So many feels after The Sign of Three. Sherlock's speech made me cry. The ending made me cry. I felt so bad for Sherlock. And after listening to the preview of the season 3 soundtrack, I am sure that more tears will come because of His Last Vow.
Anyway, I wanted to thank all of you for the lovely feedback on Saved Lives. I decided to write more Johnlock.
No beta read.
I own nothing unfortunately.
John had his hands on Sherlock's body. His touch was light but possessive. He was stronger that one might assume of a man of his size. Sherlock had tasted John's strength before, but this was different.
Sherlock lost himself to the music and John's hold on him. It was a moment of domestic bliss. Just the two of them, in 221B, holding on to each other as though for dear life, dancing.
"I'm going to make a complete fool of myself," John said.
Sherlock did not let that ruin the moment. He gave the future groom a reassuring smile. "You are doing just fine," he said. "Mary is going to be a very lucky bride, her husband is going to make her really proud on the dance floor."
John smiled and looked down, still dancing with Sherlock. The consulting detective tried to keep the smile on his face; he did not want John to look up and see it gone. After all, as Molly had said, Sherlock looked sad when he thought that John could not see him. He could not appear sad now. His best friend's big day was approaching, and Sherlock had quite a part in it.
He closed his eyes, allowing all his other senses to take over.
He listened to the lovely music, the sound of violin slashing the air. What he heard sounded sad and sorrowful, as if it was a music piece of loss and pain. Or, perhaps, that was just the song of his heart. He was going to lose John, he knew it with a heart wrenching certainty. He had believed that he was John's whole life, merely because John was Sherlock's whole life. But that was not true. John had a new life now, with Mary. Sweet, kind Mary. Sherlock could not even hate her for taking John away from him. And that frustrated him.
He decided to focus on a different sense. He decided to focus on John. John's hands on his bony figure. John's body close to his. John's hot breath on his skin. Sherlock would never have imagined or caught himself saying a few years ago that something like that was comfortable, even pleasant.
And then he realized that he still did not like being physical with people, even of that meant a brief hug. He remembered Lestrade embracing him, Anderson holding him. It hadn't been like that. It had nothing to do with Sherlock becoming social. It was all about John.
Sherlock imagined running his hands lower, his fingertips roaming over John's hips. He imagined pulling John closer to him, flush against him. He imagined kissing John. Not tenderly - there would be time for that later - but passionately, his burning need to do it throwing everything to the wind. He imagined telling John all the things that he had left unsaid.
"Sherlock, are you okay?" John asked and stopped dancing.
Sherlock, brought back to reality by John's haunting voice, stood perfectly still. Why did he have to see these things behind closed eyelids? Why couldn't things be the way they used to be? Why did he have to feel this way? Why couldn't he get over it?
He looked at John's hand on his waist and then into the afore mentioned man's eyes. "Yes, of course," he said casually. "Why?"
John studied him considerately. "You seemed...lost. Like you were in your mind palace or something."
Sherlock grasped the opportunity and held on to it as if it were the only thread that kept him from falling into the abyss. "I was. I was thinking of my speech."
John nodded. His whole face relaxed. If he knew the truth, he would have walked out of the flat and out of Sherlock's life forever. Often lies were better than the truth.
"Good," the doctor said. "Try not be too...too you. And also, go to your mind palace some other moment, okay? I'm trying to learn here!"
John teasingly punched Sherlock's waist. Sherlock felt his breath catching in his throat like a trapped animal. He wanted to take hold of that fist and kiss it lovingly. He wanted to kiss every inch of John. He wanted...He wanted John. And that was it. He could pretend, but he could not deny it, not to himself. Sherlock Holmes could not fool Sherlock Holmes. The signs were there for himself to see. He had never felt that way before, but the science of deduction gave him no chance for doubt.
He did not just love John Hamish Watson. He was in love with that man.
With a shake of his head, he put his mask back on. He had a serious look on his face. "Well, then, John," he said in a an almost strict manner, a tone a parent would use to a child, "if you want to learn, you better start dancing again and stop falsely punching me."
John shook his head as well, but there was a smile on his kind face. "You're right, sorry."
Sherlock nodded. He disentangled himself from John's hold (it was a hard thing to do, but he did it so easily that he mentally gave himself a pat on the shoulder) and hit the replay button. The sound of violin penetrated the air once more, once again sad and mournful in Sherlock's ears.
Sherlock put his hands on John's shoulders and felt John's arms snake around his waist. That was his chance. All he had to do was lean in and capture John's lips with his.
"Thank you for doing this, Sherlock," John said. "Thank you for everything."
"It's nothing. That's what friends are for, right?" He was John's friend. He would never be anything more.
John smiled and spun him around.
"Whoa! John...you are really getting the air of this!"
John chuckled. "I have a good teacher. And the best friend."
They smiled at each other as their dancing lesson went on. John's best friend, that's what Sherlock would always be. Any other scenario would always be only in his head, behind the closed curtains of his own world.
The feels are killing me. I had to write this. I don't even know if I like it. I just had to get the idea out of my head, or it would drive me insane.
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