AN: Right okay, you might want to read this. BASICALLY I have just gotten back from a camping trip and I needed to vent out some frustration, that is why this is badly written and Sherlock and John are very OC because they aren't really Sherlock and John *cough* *cough*. So yeah, sorry about that...I just thought I'd post this incase some few might like it. Also, you know, if you have any advice that would be awesome.
John had initially thought that camping wasn't the best of ideas. All of them in a tent together sounded like something akin to hell but here they were and things were going okay. They had a large field to themselves seen as most were still at school, a perk of having exams he supposed. The tent was plenty big enough too; one anxiety ticked off the wind tickled as it gently blew through his hair and he smiled at the sensation.
"John!" It was Lestrade, "come grab this!" John did as he was told, clutching the plastic of the tent to stop it from slipping away; it was nearly up now. They were making good time.
Soon they had the tent up and all their stuff inside. Lestrade had started making the barbeque and the smoking burgers smelt heavenly. As well as Lestrade, Molly, Sally and Dimmock had come along as well as Sherlock of course. Him and John got on interestingly...
"Come on John," he nudged the other's arm as he walked past playfully. He was like that, with him and Lestrade, he didn't seem to be as lax with anyone else; ruffling hair and lazy play fighting. And it was fine, John didn't mind it, he sort of liked it; it was annoying as hell sometimes though. But then Sherlock always took great pleasure in annoying people. One of his many charms. Why John put up with him he would never understand.
"Burgers are ready!" Dimmock announced and just as he did a sleek car pulled up on the field. Mycroft had arrived then, he wasn't in their year but being Sherlock's brother and Lestrade's boyfriend meant he was invited; John didn't mind. He found Mycroft grounding almost, so down to earth he was a comfort and though he was as clever as Sherlock, he made you feel far less stupid than the other did.
Mycroft arrived with a modest amount of bags and Lestrade went up to unburden him of most, greeting him with a small kiss. Molly pulled a slight face at it with a chuckle. John just smiled, it was nice to see his friends so happy.
They all sat down and ate food happily and John found himself incredibly happy he'd come. Everyone was getting on well, Mycroft and Lestrade had become attached to each other almost and John had found that Sherlock had been okay this first day. More...sensitive than he usually was, if that was the right word; which was nice. Him and Sherlock had a slightly odd relationship.
There was that time at their prom a few months ago...they'd been dancing in a circle holding hands; jumping up and down with laughs and giggles. And then when they all let go...Sherlock had held his hand for a few more moments, perhaps John had imagined it but no, it seemed purposeful if only for a moment. Sherlock probably hadn't realised he was doing it but he had. John's hand had been all tingly after that. He'd hated it and loved it all at the same time and he tried not to read too much into it.
"John? You okay?"
He was snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Molly, "yeah, fine." He forced a smile.
"Help me wash up would you?"
Later that night after a few hilariously awkward rounds of truth and dare he was lent on Sherlock's pillow beside Sherlock facing Mycroft and Lestrade just talking. John was tired and he was cold, and he knew his bed would be horribly chilly as he hadn't warmed it up. It appeared everyone was going to bed, or to sleep though he was still talking to Lestrade and Mycroft; he didn't want to move.
"You're stealing half of my pillow John," Sherlock huffed. John moved along a bit.
"Better?"
The other just sighed.
John wasn't sure how it happened. It was very late, everyone else was asleep. It had started when he was cold, shivering. Sherlock had thrown an arm around him. Then they were sharing the sleeping bag, zipped open like a blanket thrown over them. Then Sherlock had muffled something about John's hands being cold. At first it was just gracing finger tips, then it became held hands and finally interlinked fingers. John was shocked at it all and more so at the fact that didn't bother him. This felt natural if you like, not odd at all, it felt nice too. John certainly wasn't going to pull away. Sherlock's hands were warm and calloused around his own. But they weren't sleeping, they were talking; hushed whispers and murmurs.
"This isn't weird, is it?"
"No," John whispered. "I'm...comfortable with you."
"Comfortable?" He could hear the speculation in Sherlock's tone.
"Yes, this isn't weird or awkward at all."
"But it should be, shouldn't?"
"Let's worry about it in the morning," John mumbled sleepily.
"Wouldn't Sarah be jealous?"
John groaned, Sherlock made so many jokes about Sarah. It drove him insane.
"Please stop mentioning Sarah, I don't want to think about her or talk about her anymore. Please."
Sherlock appeared to relent, "this feel nice?" John felt fingers dancing across his forehead.
"Yes," he smiled feeling almost giddy. And then they laughed, a hushed giggled where they both turned to face each other; Sherlock's noce brushed his cheek.
Throughout the night they talked about anything, they just laid aside each other murmuring thoughts and chuckling quietly. Sherlock's fingers would sometimes draw lazy circles on John's hands, sometimes Sherlock would almost nuzzle him too but they didn't kiss; even when they were so close their breath mingled as they talked. But no, neither crossed that boundary.
They stayed up till five in the morning talking till they finally drifted off. John would never have thought that they could hold conversation for so long, but still he liked this new development; and he would worry about any consequences in the morning. Little did John know that 'worry wouldn't begin to cover it.
When John woke up he felt weary and tired, having gotten very little sleep. He didn't move at first, keeping his eyes shut in the hope of drifting off. He then became aware of Sherlock draping the sleeping bag over them both again and a hand wrapping around his waist, no hand holding this time but a face nuzzled at the back of his neck. Seemed John was a little spoon currently.
Unfortunately he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep like this, his thoughts everywhere. This wasn't normal for friends, was it? Friends could sleep together yes, but they don't hold hands...not with interlinked fingers for gods sake! What did this even mean? Would their friendship change? Would it end? Become something more? John's head was whirring. He didn't know what to think or what to feel. He didn't want to like Sherlock like that, he really didn't but then did he really have a choice in the end?
He decided to panic about this after he'd gotten a decent amount of sleep. He swiftly moved to his own bed, ignoring how cold it was and curled up; willing his brain to shut off. He was such an idiot.
John knew that he needed to talk about it the next day, so he called his sister Harry. He told her what happened, everything.
"You need to talk John..."
"Yeah, I know. I just don't want to ruin the camping trip."
"So wait till after, you have the whole summer."
Waiting till after might have worked if other people hadn't talked to Sherlock about it. John knew they were trying to help and he was grateful for but Sherlock just froze up he could tell, like he'd been caught out.
It was the next day that people had tried to talk to Sherlock.
"He said it was 'innocent'," Lestrade told him, "and that he liked someone else."
"Oh?" John appeared disinterested, "I'm sure they'd love to hear about this then..."
Lestrade made a noise of agreement, "he's just being Sherlock I'm afraid."
"I know..." John sighed. "He keeps on bringing up Sarah...and keeps on calling me a pillow thief, like it was my fault! He could have kicked me out but he didn't. It's just as much his fault."
"It's because he wants to keep bringing it up," Lestrade said, "and he doesn't know how else."
"Still, I don't like him making me feel guilty..." John grumbled. "It definitely wasn't just a friend-thing was it?"
Lestrade chuckled lightly, "I don't think so, no..."
"Oh dear," John groaned and let his head fall in his hands. "I'm such an idiot."
"You need to talk to him about it."
"I know, I will."
John had unintentionally lied. He had intended to talk to Sherlock about it, he had but the other was...he was being colder than before, more distant. It made John feel bad as if he'd done something wrong. John didn't feel like he could talk to him about it. Perhaps he was just scared but it wasn't just that. He could just start the conversation "why wasn't it weird?" But he didn't, but then again neither did Sherlock. Maybe the other didn't care, maybe he was embarrassed? A good time had never come up either...well, once or twice but John said nothing; let the silence linger awkwardly on.
He was such an idiot.
"You okay John?" Molly was squeezing his arm with a reassuring smile. John smiled weakly in turn.
"I'm good," he said because he was, they were packing away, going home; he could forget about it then right? If he chose to. He was still thinking about that. Him and Sherlock had avoided the subject well these past few days and now he was leaving early with Mycroft.
Sherlock and Mycroft left with quick hugs, though of course Lestrade got a lingering kiss from Mycroft.
"Have I hugged you John?"
John bit back a laugh, like he cared. The cold bastard.
"Yes, you're good," he nodded.
Then they walked away, heading home.
John felt regret and relief all at once. The awkward presence of Sherlock was gone but instead there was this doubt in his gut, should he have brought it up? Was it too late now? What did he even want to happen? John would have to think on that one.
There was a small finger shaped bruise on his wrist from where Sherlock had squeezed his hand the first night, a constant reminder and John hated it. He pulled his jumper sleeve over it and went back to helping everyone else pack up.
He went home and was grateful to be in his own bed that night but the next morn he just awoke with more questions in his head. He was frustrated too, he needed to get it all out. He liked writing stories...perhaps he could write it all down...then maybe, just maybe he'd feel a little better about it. Writing it down, he found he felt a little better but still, he was at complete loss at what to do.