A series of short fics that I've written over the past few days. I'll probably add to this as I write more. I hope you enjoy them. Love Rose.
Edit: Thanks to the lovely Volitan for britpicking my work. I posted it at around 4am Aus time and it showed. Putting dollars instead of pounds, how silly of you Rose! :)
Beautiful, isn't it?
Thought you didn't care about-
Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it.
That passing exchange had stayed with John, for weeks after the swimming pool incident. Physically, both John and Sherlock had healed, but the emotional wounds were still unable to stitch themselves back together just beneath the surface. Communication had broken down between them, and whilst Sherlock refused to leave John alone, their time together was almost filled by a barely comfortable silence. So John had been surprised to find himself inviting Sherlock to stargaze on the roof. He had been even more shocked when Sherlock had accepted. Now, they lay under the starry skies of London, reflecting on the last few months. "John." The voice was strangely tentative, not at all the confident assertion that John was used to. "Yes Sherlock?" Two pairs of eyes shifted to meet the other's gaze. Sherlock's mouth opened to speak, but the words seemed to get caught in his throat. "Beautiful, isnt it?' John knew he wasn't talking about the stars. "Thought you didn't care about-" John smiled as Sherlock cut him off mid-sentence. "Doesn't mean I can't appreciate it."
"Stop looking at me like that."
Sherlock seemed to be mildly amused by John's sudden outburst.
"Like what John?"
He smiled -that- smile, cocking his head to the side in false confusion.
"No, I am -not- playing those games with you. Just, find something to do."
There was a twinkle of mischief in Sherlock's eye now.
"But I have something to do. You are so much fun to read John."
John exhaled, loudly and exaggerated.
"If you don't stop, I am going to throw my tea at you."
Sherlock laughed, a low rumbling noise that filled the room.
"I thought you said you weren't playing games."
John was thrown by the comment.
"What on earth are you talking about?"
Sherlock was positvely beaming with smug satisfaction now.
"You wouldn't waste a perfectly good cup of tea on me."
John signed in resignation as he realised Sherlock was right.
"We should go on the swings."
As soon as the words left his mouth, John knew they sounded stupid.
"The swings? John, why would we go on the swings? Why would -I- go on the swings?
Sherlock's voice was so heavy with judgement and disapproval. Why had John voiced his thoughts out aloud. Not that it would have mattered. Sherlock could probably have deduced it anyway. After all, he had been throwing glances at the swingset for the past ten minutes or so.
"I don't know. Because it might be fun, Sherlock?"
John's voice came out sounding far more sharp and sarcastic than he had intended. He winced internally, wishing bitterly that he had just kept his mouth shut.
"Fun for a child perhaps. We're adults John. We do adult things for fun."
John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's superior tone.
"Really? You wonder why people talk? Besides, your idea of fun is looking at a crime scene. Your idea of a good weekend is chasing after a serial killer. That's not what most adults find fun. Live a little Sherlock. Indulge your inner child."
Sherlock appeared to find nothing wrong with John's statements, instead focusing on the last sentence.
"My inner child, John?"
"Yes Sherlock. You're inner child. You know, the part of you that is still immature and…oh forget it."
"I can go higher than you. Look."
John bit back an amused laugh as Sherlock's long legs swung back and forth in an effort to gain momentum.
"You've got a height advantage."
Sherlock's face was lit by a smile of childish delight and for a moment, John found it hard to believe this was the same man who spent days and nights pouring over details of violent crimes.
"It doesn't change the fact that I can go higher."
John couldn't hold back the laughter this time. Honestly, Sherlock was so competitive that he refused to be beaten at anything. Even something he considered to be childish and beneath him, liking swinging on a swingset.
"I thought that swings were for children."
Sherlock shrugged as he slowed down to a stop.
"I could calculate the maximum height of each swing using gravity, acceleration and mass. What child could do that?"
John shook his head. Trust Sherlock to use something rational like physics to justify doing some emotional like playing on the swings.
"There would be a few out there."
Sherlock frowned as he pondered this for a few moments.
"John, how fast can you make the chains entwine all the way to the top."
Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock began to twirl his swing about, the chains wrapping together noisily above his head. Whose idea was it to play on the swings again?
"What is this?"
John sighed, looking up from his newspaper to see Sherlock standing in the door of the kitchen holding a box of teabags.
"It's tea Sherlock."
A frown passed over his flatmate's face.
"Yes, I can see that. But it isn't the usual tea."
Honestly, John thought to himself, sometimes Sherlock can be incredibly slow.
"No, it isn't. Well done. It's green tea Sherlock."
The other man wrinkled up his nose in distaste.
"Why do we have green tea?"
John couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes.
"Because sometimes I like a bit of a change from Earl Grey."
"Hmmmph."
With an exclamation of disapproval, he tossed the box of his head, where it landed with a soft thud in the corner of the kitchen.
"Hey, that was -my- tea!"
Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly.
"And I have no use for it."
John found himself on his feet, newspaper scattered on the floor.
"That doesn't mean you can just throw it about. What if I started throwing things about that I have no use for? Oh look, this laptop. It isn't mine, I don't have a use for it. Maybe I should just throw it on the floor. And this skull. What use could I have for that? Maybe I should throw it across the room. What about this coat? I have no use for it. Should i toss it down the stairs?"
Concluding his mini rant, John proceeded to march across the room and pick up the coat before moving towards the top of the staircase.
"No!"
With a cry of what sounded suspiciously like panic, Sherlock leapt towards him, arm outstretched to grasp at his threatened coat. The two men stood there, at the top of the stairs, staring daggers at the other, with Sherlock clutching possessively at his coat.
"That was -not- funny. This coat is very expensive. It is tailored. I will not have you throwing it about in some silly revenge attempt. It was just a box of tea."
A twinge of guilt started to descend over John as he began to feel that he may have over-reacted. But then he thought about all the times that Sherlock had treated his possessions with blatant disreguard for how John might feel about it and the guilt disappeared.
"It wasn't meant to be funny. It was meant to be a lesson."
Genuine confusion appeared on Sherlock's face. His frown was so adorable. Wait, where did that thought come from?
"A lesson?"
Here he was, being slow again. Really, with a mind as fast as Sherlock's, how was it possible to come across so dimly sometimes?
"Yes, Sherlock. A lesson. You always treat my stuff like it's rubbish and I don't appreciate it. I thought maybe I had to do something a bit more proactive than just voice my frustration. Words never seem to have an impact on you, so I resorted to action."
Sherlock averted his eyes from John's earnest gaze. Was that a sign of guilt, or shame? From -Sherlock-?
"I see."
His voice was so quiet that John barely heard it.
"Do you really?"
Sherlock lifted his chin and sought out John's eyes with his own.
"Yes, I do. You feel that when I mistreat your belongings, I am inadvertently disrespecting you. I should have known better. I apologise."
John hoped that he hadn't made the weird strangled sound that he thought he had.
"You -apologise-?"
A grin broke out on Sherlock's face.
"You seem surprised."
Surprised was an understatement. John was sure that his mouth must be hanging open idiotically.
"I didn't think you were the type to apologise."
Another nonchalant shrug from Sherlock.
"I don't usually. But then again, I don't normally have anything to apologise for, nor anyone worth apologising too."
Oh, bloody hell. What on earth was Sherlock banging on about? Was he actually saying that John was the only person worth apologising to? For fucks sake, this started out as a question about tea. How the fuck did they end up in the hallway with Sherlock flirting whilst apologising? John had no idea what he was meant to say.
"Apology accepted."
Oh, that was so smooth. So impressive, you have the best comeback's John.
"And I'm sorry I tried to throw your coat down the stairs. It's a nice coat. I quite like it. It suits you."
There was no way that Sherlock could be missing the mental scolding that John was now giving himself thanks to that bit of stupid rambling. -It suits you-. What the hell was that John, what the hell was that? Distract. Somehow, you have to distract him.
"Tea?"
Sherlock raised his free hand and clasped John on the shoulder, maintaining eye contact. John could feel himself flushing. Brilliant.
"Tea would be lovely John."
Sherlock had been playing the same series of notes for half an hour now. The same repetition of notes, over and over. A.A.A.A.G.G.G.D.D.D.D.F.F.
"Sherlock, if you don't stop playing that bloody violin, I am going to take a pair of scissors to the strings."
Sherlock had that look. That smug 'I know something that you don't' look that made John want to strangle him.
"Just listen John."
John groaned.
"Sherlock, I've been listening to the damn thing for half an hour. I'm tired of listening. I have work to do."
The other man smiled.
"Have you really? Perhaps you need to listen harder. Not to the melody but to the rhythm."
Sighing audibly, John turned in his chair to face Sherlock as he continued to play the notes. Listen to the rhythm, not the melody. John closed his eyes to allow himself to focus entirely on the vibrations filling the room. Four A's, three G's, four D's and two F's. Wait, why were the only two F's and three G's when there was four A's and four D's?He must be missing something. He could feel himself frowning as he concentrated even harder on the music. A. A. A. A. G. G. G. D. D…wait. The A's. Why was the first one shorter than the others? And the G's. They had all been long but the D's were all shorter like the first A. He listened as the notes were repeated again and again. Yes, there was a purposeful difference in note length. One of the F's was longer than the other too.
Then it suddenly hit him. Sherlock was playing him a message in morse code. The A's - dot, dash, dash, dash. That was a J. Next, the G's. Dash, dash, dash. That's an O. The D's, well that was four dots, an H. And the F's…
"You're playing my name in morse code."
The music stopped instantly. John opened his eyes and met Sherlock's gaze.
"You've been playing my name in morse code for half an hour."
Sherlock smiled, clearly pleased that his little trick had finally been figured out.
"It is always on my mind John."
John was surprised to arrive home to find all the lights turned out and the curtains drawn across the windows. The television was conspicously absent from the living room. A strange muffled sound was coming from Sherlock's bedroom.
"Sherlock?"
A scrambling noise came from within the room and something sounded like it was scattering across the floor. The door opened slightly and black curly hair poked out through the gap.
"John. I thought you were working the night shift tonight."
Something seemed to be a little strange about the situation but John wasn't quite sure what it was.
"Street was flooded. Clinic is going to closed for a few days while they clear up the water damage. Water main burst. No doubt it's all over the news. They're talking about hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of property damage. Sherlock, have you been crying?"
Instinctively, the taller man touched his face to see if his cheeks were wet.
"No. Must be a trick of the light."
John smirked as he folded his arms in front of him.
"And that smudge of melted chocolate, and the drip of strawberry icecream on your dressing gown? Is that a trick of the light too?"
Sherlock avoided meeting John's gaze as though he had just found out some terrible secret.
"Okay. So I was in my room eating chocolates and strawberry icecream while you were supposed to be working. Is that a problem?"
John stifled a laugh at Sherlock's defensiveness.
"No, no problem. Where's the telly?"
Sherlock's mouth was twitching as though he wasn't sure what to say.
"It's in my room."
John raised his eyebrow.
"It's in your room? Why?"
"So I could tuck it in and read it a bedtime story. Why do you think it is in there?"
John moved towards the door but was blocked by Sherlock, who had thrown himself in front of the doorway, the door swinging open to show the telly in the corner, switched off.
"What the hell are you watching?"
"Just a film."
"Why don't you want me to see? You weren't watching -"
"I wasn't watching porn John."
"What were you watching then?"
John tried to dodge under Sherlock's outstretched arm but Sherlock was too quick, seizing John around the waist and very nearly lifting him off his feet. It was too late however, as John had caught a glimpse of a DVD cover.
"You were watching Ghost? You were watching Ghost, eating chocolate and icecream, and crying?"
Sherlock looked extremely uncomfortable, as he resolutely avoided meeting John's gaze.
"It's just…it's a silly movie because ghost's don't exist. I wasn't really crying, it's…I…she loses her husband and someone comes to the door and claims that they can communicate with him in the afterlife? It's cruel."
John smiled. Apparently Sherlock wasn't as sociopathic as he made out to be.
"Sherlock. Your arm is still around my waist."
A fit of hysterical laughter overcame John as Sherlock flung himself backwards as though John might burn him if they touched.
"How about we find something else to watch?"