"Experiment!"
"It's just an experiment, John."
"Leave it, John. It's nothing that concerns you, just an experiment."
"Mind the thumbs in the cookie jar, John, they are for a highly delicate experiment that shouldn't be tampered with at all costs. Oh and for god's sake stop putting cookies in there!"
"Don't be an idiot, John, obviously I didn't call my parents over for Christmas, it was for an experiment! Why I else would I want to deal with such sentimental nonsense?"
"Of course Janine was just an experiment. A costly one, at that. Yes, even the engagement. What is there not to understand? I got a lot of data."
Everything was always an experiment.
John shot a dark look at Sherlock, who was currently dousing the corpse hanging from the ceiling of their flat in kerosene, oblivious to John's mental trauma.
"John, lighter!" Sherlock stuck a hand impatiently backwards.
He even has the nerve to ask me to help! Like I'm going to help him set fire to a bloody dead body in my house, and that too for an 'experiment'! Hmph. As if!
John glared at Sherlock's rear end from his chair, and then, no less disgruntled, stood up and handed Sherlock the lighter. Sherlock didn't even look at him, let alone thank him, and went about setting the body on fire.
John sank back into his chair and let out a decidedly sad huff. After four days with no sleep, running around after Sherlock on a case, then a trying day at the surgery (a child had died), and then a terrible commute home, Sherlock wasn't even paying attention to him! He looked up, hoping Sherlock would notice his mood and bloody just ask him what was wrong, but no, Sherlock Holmes just didn't do things like that, did he? What were his exact words? "John, I guess since we're a couple now, I'll buy you dinner every other Saturday. Let me know if you will be requiring more from our relationship. Though to be honest I don't see it being much different than before. We just kiss more."
Was it too much to ask of his boyfriend to just ask if he was ok? Let alone comfort him?
They had just started officially dating a few months before- and while it had been oh so good, with frequent 3 am make out sessions and waking up to see Sherlock's beautiful body, and then 7 am make out sessions, Sherlock was not so different from his usual, callous and indifferent self when on a case or during an experiment. He would often initiate romantic behavior at odd times, catching John off guard (in a pleasant way), but then stop at his liking, just leaving John hanging.
He never really cared for John's moods, or showed much concern when he was sick or injured. He never asked about his day, or just give John a hug. Nope, none of the normal stuff.
John sighed forlornly.
Why did I ever believe that things would be different? He actually seems less caring than before we started dating. He only ever just wants to make out.
As the flat filled with a quite terrible smell of burned, dead flesh, and as Sherlock took note of the process with morbid fascination, John just grumbled to himself.
I'm sure it'll get better with time. After all, he asked me out first.
"Anderson, you have truly proved yourself an imbecile, even by your own superbly low standards. How could the victim have done it?"
Sherlock had barged into Lestrade's office at Scotland Yard to pester him for access to confidential materials pertaining to a case. John had begrudgingly followed, apologizing for the destruction in his wake.
"Jesus, Sherlock, you literally said the same thing when we were playing Cluedo that one time! Hypocrite much?" John smirked at him, bad mood from the previous day completely evaporated. Sherlock had indeed taken him out to dinner, cleaned up the corpse, and even eaten something, without John having to ask him to! The move, whether intended for John or not, had made him immediately forget his grievances. So Sherlock was not always the best boyfriend. That was to be expected- he never even took care of himself, so how could John expect him to care for another? It was ok. John was sure that Sherlock cared for him, in his own, special, way.
Sherlock pouted. "No, John, but Mr. Boddy did do it! That was the only explanation- the game creators must have gotten it wrong. But why the hell would Anderson come to the conclusion that this clearly dead woman had killed herself after her ascertained time of death when there were clear signs of a break in, and DNA from no less than six other people present around the room? She was hosting the party- that's quite a ridiculous notion. He has to be lacking a brain."
Anderson sneered from the corner. "Hey- it fits all the facts-"
John ignored him. "Now do you hear how ridiculous it sounds?" John shot a pointed look at Sherlock, but his mouth had quirked up into a smile.
Sherlock blinked. "...Actually, yeah. Wait. Oh my god, I was wrong? I was wrong. How-"
Sherlock proceeded to have a mental short circuit, and John just chuckled fondly. Lestrade looked over fondly at their banter, not even attempting to hide the wide grin on his face.
"You know, I made a good bit of money off of you two. Never did thank you for that."
"What?" John looked up at him with a confused frown.
Lestrade laughed. "The office pool. I bet that you two would finally get together in January- Anderson actually fell for your "I'm not gay" crap! Hah- the fool." Ignoring an offended squawk from both Anderson and John, he continued, "I knew since I met you. So, thanks for the 100 pounds." He turned back around to his file cabinets, acting like he was reaching in to check that the case files Sherlock needed were still there, but really just concealing a wicked grin, knowing that he had likely just broken John.
John didn't know whether he should be affronted or amused. He settled on a little of both and was about to snap back a biting retort when Sherlock physically shook his head and strode over to John. He grabbed his hand and basically dragged him towards the door, stopping for only a second to filch the necessary files from the still-open file cabinet. He threw a cheeky smirk over his shoulder at a spluttering Lestrade, then pulled John out the door. John just sighed resignedly and let himself be pulled along, muttering an apology (that he didn't really feel at the moment) to Lestrade on the way.
Once out of Lestrade's office, Sherlock briskly dragged John into the nearest empty corridor and pushed his back roughly against the wall. Sherlock's lips were on John's before he even had time to ask what he was doing.
"Mmf. Sher-"
Sherlock proceeded to snog the living daylights out of John, who of course enjoyed it, but was all the same worried someone would see. They weren't exactly concealed, and could be seen at any time by any of the Yarders, who definitely didn't need more fuel to their fire. John didn't really consider himself an exhibitionist, but now wondered if Sherlock was. He did find that a little hot. Or maybe that was because Sherlock was licking his ear.
"Oh, f***. Sherlock."
"Yes, John."
How much ever John wanted Sherlock right now, this was getting out of hand. John grabbed Sherlock's shoulders, partly to push him away, partly to support himself, as his knees were going weak. He succeeded in separating himself from Sherlock by just a fraction of an inch.
"Sherlock, we can't do this in the middle of Scotland Yard! People will see! People will talk! I thought you had dragged me out to go get evidence or something."
"Shut up, John, and let me kiss you. You looked so hot in there, I couldn't think of anything else. That must be why I was wrong. I can't stop wanting you, and it's messing up my brain process."
"I wasn't- ohhh- doing anything particularly arousing. I was just being there-"
"Exactly, John. For once you are spot on in your observations. Now do be quiet and kiss me."
He crashed his lips into John's again, eliciting a moan from a flustered John. He had to admit, it made him a little proud that he could so easily unravel someone as emotionless and suave as Sherlock. His cheeks flushed with both the pleasure and heat of the kiss, but also from the potential embarrassment he would endure if caught in such a compromising situation. What would happen to his image?
Sherlock ran a hand under his shirt, the fingers of the other hand brushing the raised scar tissue on his shoulder. John shuddered in response to the stimulation. And John suddenly found he didn't care.
To hell with image.
John leaned into the kiss, fully participating now, not able to get enough Sherlock. What the man lacked in relationship skills, he sure made up for with amazing kissing abilities. They were both moaning now, skin heating up at the contact, at the searing kiss. Sherlock did a thing with his tongue that had him seeing stars.
In fact, he was so caught up in Sherlock that he didn't notice the wide eyes of Donovan, Anderson, and Dimmock peering around the corner of the corridor. Sherlock, of course, did, and had the decency to pull away (he wasn't so lewd). As snickers floated down the hall, he indifferently adjusted his posh shirt, now wrinkled, fluffed up his hair in the window reflection, and strode back down the corridor past Donovan and the others with a swirl of his coat, still somehow seeming graceful after such a steamy makeout session and getting caught red-handed.
John, however, was not so fortunate as to have been born suave. He was left to gape after Sherlock's receding form. He opened and closed kiss-swollen lips a few times, finding that he actually kind of did care about his image, now that he had three sets of eyes glued to his every movement. He then realized that they were still looking at him, and attempted (and failed) to discreetly adjust his uncomfortably tight pants. He awkwardly mumbled something at the Yarders, then promptly turned on his heel and strode in the opposite direction, just short of mortified. Bollocks.
Some part of his brain was still reeling from that kiss, though.
Totally worth the embarrassment.
John decided not to try and follow Sherlock. He had made his dramatic exit, and was probably off somewhere doing who knows what. Besides, John wanted to stop by Tesco's later. It was hell of a lot easier without Sherlock. And he had only just gotten over his earlier mortification- he didn't want to be seen in public with Sherlock just yet. Who knew how fast gossip spread around here?
He walked down the maze like hallways of Scotland Yard, making his way towards the exit, when he heard familiar voices from around a corner, from what he knew to be the break room. He would've just shrugged and moved on had he not heard his own name thrown around. Immediately curious, and a little anxious that his earlier escapade with Sherlock had already reached judging ears, he paused in his purposeful stride and quietly peered around the wall.
Donovan, Dimmock, and Anderson. Ok, no big deal, to be expected. They really can't mind their own business, can they?
He would have just walked on, but then he heard what they were saying and froze in his tracks, just barely able to see the three drinking coffee.
"Don't you think sometimes that Freak is just messing with John? That he really doesn't care about him that much?"
What?
Dimmock laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, I do get that feeling. I mean, Sherlock Holmes in a relationship? Like, did you see how he just abandoned Watson back there? How he just drags him all over the place, and the poor guy doesn't even notice that he's just the lovesick sidekick who's being strung along."
"I only ever see them kissing. Holmes is probably just horny all the time, 'cos who in their right mind would want him, and saw no one better than the one person who actually trusts him to take advantage of. Easy pickings, John is- he's like a dog, always loyal to the freak. Would probably follow him to hell and back and never know it."
Anderson poked in, placing his coffee cup on the counter. "No, you know what? He's probably not even horny. You know how he's always doing those morbid side projects. Maybe John's just one of his experiments. The sick bastard's giving Watson the time of his life, and then probably cataloging every one of his reactions in that 'mind palace' of his, in the name of science. I might have been wrong about them getting together, but I just KNOW that I'm right about this."
John had to fight not to stagger into the wall and alert them of his presence.
Just an experiment?
"Whatever. I warned John. The man's a freak, and Watson's stupid to have ever believed his feelings could be returned." Donovan shrugged, already bored by the topic. "Anderson, meet me in 30 in my office to discuss that case?" A none-too-discreet pointed look was sent in Anderson's direction.
"What case? We don't have any- ohhh yeah yeah I'll be there!" A knowing snicker from Dimmock.
John barely realized that they were leaving the break room, and with what was left of his brain, he quietly moved back into the main corridor. He refused to think about anything.
Just an experiment.
He all but raced out of the Yard, not really caring where he was headed. He just walked, walked until he felt his insides wouldn't melt.
There was a constant litany in his head, one that he couldn't shut up no matter how hard he tried.
Just an experiment. Just an experiment. Just an experiment.
More than two hours of furious walking later, John noticed that he had wandered into an open park. Quite coincidentally, it was the one where he had met Stamford that fateful day. Night had fallen, and he found that it was quite chilly- he had left his bomber jacket in Lestrade's office. He shivered.
Only then did he notice the glow, out of the corners of his eyes- he had been looking solely at his feet as walked. There were strings of yellow lights strung around the trees, framing the moonlit pathway he was currently standing on with a soft glow. John's breath caught at the truly beautiful sight and his resolve not to think abruptly dissolved. He staggered to a nearby bench and sank down, just glad for the support. He didn't think he could stand for any longer.
Just an experiment.
He should have known. How hadn't he seen it?
Blinded to the truth by his own affection. Affection that might not even be returned.
John had had his doubts, of course. Never about Sherlock's capacity to love, no, always doubts of his own worth, his worth to someone as independent, and beautiful, and brilliant as Sherlock. Sometimes he just couldn't understand why Sherlock even kept him around, let alone be his boyfriend.
Now he knew.
Just an experiment.
On some logical plane he knew he might be overreacting- this was coming from Anderson and Donovan, after all. He hated himself for placing doubt in Sherlock, for not believing that Sherlock had a heart. Sherlock had initiated their relationship. Had said that he had always liked John, and wanted to try this out. But he couldn't shake the thought that it was true.
He had just had his own reservations, hadn't he? He knew it had been too good to be true. That Sherlock never did anything romantic or even affectionate, always just physical. He was more rude to him than before they were 'dating', and seemed never to care for John's moods. He knew he hadn't signed up for a regular boyfriend when he happily agreed to Sherlock's surprising proposal- but he also knew that there was something lacking. It hurt so much, that Sherlock didn't deem him worthy enough to be with him properly.
Ella had been right. Yes, John had trust issues, but they were obviously for good reason. He should have just ignored her and continued not trusting anyone. He found he couldn't trust anybody, anymore.
John hated himself, in that moment, for having let Sherlock be the one person he trusted. The one person he could love. The one person that had saved him. The one person he could be Johnwith. The one person he allowed himself to rely on. The one person with him he felt something akin to lov-
John buried face in his hands, his shuttered eyes desperately holding back unshed tears and his shoulders quivering with, barely restrained sobs. He was angry and sad, so inexplicably sad. Angry that the one good thing in his life was also lying to him. Sad that not just their relationship, but also their friendship, had likely been all just an experiment.
Was any of it real?
John just sat on that bench, head in hands, protecting himself, his heart, from the world.
He considered just asking Sherlock about it. That would be the logical course of action. Maybe then he would debunk all of this, scold John for actually believing Anderson, and get the hell on with it. But John didn't think he could take it if Sherlock didn't refute it. His heart was tearing in two at the mere thought.
On the verge of another breakdown, John knew he had to stop this. He had already let Sherlock in too much, and just couldn't anymore.
We are soldiers today.
And everyday, from now on.
He squared his jaw, dragged his hands across his face.
If an experiment was all he was to Sherlock... well, so be it. How much ever he had always hated those experiments, those pointless, annoying, take-up-all-of-Sherlock's-time, more-interesting-than-John experiments, how much ever he wanted to curl into a ball and never come out of it again, he would be for Sherlock what Sherlock wanted him to be.
John let out a humorless snort. Donovan was right. He would follow Sherlock to hell and back- even if it was just John's personal hell. He wanted Sherlock to be happy, no matter how broken he was himself. He was inconsequential. Sherlock, on the other hand, was everything. He was the world's everything, his own everything... John's everything.
A single tear escaped the restraints of his shuttered eyelids and found its solitary way down the cheek of the most lonely man in existence.
Just an experiment.
John took deep, steadying breaths. Soldier breaths.
He sat straight on the bench, about to open his eyes and go home and goddamn sleep.
"John. What's wrong?" A low, deep, voice, the one he would never tire of hearing, from next to him on the bench.
John's breath hitched. Of course he had found him. He always did. I can't do this.
A carefully measured breath. A fluttering opening of eyes. A large, glaringly fake smile plastered across his face. He won't notice.
"Please, John. This is me you're trying to fool here. That 'smile' is even more obvious than a frown. I do notice, John."
...How the hell?
John spluttered. "I- how- you-"
"I know you're upset. Don't try to fake it, please, tell me what's wrong."
Oh. Can't read my mind then. Praise the gods.
"I- I saw you cry. I don't like it when you cry, I care about you. You know this isn't really my area, John. Please tell me what's wrong. Did someone do something to you? Tell me, I'll find them and hurt them."
John felt a hand on his chin, gently tilting his head towards the other man.
He forced himself to look up at Sherlock's beautiful face, the shadows and lines of his sharp face accentuated in the moonlight, and yet the warmth and concern behind his kaleidoscopic eyes shining through, in the golden light. John's heart clenched painfully, at the thought that such beauty wasn't really his, and that these unprecedented gentle, caring words weren't real. Just an experiment.
"Sherlock, I- what do you mean? I feel fine, just- just took a walk, that's all. We can go home now, if you want. I'll make you the thing with the peas." A brittle laugh that fell far short of its mark. A feeble attempt at normalcy. I will be what he wants me to be.
Sherlock stared at him a moment, not speaking.
Then he leaned forward and kissed John, gently cupping his face in his large hands. John's eyes flew closed, but he couldn't stop the anguished sob that flew out of his mouth. He couldn't stop his hands from flying out and pushing Sherlock away, though his lips and brain and heart wanted to be even closer to Sherlock. He couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his cheeks, unable to stay within their confines.
John fell apart.
"This, Sherlock. This is what is wrong. You just keep kissing me, and of course I lo- really like it, but... oh god this is hard... am I just an experiment to you? Please don't lie, Sherlock, I don't think I could take it. If that's what I am to you, I'm fine with it. Just- just, don't lie."
Sherlock looked shell-shocked. For the first time in his life, he had been rendered speechless.
John just sat resignedly, waiting for the admission that he had been just an experiment.
Sherlock finally spoke, in a whisper. "What the hell gave you that stupid idea?"
John felt tears spill and nodded his head. Of course he denies it. He squished down the little smidge of hope that he had just been overreacting that had arisen at his words. Instead, he opted for anger. His jaw clenched, he he stared resolutely at the ground.
"Don't hide it, Sherlock. Why else would you want me around? I heard Anderson, Donovan, and Dimmock talking about us. They said that I'm just an experiment to you. That you kiss me and treat me to gather data. Like with your parents. Or Jeannette. Like one of your experiments. I- Sherlock, if that's the case, I'm sorry for messing up your data. But I'm not like you, I'm weak- I can't hold back my emotions. I do truly like you as more than a friend, and if all I am is an experiment to you, I will stay and be that, because I'm weak and I need you. Just- forget this happened and we can go back to normal. Or, if you are done with your experiment, then we can just go back to being 'friends', if- if- that was even real too." Tears streaming from tightly shut eyes, leaving tracks.
"I love you."
John blinked, not sure he had heard right.
He had just heard those three words, words that he had been thinking himself for months, come from the mouth of the person he loved most in the world. His brain was working overdrive. He couldn't believe it.
And then he realized that he actually couldn't believe it, that this was the ultimate test, the final part of Sherlock's twisted experiment, to drive a wedge in his heart and twist it, to destroy John. He couldn't even be angry at Sherlock. He hurt so much, but he just stood up, ready to go back home. But a hand on his wrist stopped him.
"I love you, John. I've been so scared that we would fall apart, that I would lose you, lose this beautiful thing we have, even lose our friendship, if I told you. I've never had something so amazing, never deserved it. I still don't. I somehow got you, and I never wanted to let you go, I was scared that I would mess up something. I want to say 'don't be an idiot for trusting Anderson, for god sakes', but he was right, in a way. I was severely lacking on my part, and just kept taking without giving back. I had never felt anything so strong for anybody, and that scared me. I'm so sorry that I couldn't give you the attention and love you needed, but I just didn't know how. If I knew that you didn't like my experiments, I would have stopped a long time ago. You will never be an experiment to me, John. You are special, and I can't live without you. I've loved you from the day we met. I- I love you."
John heard the genuine ring to his words, the words that resonated in his heart. And this time, he knew he wasn't lying. He went over the past few months of them together, of all of the physical things Sherlock had done, all the emotional things that he hadn't, and realized that this was the one thing Sherlock didn't know. He really did love John, and that was why he couldn't show it- he didn't know how. He had had his own demons, and all he could do was act like normal until he was sure he could show it, until he was sure John could accept it.
John turned around and just looked at Sherlock. Just drank in his tall form, shining in the moonlight.
"Screw Anderson. Me too, Sherlock. I love you."
They both stepped into each other's embrace, just happy to hold each other. Glad that it really was love, one that would never stop. John was the happiest he had ever been in his life. A stray tear dripped onto Sherlock's hand, where it was cupping John's cheek. He looked straight at John, and then kissed the tear on his hand. It was such a powerful gesture that John's heart stuttered, and his knees trembled. He had to clutch Sherlock for support. He's showing me that he will try to be better.
"You never stop surprising me." Sherlock pulled back with a grin after a moment.
"Hmm?"
"Check your phone."
John pulled out his phone, confused, and saw a text from Sherlock, sent hours earlier, that he had missed in his earlier wallowing. It read, "Meet me at St. James' park at 9. SH". Still confused, John looked up at Sherlock.
"I had these lights put up for you. I was going to tell you- tell you today, that I love you. But you'd already come here, of your own volition."
John's heart hurt, he loved him that much.
"I noticed you were cold, earlier. Take my coat." He draped his wonderfully warm, wonderfully Sherlock coat around John's shoulders, who immediately sighed in pleasure.
He took out a picnic basket, and spread a blanket on the ground, right in the middle of the path. Cartons of food from St. Angelo's appeared all around him, and John's stomach growled in response to the delicious smells. He hadn't eaten since yesterday evening.
Sherlock crossed his legs, looked up with an eyebrow cocked up, and patted the space next to him. "It is Saturday, after all."
In the moonlit glow on cold spring evening, John sat down next to Sherlock and proceeded to have the best meal of his entire life, with the best person in his life.
He knew they would be okay.
A/N:
This was a prompt fill, for the prompt: "John overhears Yarders discussing his new relationship with Sherlock, claiming that it is all fake, just an experiment." I actually struggled with the end of this quite a bit, but I loved the idea, so I forced myself to get it out there. I do hope the ending turned out okay! Please let me know what you think.