Hi all! Thank you for clicking! This is my first try at a Johnlock fic, so please, any reviews are welcomed and appreciated!
All characters belong to BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle blah blah blah... thanks again!
Baker Street. Come quickly – SH
John sighed and looked up at Lestrade who was sipping his beer.
"Sherlock?" He asked, putting the glass back down, although by his tone John knew it was rhetorical.
"Yeah. Sorry Greg, I'll have to take a raincheck on the pub crawl. Perhaps next week? When Sherlock isn't all hyped up on a case?" John asked, smiling.
Lestrade smiled back, "Of course. Night John, and don't forget to not get yourselves into any trouble."
John slipped his jacket on and chuckled. "Can't promise anything." He replied, paying for the round before walking out of the bar. The night air gave him a bit of a chill, so he tightened his jacket around his neck and carried onward to his flat.
When he arrived though, he wasn't happy.
"Sherlock…" John sighed pinching the bridge of his nose, hearing the sound of the kettle ring.
Sherlock, sitting in his usual chair with his legs crossed and hands beneath his chin smiled up at John and nudged his head towards the kitchen. "Just in time."
"I hope you have a lead and didn't just text me to make you tea." John said, hanging up his jacket.
Sherlock remained silent, looking over John as if trying to deduce him.
"Stop it." John demanded. "I'll make you your bloody tea." He said, storming into the kitchen.
As he was placing sugar in the tea, he was aware of Sherlock's presence behind him.
He could always feel when the lanky detective stood over him; it was slightly eerie. He refused to acknowledge him, stirring the tea in silence.
"Problem?" Sherlock asked. "Can't I message my flat mate asking for tea and company?" Alright, now he's asking for it.
"Sherlock…" John said, spinning around to face him, realising how actually close Sherlock was with a gasp.
"You…you can't just message me to 'come quickly' just because you want tea! It's rude and it's selfish!"
Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "Selfish?"
"Yes, selfish." John said, standing his ground. "Believe it or not the whole bloody world doesn't revolve around you." He said, taking one cup of tea and walking past Sherlock and into the sitting room. He slumped on the couch and sighed, taking a slow sip of his tea and placing it on the coffee table before sitting back and closing his eyes.
"Drinks with Lestrade again I presume. Sorry I interrupted." Sherlock spat bitterly.
John opened his eyes in shock. Jealousy? No, surely not. But what then?
Sherlock grabbed his violin and began hacking away at it with his bow, making terrible screeching noises as he looked out the window.
"Right." John said, standing up quickly. As he did he felt a little woozy, so he took a deep breath. "I'm not dealing with this tonight, I'm going to bed."
He picked up his tea and proceeded to head up the stairs to his room, noticing the sudden silence downstairs. John closed his bedroom door, placed the tea on his bedside table and flopped onto his bed.
When John descended the stairs the next morning, he found Sherlock where he had left him the night before. He was still in his pyjamas, violin and bow still in his hands, with arms dangling at his sides as he was staring out the window dazed. Mycroft had warned John previously about Sherlock's 'Danger Nights', but John had completely overlooked Sherlock's need for company. He felt rotten.
"Sherlock?" He asked quietly. Sherlock's gaze jolted up to look at John, his expression blank.
He didn't utter a word.
John slowly walked across to him and gently eased the violin and bow from his hands, placing them on the chair before turning back to him. His gaze was fixed back to the window.
"What is it about him, John?" Sherlock asks.
John ponders in silence, but comes up with nothing. "About… the killer?"
Sherlock doesn't answer for a while, then asks,
"What does he have that makes you leave the flat in need of his company?"
It doesn't take too long for John to put the pieces together. Sherlock turns around.
"What does he have that I don't?"
John shakes his head incredulously at him. "Nothing, Sherlock."
"Then why do you constantly meet up with him? It's been every Thursday for 5 weeks in a row."
John can't believe his ears. So he was right the night before. It was jealousy.
"Because he's my friend."
"I'm your friend."
"Yes, but you're not my only friend Sherlock…"
Sherlock turned back to the window and sighed.
"Look," John began, "I spend time with Lestrade once a week, okay? I also seem to spend every minute of every other day spending time with you…"
Sherlock remained silent.
"Sherlock, you know you're my best friend."
Sherlock grunts angrily, looking up at the ceiling.
"What if he wants more John?" He asks, frustrated, turning back to him.
John is a little thrown. "Hold on, more? Sher- we're friends! And… Jesus Sherlock he's married!"
"So no?"
"Absolutely not! No! Never!"
Sherlock's eyes squint slightly, then they suddenly seem dark. He moves closer to John, staring down at him.
"What if I want more?"
John's breath catches in his throat. Sherlock is dangerously close now, staring at him like his prey. "Sherlock?" John asks, taking a step backwards.
"I asked, what if I want more?" he repeated slowly, in a low husky tone. John felt a shiver go down his spine.
He felt like he was about to be attacked. He had never had anyone look at him in that way before with… well John didn't know any other way to describe it other than lust.
The feeling was intoxicating.
Nervous, John took another step backward. Sherlock inched closer once again.
"What if I want all of you John?" He said, eyes flickering to the others mouth, "What if I want to kiss you, touch you…taste you…"
John moved backwards till his legs hit the back of Sherlock's chair, almost falling over. Sherlock moved forward one last time and gripped the chair on either side of John, confining him there. "…to own you."
"Sherlock…I…I…" John said, then pushed Sherlock back. "I need some air!" John exclaimed, practically running up the stairs and to his room.
Air he said. What he meant was 'space'. The air had become so unbelievably thick that it was hard to breathe, hard to think.
John sat on his bed, head in his hands thinking. What was Sherlock doing? They were best friends and look, fine, he's pretty hard to find unattractive, but regardless John had never thought that anything could happen between them. Sherlock has never dated, well as long as they've been friends at least and John well, he didn't really find men attractive. Hell he'd been surrounded by soldiers for 4 years of his life and not one person had made him feelanything. But Sherlock, well… he was Sherlock.
That didn't mean that this was a good idea.
They were good friends, fantastic friends. They complimented each other in every way.
Peanut butter and Jelly, salt and pepper, scones and jam, fire and ice, mind and heart.
They've lived together for so long, and never had a serious argument… well, apart from when he showed up three years after his 'death'. That wasn't pleasant. It seemed though that they had picked up right where they left off, and it's only been 6 months since. They couldn't keep being mad at each other because each one was infinitely happier with the other around. Maybe that meant they couldbe more? And what if it didn't work out? Could they work past it?
Suddenly, John heard something slip under his bedroom door. A note.
As John picked it up, he heard footsteps going down the stairs and the front door closing.
Sherlock was gone then? For good? John felt panic rise within him as he opened the note.
John,
I apologise for my abrupt and rather distasteful actions towards you earlier. I find it rather difficult to convey emotions John, as you well know, and having not slept in 3 days made it even more difficult. Nevertheless, I should never have acted in such a way. You are my best friend John, my only friend, and before I go any further I want you to know that you are exceptionally important to me John. So much so that I've tried to ignore these 'emotions' and lock them away in the recesses of my mind, but I cannot any longer.
When you're around me I feel somewhat complete, like everything is perfect once you're there.
I don't like admitting fear John, but that is exactly what I am feeling. I don't know what to do. I am lost John, and I need you to help find me. I realise that this may come as a shock to you and that dating someone of the same gender is something you may never have considered before, but all I am asking is for you to let us try.
Give me a chance John, give us a chance.
I'll be gone for quite some time, but I would like it very much if you would join me for dinner tonight at 7. Angelo's. Consider it our first date.
Sherlock
John smiled. He had never received such a beautiful letter in all his life, and he had quite a few years on him. Sure he had written letters to his girlfriends before, vows of love and soppy poems with dreadful rhymes, but none of them were like this.This… open and honest. It was really quite flattering. Perhaps he should have gotten Sherlock to write letters for him. No. That's not right. If Sherlock loved him, asking him to write letters to his girlfriends would be cruel. No, now Sherlock was the one that would be receiving his lame letters.
The previous thought hit him. Did that mean he was going to do it?
Give us a chance. The words rang again and again in his head, swimming and making him dizzy.
He felt a throbbing in his heart and goosebumps on his skin. He hadn't felt like that in a long, long time. John knew that regardless of how he felt now about dating Sherlock, he would give him a chance. How could he not? Sherlock had fixed him. 'Then broke me, but eventually fixed me again...' John thought.
All he knew was that he didn't want to spend the rest of his life without Sherlock. He had experienced that life before, and didn't want to ever go back to it.