This is my first attempt at fanfiction so any feedback would be much appreciated. More chapters will be posted if there's any interest in this one, thank you for reading!
John had always known it was there. From the first moment he had met the illustrious Sherlock Holmes he had been captivated by him and unable to prevent the articulations of admiration escaping his lips – 'that was amazing, fantastic'.
Of course almost everyone who met Sherlock was impressed, at least initially, but John couldn't repress that initial amazement and join the unbridled cynicism of other's. That first spark of admiration remained and grew, until it glowed outwardly, clear in his manner to those around him. And within his growing wonder at the complexities of a mind so sharp, a deeper feeling grew. John had become possessive, even when Sherlock drove him to the point of insanity or to harsh derision with the flippancy of the things he sometimes said – 'I don't have friends'.
But John knew they had a deeper understanding. He also knew that Sherlock was married to his work, but John's increasingly futile attempts to separate himself from his feelings towards Sherlock began to no longer even appeal to him. They both knew the main reason he interviewed the therapist was because Sherlock had asked him to, and at the back of John's mind there was a silent hope that he just might be able to push the great Sherlock Holmes to some level of jealousy.
They had one last night in Dartmoor and after the events of the last few days John needed a drink. Many drinks.
It turned out the road out of town was blocked and wouldn't be free until the next morning. They'd spent the day tying up loose ends and visiting Henry to check he was alright; although this was by John's insistence alone, Sherlock couldn't understand what there was to consolidate.
"The man has just witnessed the death of a man he thought was protecting him for years Sherlock! You know that thing, sentiment?"
"But the man was secretly manipulating him with drugged fog John, it would be entirely irrational to hold on to any sentiment." Sherlock threw his hands in the air.
"Well I'm still talking to you after I found out you drugged me, Sherlock. But luckily for you it didn't destroy my entire life. Regardless, he saw a man blown sky high; I've seen soldiers go mad over much less and he was fragile as it is. We're going to see him."
Sherlock groaned softly before setting off. John paused for a moment watching him. He turned his head slightly, if only that man knew John often pushed him into these sorts of arguments just so he could hear that deep growl of irritation escape from Sherlock's throat. Just so he could listen to the multitudes of low notes and imagine hearing them in a very different situation. John quickly displaced the thought from his mind and ran to catch up with Sherlock, the man who was driving him to such ridiculous means.
As he grew level with Sherlock's strides it was now John's turn to groan, Sherlock was doing that thing with his cheekbones and his coat collar up again. He was convinced Sherlock knew what it did to him. He huffed, clenched his jaw and strode in front of Sherlock and tried to focus on other things.
Now it was the evening. They had had dinner, although Sherlock had at first refused to eat anything. However, after another short argument containing a multitude of groaning, to John's delight, Sherlock agreed to eat.
After that Sherlock had abruptly gone to read by the fire so John had gone for a whiskey at the bar. He ran over all that had happened in the past few days, or at least he tried to. John's mind kept returning to that moment in the graveyard.
"Listen, what I said before John, I meant it. I don't have friends. I've just got one."
John had had to put on a face of indifference and walk away before he had hugged that man senseless. Yes, there was an understanding between them, never voiced outwardly and only ever alluded to in precious moments such as that one.
John sighed and ordered another drink. The barman winked at him as he gave it to him.
"You two had a little domestic then? Don't worry, me and mine have those all the time!" He giggled as he walked away.
John sighed again. Was their unspoken understanding so obvious to everyone in the world? He ordered another whiskey.
He heard someone sit in the seat at the bar next to his. "I heard you had a rough night last night."
John looked up, it was Louise Mortimer, the therapist. "You have no idea. I'm sorry about what happened by the…"
"Really it's fine. I spoke to Henry this morning, he told me everything. I guess I can understand why you pretended to be a friend."
"I guess I sort of am a 'new' friend after all that happened."
She smiled, "Yes, I suppose so. How long are you here for then?"
"I leave tomorrow."
She smiled at him. "Buy a girl a drink?"
They chatted and drank. Although John wasn't exactly a 'ladies' man', he laughed inwardly at the irony of that statement, he could see where this night might lead if he let it. He looked over at Sherlock. Even from the bar John could see Sherlock's sharp eyes reflected with orange in the fire, scanning through his book at an incredible speed. Devouring the words and storing the useful information, the heat shining from his eyes from the fire giving them a devilish gleam. He was totally unaware of what John was doing it seemed, so John turned back to Louise and ordered another drink.
However, Sherlock was not entirely unaware of what John was up to. His brain could concentrate of numerous levels of activity if he so wanted it to. This book, that couple in the corner – the woman blatantly cheating and the man entirely smitten, the single Mother in the dark corner clearly reminiscing about past loves; people were so easy to read. And John. He was aware of what John was doing also.
He noticed John's usually sharp soldier posture beginning to sag under the weight of the numerous whiskeys he was drinking. John's humorous attempts at flirting with that woman, although, surprisingly they seemed to be working. And he noticed the many glances John sent his way, the one's that John thought he didn't notice but that were getting increasingly obvious the more lucid he was becoming. Careful John, Sherlock thought in-between the other levels of thinking happening simultaneously in his brain, she's starting to notice you always looking this way. Sherlock also tried to ignore the different emotions within himself that accompanied each of these observations of John, it appeared he was able to induce feelings of jealousy in Sherlock Holmes, but John was in no state to notice his triumph.
Sherlock continued to observe all around him. After another half hour he blinked suddenly, his concentration broken. He had momentarily lost all other trains of observation apart from the one attached to John as he had placed his hand on the woman's knee. A swell of anger rose in Sherlock, but he quickly quelled it, he had become efficient at doing so due to the frankly alarming number on women John seemed to feel the need to be involved with. He shook himself, and sent the probes of thought back out in their rightful directions, checking to make sure they were strongly planted.
They slipped again as soon as he saw John begin to slide off of his chair.
Things had been getting increasingly hazy in John's mind. But the distraction from his own thoughts was relatively welcome. But John hadn't noticed quite how much he had had to drink until he had to put his arm out in front of him onto Louise's leg to stop himself falling. She giggled and he smiled back, but John found he wasn't enjoying her attentions as much as he probably should. He had another drink in the hopes of remedying his stupid brain.
When John felt himself falling the second time he hardly noticed. Then, just before he hit the floor he felt two slender arms slide under his own and pull him up and despite John's numbed brain shocks were sent up and down his sides. Sherlock.
John heard something murmured to Louise, in that superior voice he'd been longing to hear all night, an apology maybe as he was dragged up onto his feet. John's arm was placed over those surprisingly strong shoulders as Sherlock's arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him towards and up the stairs.
He heard a lock turn and a door open as he was pulled through. John felt himself being gently placed on the inn's bed and the arm around his waist begin to retract. Despite his inebriated state he quickly grabbed the neck his arm was still wrapped around, pulling slightly on the hair at the back of Sherlock's head and opened his eyes to see the man's incredulous eyes staring back at him. There was a long pause, filled with the intensity of Sherlock's gaze.
"John…", Sherlock said slowly, the deepness of the sound making it hardly audible, if John had been in a more alert state he might have heard something else in that voice.
"You, are a very shilly man, tryhing to set me… up, with that womath."
"Clearly", was the cold answer.
"Well shorry if, Mmmmmr mysterious here juhst walked off… ash shoon as we finished dinner!" John was only vaguely aware of the slurring inaudibility of his own words.
Sherlock smirked. "Get some sleep John, I will see you in the morning, when hopefully you will be slightly more coherent. Although largely, this is as coherent as you ever seem to be."
John smiled happily, he hardly heard Sherlock's words to him as her blurted -"Yourth my besht friend, jusht like you shaid, I'd be happshy if you were my onlthy friend."
"Come along John, time to let go." There was a hint of amusement and deep affection in Sherlock's voice.
John felt long fingers remove his own from the back of the neck he so wanted to pull down closer to himself. John heard the murmur of some soft words from Sherlock he wouldn't be able to remember the next morning, and then there was a soft click as the door closed and everything blurred away into darkness.