stands and drags John up to his feet. "What do I do? Do I think happy thoughts?"
"That you remember?" John shakes his head.
"It was always young Watson's favorite story." Sherlock shrugs.
"I love you." John presses a quick kiss to his cheek. "But no. According to Arthur, flying is falling. Just letting go and relaxing into it."
"So how did you…"
"He threw me off the roof."
Sherlock grabs him by the shoulders and looks ill. "What?"
Don't say it like that!
It's what happened!
You slipped. I just… helped you let go.
Some help.
It worked, didn't it?
"Are you hurt?" Sherlock is searching him all over for signs of injury. Beside the constant ache in his shoulder - a combination of the effects of the implanted device and Random's laser drill - he's really never felt better.
"I'm fine. I was floating before I hit the ground."
Sherlock still looks ill, but he nods. "I still want… Please teach me."
"I think this is a really bad idea..."
You waited fourteen years to kiss the man.
Sod. Off.
"I don't like it. But it could work to our advantage." John smiles up at him, and Sherlock is nearly vibrating with excitement. "Get up to the roof. Through the attic. Try not to let anyone see."
You could fly him up.
"Can't you fly me up?" Sherlock pouts.
What a tease.
Oi, you. Shut it. And isn't he too heavy?
John crosses his arms over his chest. "What about physics? Mass. Gravity. All that?"
"John Watson, are you calling me fat?" With a wink Sherlock pulls John to the window.
You've carried him before. Let me help.
I really don't like this.
Is there anything you do like?
"Sherlock!" John grunts and tries to stay quiet as his flatmate jumps into his arms. "Let me get out the window first, yeah?"
"Fine." Sherlock huffs, but gives John room to climb out. He's immediately leaning through, ready to grab ahold just in case this was a severe miscalculation and John happens to fall.
John doesn't fall. On the contrary. He meets Sherlock face to face and plants a single kiss on his nose.
Let me help?
Please. I don't want to kill him.
"Astounding." Sherlock is in awe watching John hover in place, as still as if he were standing on solid ground. The anticipation is too much, and he scrambles out of the window and launches himself against John.
With his arms tight around John's neck, and John's arms tight around his waist, they sink quickly toward the ground. They're almost all the way down when Sherlock witnesses a subtle change in John's expression.
"Arthur?" Sherlock frowns. "What are you doing?"
"John's never done this part before." He bends his knees slightly, as if bracing for impact with the ground, then straightens them quickly, like he's pushing up and off. They rocket up just past the roof, spin in a quick, tight spiral, then he sets Sherlock down gently on his feet.
Sherlock is exuberant. He's ready to go. Ready to soar. Ready to jump now, think later.
This. This is what I was afraid of.
Shite. Sorry, mate. I…
We're here now. I'll just… Fuck, I can't. I can't watch this.
"Sherlock." He places a firm hand in the middle of Sherlock's chest, and can feel his heart racing, his muscles thrumming.
"J- Arthur. I'm ready. What do I need to do?" Sherlock peers over the edge of the roof and his foot slips a bit.
"Stay. You need to stay here." He looks Sherlock directly in the eyes, just as John had done, because that seems to get the point across more than actual words. Sherlock stills. "John's nervous. You're up on a roof, and you're about to jump off, and he needs a minute."
"Damn." Sherlock deflates a bit, and looks truly contrite. "I didn't even think."
Arthur smiles and pats his shoulder. "Give me a few minutes, and I'll bring him around, yeah?" Sherlock nods, and takes another step back from the edge.
Thank you.
Hold on.
He bends his knees and propels himself straight up, as fast as he can. He laughs as he does a loop. It's been ages. It feels like he's finally breathing.
Just like my dreams.
Arthur grins, and lets himself slip. For the briefest moments neither of them is in control, and they freefall.
What the fuck?
What are you going to do about it?
Arthur is laughing, but he's still not reacting.
"Bastard!" John shouts as he swoops low, skimming the treetops, and shoots right back up. "Christ… Bloody hell… That was... " He's panting and laughing, and hovering in place, taking in all of London below him. "Never fucking do that again. But…"
You liked it.
"I did." John can't stop grinning.
You're an idiot.
"You're insane."
Well, we're both hearing voices.
"God, look at it." John turns in a slow circle. "It's so beauti…"
Oh hell.
"What is that? Is that…" John moves cautiously forward. "He wouldn't."
I've been saying all along, haven't I? He's the worst. Cannot be trusted.
He pauses over Baker Street, just in front of 221b, but above the line of sight from the windows. From where he's hovering, he can see the top of a glistening, rather imposing, definitely enormously obvious spacecraft nestled in the center of Regent's Park. There's a rhythmic beat and flashing colorful lights pulsing from it. It's simultaneously the most impressive and most obnoxious thing John has ever seen.
This never ends well.
Wait. This has happened before?
Yeahhhh.
And you're sure it's not the Vogons?
Too clean. Their ships are more utilitarian. They're space wreckers.
And the Grebulons?
Their's is a battle cruiser. You'll know it when you see it. This glorified piece of space rubbage can only belong to one person.
Zaphod.
And he doesn't have some sort of cloaking device?
I'm sure he does. But he also has an inflated ego and a tendency to stir chaos everywhere he goes.
This is bad.
Yep.
Like, really fucking bad.
"John?" Sherlock is suddenly in front of him, grinning. "You didn't come back, which was incredibly boring, so I thought I'd come find you." He pulls a stunned John into a kiss, and truly, it's the best one yet, but…
What the fuck?
John pulls away. "Sherlock, what the fuck? How?"
"Arthur said flying is just like falling. I just locked everything up in my mind palace, and…"
What the hell is a mind palace?
A memory technique. Not actually the most important detail right now.
"Stop! Do not describe falling off our roof to me." John exhales a long, controlled breath. "You bastard. You impossible, impossible man." He wants to cry. And laugh. But mostly he wants to kiss Sherlock. Unfortunately they've got bigger things to deal with.
He decides on kissing. Just for a moment. Just before everything goes all to hell. Again. Except Sherlock's driven by his adrenaline, and a moment isn't long enough. Not even two or three. John regretfully is the one to pull away.
"Johhhn." Sherlock whines.
"Sherlock," John puts a hand on either side of Sherlock's face, and forces him to still. "We'll get back to that. I promise. But we have a problem." He turns Sherlock's head so he's facing Zaphod's ship.
Sherlock's mouth forms a silent "oh" and he turns back to face John. "That's- There's a spaceship in the park."
"Yes."
"A spaceship. In Regent's Park."
"That is correct, yes."
This day has not been kind to him, has it?
I don't actually know how he's holding it together right now.
Sherlock glances again. "Next to the duck pond, I'd say."
"Or thereabouts."
"We should... We probably need to come up with a plan." Sherlock looks at Zaphod's ship, and back at John. He narrows his eyes as he observes. "You already have a plan."
"Working on it, yeah. There are two of us in here after all." John shrugs.
"Okay. Okay, good." Sherlock nods. He takes John's hand and pulls him toward 221b.
"Sherlock, we can't just go in the front windows. We…"
"A two headed man parked his spaceship next to the duck pond. This is not the most shocking thing to happen today." Sherlock takes both his hands and smiles. "Truthfully, you kissing me will be more of a shock than this."
He's not wrong.
Don't take his side.
"You're probably right." John pulls Sherlock into a hug, just to breathe for a moment, when his mobile rings. "It's Greg." He puts it on speaker.
"You guys at home?"
"Yeah, Greg. What's wrong?"
"You're kidding me, right? You telling me haven't seen it?"
"Whatever are you talking about, Graham?" Sherlock really just enjoys winding him up.
"Ignore him, Greg. We've seen it." John swats Sherlock away.
"Nobody seems to know where it came from, or why it's here. I'm on my way over to get you two, Rosie and Mrs. Hudson away from there."
He's in for a bit of a rude awakening, isn't he?
"Where are you at now, Greg?" John worries his lip with his teeth. Sherlock looks nearly as concerned as he feels.
"Turning on to Baker Street now." They can see him coming. John hangs up on him.
Bullocks.
John bangs on the window, and hears Rosie scream. It's thrown open and a very stunned Ford leans out. "What… What are you two… How the hell?"
"Move!" John shoves Sherlock toward the window as Greg's car screeches to a halt on the street below. As per his usual, he casts a fleeting glance up to the windows before he heads to the door.
John barely has time to catch him before he collapses in the street.
Bugger.
He took it better than I thought he would.
*** A/N ***
The idea of Zaphod parking the ship in the park is actually not an original idea. It's something Douglas Adams already did, so it's actually canon for the series.
Any other questions at all, please let me know.