I Can't Swim
Sherlock got in the car and slammed the door. "Go!" He commanded, and John put the pedal to the floor and they took off.
"What the hell is that?" The blonde asked, as soon as he turned around and saw what his partner in crime had in his hand. From what the doctor could see it looked like some sort of medium-sized modern sculpture, not a discernible shape in sight, but the detective cradled it carelessly between his two hands.
"The relic of White Death." The younger man answered, which did nothing to quench the other's confusion. John was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, but kept glancing at Sherlock in the passenger seat. His lover was fiddling and inspecting the sculpture with paradoxically equal amounts of interest and boredom, as if the fact that the thing was worth more than one million pounds was nothing at all.
"I thought it would be...bigger." John commented, setting their course to the driveway. The curly-haired man shifted his grey eyes to him and smiled. He chuckled a bit and set the relic down on the board.
"Never let appearances fool you, John." He said, still coming down from the high of running away from the police. Ever since they had decided to become criminals, he had found a very efficient way to relieve boredom. The best part was that the authorities did not have an idea of who could be stealing all those valuable objects just to return them in a different part of town.
"What do you think we should do with it?" John asked and reach out to take the object from its resting place. "No stolen goods on the board." He chided, as he winked at his boyfriend. He ran a finger on its white surface, examining the relic and wondering how something so ugly could be worth so much money.
"We should hide it, give them clues." Sherlock planned. "Watch them loose their heads trying to find it, and then leave it somewhere clever." He said giggling. If you had told John a year ago that by now he would be half of the best and most wanted criminal duo of the country, he would never have believed you. Sherlock and him started off as flatmates and colleges, and ended up best friends and lovers, after the affinity in personalities and the time spent together, it was only natural. One day, after stealing back some jewels for one of their clients, they both found the excitement appealing, and together found a liking for taking things that weren't theirs.
It wasn't for the money, or any other such lark. It was purely for the challenge and chase. They didn't even keep anything they had ever stolen, choosing instead to come up with funny ideas on where the police could find it. Which seemed to baffle them as much as their brilliant methods -courtesy of Sherlock- of burglarising the most valuable things in Britain without a scratch on their bodies -cue one ex-army doctor. John guessed it would confused him too, if he were the one trying to catch them; still, he could not believe they were considered the most dangerous of outlaws when there were murderers and rapists running around London unrecognised. He supposed his boyfriend was right and society was sometimes too stupid for its own good.
Hours later found them next to a lake, looking in with matching annoyed expressions.
"You do it!" Said Sherlock, crossing his arms and resembling a toddler too much for the doctor's liking.
"No, Sherlock." He argued. "You're the one that dropped it, you do it." And it was true, John had still been reading the directions to their secret hideout while the former detective thought it would be funny to start fidgeting with it. Needless to say, after being warned more than three times not to drop it in the water, Sherlock let it fall, into the lake, from where now one of them had to get it.
"I can't, John!" The other countered, turning up his chin and just one pout away from stomping his foot. If John were not completely head over heels for this man, he would had punched him in the face ages ago.
"We've got to take it back." John stood his ground, he simply couldn't let Sherlock keep getting away with things. If this continued, they will end up killing each other within the year.
"I know," The younger man said. "But I can't." A shyness was taking over his features, and it got the blonde curious to know what could be provoking the blush on his boyfriend's ever-prominent cheekbones.
"Why the hell not?" He inquired, half exasperated, half intrigued. There had to be a reason why the mighty Sherlock Holmes may admit of being incapable to do something.
"I can't...swim, John." The brunette finally admitted. "I can't swim."
"Wait, really?" John was ready to rebut him, calling out a manipulative lie to get him to do what he wanted, when he saw the expression on his companion's face.
"Yes," The younger man replied, and the blonde burst out laughing. Sherlock glared murderously at him and stood up indignantly.
"Sorry, sorry." Said the doctor, still giggling but trying to control most of the damage by bringing a hand to his mouth and stifling the laughter. "But..."
"I never learnt." The detective explained, dropping himself on the ground and looking around in apprehension. It was clearly a sore subject for him.
"Fine, I'll do it." John took off his jumper and jumped into the lake to retrieve the stolen item. Once he had it, he came back on shore and placed it on his lover's waiting hands. "There you go." He said and sat down on the grass. He grabbed the detective's free hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles. The blonde got an idea, one that he thought could be fun. "You know," He said. "I could teach you."
The other turned around to see him as if he had grown another head. "Why would I want to do that? I've got you." He asked, oblivious to what the doctor was planning.
"Just trust me." John said mysteriously and left him sitting there, holding the relic in one hand and wondering why swimming lessons suddenly sounded like a perfect idea.
Author's note: Down and around when the cops go down.
Juarez by Gerard Way inspired this piece.
If you enjoyed it, check out my other stories.