A/N: Totally not sure about voice in this piece and fairly sure I slipped up tense-wise a few times because I wasn't sure which I was writing in. Review and let me know what you think, won't you?
The Beginning - John
John was just as surprised as anyone the first time Sherlock displayed signs of romantic affection for him. Yes, it all seemed very sudden, but people never tell the story of the months of angst and longing before the get-together. They tell the story of the moment, the collage of stand-out memories that add together to form the picture they want others to see. And that moment – that series of firsts – all happened rather quickly.
It was about one o'clock on a Wednesday morning when Sherlock first said 'I love you'. John still thinks of it as a Tuesday, though, probably because he hadn't gone to bed the night before. But Sherlock likes to be precise. Technically, he would always correct him, it was Wednesday morning by the time the conversation occurred. Well, I suppose if we're being technical, he didn't exactly say I love you. The exact words, just to keep him happy, were in fact "John, I think I'm in love with you." But Sherlock doesn't just think anything, he can't cope with that. He has to know, to be absolutely 100% sure. John pointed this out to him, to which he smiled and said, "Okay. I'm in love with you."
Which is, of course, more or less the same thing.
Sherlock's not the type to hang around in agony for months and not say anything. We can be fairly certain, then, that the 'I love you' was the result of a fairly recent revelation. After he'd realised he was in love with John, though, he said later, he also realised that he'd actually been in love with him for quite some time without knowing what it was. He'd never really felt it before, he'd say.
So further to the months of angst and longing, most of the work on that count was done single-handedly by John. There were moments when Sherlock would be unhappy without quite knowing why, naturally, but there wasn't the constant oh-my-God-I'm-in-love-with-my-flatmate that was being experienced in John's head. And most of the rest of him, come to that. He'd had plenty of time to get his head around the fact that not only did he completely, utterly want Sherlock, any way that Sherlock wanted to give himself to him, but that Sherlock would in fact probably never want to give himself to him at all. And that was fine; Sherlock couldn't help being an asexual sociopath. It was all fine. Kind of.
But Sherlock's little revelation completely pulled the rug out from under his feet. Yup, he landed – splat – on his arse. His heart took a moment out from its normal duty of pushing blood around his body to process the news and then started some obscure kind of victory dance around his navel just in case he'd forgotten about it. Well, he hadn't. In fact, he was very aware of it.
John's first 'I love you' came about five seconds after his heart had collapsed, exhausted, at the bottom of his chest and left his brain in the peace and quiet to think about how to reply. Well, there's only one thing to say when your flatmate – who you've been in love with for months, remember – suddenly confesses he loves you. He'll always deny the ineloquence of his confession and if Sherlock happens to mention the pitch of his voice at the time, well, just ignore him, it was perfectly normal. It may not have been the steadiest of voices, but it was not even a semitone higher than any other day. All he managed to say, though, was "I, um, love you too."
But it got the message across. And where John was used to relationships that happened slowly, with meeting someone and then dating them once or twice and then kissing them, dating them some more, possibly a bit of sex and then maybe the 'I love you', in this case they'd waited long enough. Both of them, even if Sherlock hadn't known until that morning what he was waiting for. Well, this was it.
And from there it was easy. Sherlock made the first move, but then Sherlock's always been a leader and John is quite content to follow. He didn't care so much how it happened, but after barely a minute of cursing himself for not being the smooth story-book romantic hero he'd always been when he'd dared imagine this scene in his head, lips touched lips and that first, too, was duly dispatched. While John's heart had assumed itself fully recovered from its earlier fright, this proved too much for it to bear; it leapt right up into his mouth and crazily attempted to actually jump out of him and into Sherlock. Well, that was fine. He could have it if he wanted it.
It took a grand total of ninety seconds for Sherlock to have John completely wrapped around whichever finger he might choose to manipulate. It was something of a skill of his, and John knew that; he didn't mind. Because at that moment, while the two were busily climbing on top of each other and working their way towards another first, John loved Sherlock and Sherlock had just admitted to the same feelings and what else could possibly matter?
The Beginning - Sherlock
There had been an inkling of something the very first time Sherlock had seen John, seen the psychosomatic limp and the look in those hazel eyes that said I have to do something, now, or I may possibly explode from boredom. Well, the world's first consulting detective knows that feeling. And of course being the utterly selfish sociopath that he is, he decided to fix the limp and re-introduce action into the ex-army doctor's life not because it would helpJohn, but because someone slightly closer who felt like they owed him a favour would come in handy when he got bored.
People think Sherlock Holmes is a great guy. A genuinely nice person. They talk to two or three of the people he's helped – maybe Angelo, accused of a murder he hadn't even considered committing, or Mrs Hudson, terrified of the man she'd married once upon a time before he'd turned into a violent and slightly murderous monster – and they think, now here's a man who likes to help people.
Bzzt – wrong. Sherlock Holmes couldn't care less about Angelo, besides the fact that the location of his restaurant comes in handy for surveillance every now and then and it's a quick walk when he can't be bothered coercing someone else into cooking for him. And Mrs Hudson? Well, she was nice enough but she fussed something wicked, and while his rent was criminally low that was just a side-effect. No; Sherlock had proved that Angelo was innocent because it was ridiculously obvious that Lestrade was chasing the wrong guy and the real killer was sitting comfortably at home with his soon-to-be late wife and children, and when Mrs Hudson had sent him an email with a slightly different subject line he'd thought it would be a break from London's August monotony and he'd never been to Florida. Helping people was purely coincidental to his own entertainment.
But there are times when being thought compassionate and helpful comes in handy for an adrenaline junkie that masquerades as a consulting detective, and so you'll never catch Sherlock spouting the real reasons behind the happiness of anyone he's accidentally helped. And having people believe they owe you a favour, well, he won't deny that that helps too.
Anyway. John started like that. Sherlock saw the way he held his cane and his back and saw immediately that this would be a very handy person to have on call. To have the doctor actually living with him, a constant source of entertainment, would be most convenient indeed.
And it was, of course. By the end of the second day of their acquaintance John had already praised Sherlock more than everyone else he knew put together and probably saved his life to boot. He still has the pill he almost took, hidden away in a drawer somewhere, and one day he'll take it to Bart's and prove to himself that he was right.
But after a few months Sherlock started to worry. Having John around was not only handy when he was bored, he actually genuinely liked the company, which was so strange in itself that he had to keep the association going just to find out why. It was probably because John praised him so often. No-one ever did that.
He'd known for a while that John was developing… romantic feelings for him. He'd been disgusted at first; three months of happiness and then John had to go and ruin it by wanting it to turn into something else. Then he'd realised it kept the doctor around and he hadn't minded so much. Then he'd noticed that it was frustrating him, that he was working up the courage to either admit his feelings (dull) or leave (unacceptable).
Well, Sherlock is an expert at reading people, at knowing exactly what to do and say to make them do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, to the ends of the earth and forever. And he knows he can have John completely under his spell, can totally and irrevocably capture the good doctor until he'd damn well die to keep him happy, just by saying a few words. Call it an experiment, if you like.
"John," he slipped into casual conversation as the doctor bound up a gash in his arm after another midnight rooftop chase, "I think I'm in love with you."
Ta-da. Game. Set. Match. If Doctor John H Watson put a bullet in an elderly cabbie to save Sherlock the night after they met, what would he do for his – the word came in his head in John's voice, oddly enough, he was the one who said it last – boyfriend? His lover, his significant-other? It was an interesting question.
And Sherlock found himself caught up in the way John wanted him, the way his hand gripped tightly in the detective's curls as though afraid he was going to run away, the other hand on his hip pulling him closer and still closer like he wanted to actually climb inside his chest. He's observed people in serious relationships, people (dare he say it?) in love, and he thinks he's got the bodily reactions down pretty well. The slight hitch in the breath as he waited for John's response, followed by the sharp exhale as he eloquently replies, so typically, "I, um, love you too."
Well, duh. But Sherlock knows that people in love don't think rationally (don't ask how. Have you seen anyone in love?) so he feigns relief. And then? Well, then John's eyes flickered to his lips, and that was as good as a neon kiss-me-now sign, so Sherlock leant in and obliged; he sped his breathing up and clutched John to him possessively. He wasn't sure, that first night, if this was going to work; he knows he can make himself cry or scream if it's important, but he'd never tried this before.
He's still not sure quite how he managed it, but he did; managed to lose his wits enough to physically prove his apparent attraction to the other man while keeping them about him enough to act the part, too. And as he lay with the short doctor in his arms, sweat cooling on both their naked bodies with the sheets pulled up around them, John doesn't have to whisper don't go for Sherlock to know he wants them to fall asleep like this. He needs a shower, they both do, but for John, right now, Sherlock will do anything.
Lying in wait for a time – not too far from now – when John's convinced enough of Sherlock's affections to relax a bit and get used to the old consulting detective again, the one who doesn't cook or cuddle so much, and Sherlock can start the experiment properly.
How far will John go for him? The possibilities are limitless.
A/N: Aha! I've been reading a lot of fluff and slash lately, and… no, I don't think Sherlock's a sociopath either. But what if he is? Completely and utterly manipulative? If I am coerced enough (reviews usually do that job pretty well) I may be convinced to do a second chapter ('the end' as opposed to 'the beginning') for when it all falls apart and John realises how badly he's been taken advantage of.
I seem to be dancing around Sherlock/John so much at the moment without ever writing it properly. I'm probably scared I'll make a hash of it. I'm not sure how my rape-recovery slashiness is working for As Far As I'd Go, if you're reading that. Should be up in a bit but I have exams starting tomorrow (insert huge panic attack here) so can't promise anything. Should at least pretend to study.
Review please. Go on. Make my day. I dare you.
-for you!