One Love, One House
"One love, two mouths
One love, one house." Sweater Weather, by The Neighborhood.
Chapter One: Unrequited and Drowning
Sherlock had been pining for his flat mate long before the Reichenbach debacle. Then there had been the Mary and Magnussen debacle. It was one bad turn of events after another. Thus, the detective had been obliged to keep his feelings to himself for years. At this point, unrequited love was a constant state of being for him. After so many years of this Sherlock had resigned himself to this life.
Even after Mary was out of the picture, Sherlock was certain that his love wasn't returned. Of course he knew that John wasn't entirely straight, despite his 'I'm not gay!' protests, but that didn't change what he observed of John. After all, John Watson was a man of action and if he did feel anything for him he would have no qualms acting on those feelings. Sherlock knew he was shite with people and emotions, but he was sure about his deductions. Fortunately for Sherlock, he always missed something.
John had fallen in love with his asexual, a-romantic flat mate long before the Reichenbach debacle. John had moved on, but he'd always known that Sherlock Holmes was the love of his life. He'd long ago realized his feelings and that those feelings were never going to be returned by his enigmatic best friend. He was fine with that. He was just happy being with Sherlock on the adventure that was their life.
Even after he and Mary fell apart and he was again living with Sherlock, John was content. Sherlock was married to his work and it was all fine. He was not, and would never be, as observant as the detective, but he could tell that his friend kept himself emotionally detached on purpose. He was certain that if Sherlock had feelings for him that he would be pants at hiding them. Too bad the doctor had long ago put Sherlock in the 'look, but don't touch' box.
~Neither of them realized they were one love in one house.
Yet another case solved and now that they were in the safety of Baker Street they couldn't stop laughing about the conclusion of the nights events. There really hadn't been much to laugh about, for normal people, but they just couldn't stop their merriment.
"Did you see his face as you charged him? It was crazy and hilarious. Crazier than usual! He had a really big knife, you idiot!" John half-heartedly berated between gasped breaths.
"Yes, thank you, I saw the knife. But he wouldn't stop his monologue! It was painful to listen to!" Sherlock defended between his own gasps for air.
The two had barely made it up the stairs and onto the old couch before they'd dissolved into hysterics. John was leaning into the tall detective, head tipped forward, nearly crying in his mirth. The tall brunette was leaning into the shorter man, chin nearly settling into blonde hair. Their chortles eventually died out and they simply sat breathing, adrenaline finally wearing off. John leaned back into the lounge, eyes closed, breath evening out and Sherlock took the moment to stare at him with unabashed fondness. 'This is my perfect partner,' the detective thought to himself.
"Am I interrupting?" Came Mycroft's voice from the door.
"Always," Sherlock sneered.
"Come now, brother mine," Mycroft's smirked in return as he cast a meaningful glance between his younger brother and the oblivious doctor.
"Be nice, Sherlock," John said as he rose from the couch. "Tea, Mycroft?"
"Don't offer him tea!" Sherlock cried in dismay.
"Thank you, John, but no," Mycroft replied, ignoring his brother's outburst. "I'll only be a moment of your time."
"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock snapped.
"I'm here regarding Mummy's upcoming birthday. It is her 70th and you will be there Sherlock. I also wished to extend the invitation to Dr. Watson, of course. Mummy would love to see both of you. I simply wish to make sure you understand the importance of this to mother."
"Yes, thank you, brother, dear, I'd completely missed the significance of the event," the younger Holmes bit out sarcastically.
"Good. And a proper suit this time. There will formal pictures at four," Mycroft added. "And a proper gift, as well. Maybe let your John," Mycroft teased mercilessly, "pick it out this year."
Sherlock threw a pillow at the closing front door and flopped onto the couch in a huff. John came back from the kitchen with two cups of steaming tea and, as usual, deposited one cup on the coffee table before going to his chair.
"Was there some sort of interaction I missed between you two? You seem more put out than usual," John asked gently, knowing how Mycroft irks his little brother.
"It's nothing, John," Sherlock said dismissively, sulking silently.
Sherlock and John both knew it wasn't nothing, but let the conversation drift and change, all the same. John, who was technically never asked if he wanted to go, agreed to go to the birthday party and pick out a gift for Mrs. Holmes. Sherlock couldn't abide shopping, everyone knew. John was silently glad that both Sherlock and his family wanted him to be so much a part of their lives.
The following ten days passed as they usually did. The detective solved a few minor cases. The doctor worked at the clinic and trailed after or patched up Sherlock as was needed. John bought Mrs. Holmes a lovely sweater set and pearl and silver bracelet as well as some new accents for his suit. Neither he nor Sherlock were much for proper suits, tie and all, but it was a special occasion, after all.
When John came downstairs the afternoon of the party clad in his black suit with a new robin's egg blue shirt and a complimentary navy, paisley tie Sherlock was momentarily speechless. Such colors always brought out the deep blues of the blonde's eyes and Sherlock, if had been prone to such whimsy, would have said he could drown in those bright blue eyes. Suffice to say, though he didn't show it, he thought John looked stunning.
Unbeknownst to the detective, the doctor thought the same of him. Sherlock was simply wearing a black suit with white shirt and charcoal tie. The ensemble brought out the silver-grey hues of Sherlock's eyes and he could think of nothing more entrancing than a coming storm on the sea. John wasn't one for flights of fancy, but couldn't help but imagine drowning in those stormy eyes.
"You look good," John said as neutrally as possible.
"As do you," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, "Finally developing a sense of style, I see."
"Shut it, you berk," John said with a laugh as he grabbed Mrs. Holmes gift and the two friends headed to the door.