"Crave You"

Flight Facilities (Adventure Club Remix)

Sherlock Holmes. Tall, dark, lean, mysterious. These are the words to describe my flatmate, among others I only hiss under my breath during particularly difficult cases. Wanker, arsehole, and cunt are some my favorites. We were wandering around Soho, well, I was wandering and Sherlock was gliding with purpose and would have been elegant, had he not one foot on the curb and the other in the street.

He smiled serenely up at the sky, searching for the stars that were only slightly visible. His gaze wandered back down to street level, and he discreetly adjusted his worn out jacket, and shifted the waistband of his dark jeans on his slight hips. I asked him for the fifth time that night where we were going, and why couldn't I wear my jumper, it's cold, Sherlock.

"Patience, my dear Doctor Watson. You'll see soon enough." I huffed at him, my breath showing in front of me in the crisp night air. He made me come out with him tonight, dragged me away from a date with Sarah. I had gotten dressed up in not a nice suit, per say, but the best that I could rent given that Sherlock had taken on a case and refused pay and I wasn't there to stop him. For the third time this month. I honestly have no idea how the man manages to pay Mrs. Hudson for his share on the flat. Probably because she loves him like her own son. Anyway, he had tossed me a very erm, well-worn shirt with unidentifiable stains and a stale air of fags and mud about it, and some old jeans that looked like he plucked them straight from some poor sod in an alleyway much like the one he was turning into now. I was so lost in my own thoughts that I somehow managed to miss the faint vibrating, pounding bass that strikes you all the way to your heart coming from the little alley. Sherlock grabbed me by the shoulder and dragged me in behind him.

As we got closer, I realized that it wasn't an empty alley, but a smaller, more set back building than the two on either side of it. It had a small collection of graffiti on its door, and quite a lot more on the surrounding walls and the ones of the building itself. In the small tinted window there was a pathetic flashing neon that said 'OPEN' in flashing red letters in a blue rectangle.

"Follow my lead, John," Sherlock murmured into my ear as he knocked thrice on the door. A small panel slid open and two angry eyes peered out through it. "Alright, mate? Just lookin' fer Davies is all." The eyes on the other side of the panel narrowed in suspicion, then the panel slammed shut and the whole door opened.

The smells of smoke, sweat, alcohol, and heated metal all assaulted my nose at once when I walked in the little flashing blue lights almost gave me a headache and I could barely follow Sherlock's coattails as we, he, wound his way through the writhing masses in a cleared area where there were no chairs or tables for the patrons to fall over. I glanced over my shoulder to where the sounds of the music were louder, and saw a long raised platform with three poles reaching to the ceiling. A woman was dancing around one, her body moving fluidly to the music. A woman's voice sounding a bit foreign though, I couldn't place the accent, sang and I realized that the bass I had felt outside more than heard was because of this song.

Why can't you want me like the other boys do? They stare at me while I stare at you. It's true, I crave you... It's true, I crave you.

I turned my head away from the dancing woman and searched the crowd for the curly hair of Sherlock, and found him backing a shady looking man into a corner. I narrowed my eyes and pushed through the masses and made my way over to Sherlock. He was so absorbed with hissing at the man, Davies I assumed, that he didn't notice me creep up behind them. Davies' eyes flicked over to me for a split second, and Sherlock turned from the man he was towering over. He flashed me a quick smile, and his eyes darted to the bar and back to mine. I got the hint and rolled my eyes at having to manage my way back through the crowd. I eventually made my way over to the bar and ordered a whiskey for Sherlock and an ale for myself.

The music slowed a bit, the electronic beats ceasing for the woman's voice to ring out purely. Let's just stop and think before I lose faith. A girl tapped me on the arm and I spun away from keeping an eye on Sherlock to look at her. She blinked once before opening her mouth to speak to me. I recognized her as the one who was dancing on the pole. The music was too loud that I didn't hear her. I walked into the room dripping... in gold. Dripping... dripping. I walked into the room dripping... in gold. "What?" I asked, leaning closer to the girl to hear what she had to say.

"Name's Abigail. What's yours?" she said loudly into my ear. I wracked my brain for the false name Sherlock had told me to use before we left the flat.

"James," I yelled back. She nodded twice, eyes smiling and grabbed Sherlock's whiskey. She bumped my glass, but caught it before it fell over.

"D'ya mind?" Abigail asked, already taking a small sip. I shook my head, and she grinned and raised her glass. "Cheers, then."

"Cheers to what?" I asked. She answered by pulling a wad of bills out of her shirt and tapping my face with them. I recoiled slightly, and she laughed. "I see." Abigail smiled at me, and handed me my glass. I sighed heavily and took a sip. I hadn't had ale in ages, and I had become used to just drinking Mrs. Hudson's tea. Abigail smirked at me when I made a face, and I briefly wondered what it was about. She and I chatted for what seemed like forever, fifteen minutes, half an hour, an hour, and Sherlock still hadn't come over. By now I had finished three glasses and Abigail and I toasted something new every time. I was starting to get a funny feeling in my stomach, it was warm and it sent little electric shocks to my fingers. I looked over to where Sherlock was interrogating Davies earlier, and I saw that he was just standing there, chatting with some emaciated, mangy, stringy-haired little bitch who was trying to make a move on Sherlock, my Sherlock!

Can't you want me? Can't you want me? Can't you want me?

Wait, what? Did I just... Was that... No. It couldn't be. I didn't... I'm not jealous of the girl for making Sherlock smile like that. Not for letting her put her hand on his arm. Not of the fact that she's got his hands on her waist and she's touching his face like that. No, I'm not jealous. Am I?

Can't you want me? Can't you want me? Can't you want me?

No, I am jealous. So jealous. But, I'm straight and I'm dating Sarah and Sherlock is my best friend and my flatmate and my co-worker and nothing more. But it was too late. I was already flying across the room, pulling the girl away, pushing her into some random guy who looked he wasn't all there.

A wave of heads did turn, or so I'm told.

"John!" Sherlock hissed into my ear. "What on the face of this bloody earth do you think you're doing? I was just trying to get from her the location of the other hideout of Davies'! What are you roughhousing her for?" Sherlock's eyes were angry and they had a fire burning in them. A thought flashed through my mind that I wanted them to be burning with something other than anger, and on a really dumbfuck impulse, I grabbed his face in my hands and I kissed him.

I could feel Sherlock trying to pull away, but suddenly I was stronger than him. He put his hands on my chest and tried to shove me away, but I used all of my Army training to concentrate my mass so that he wouldn't be able to. Eventually he did shove me away, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glared at me, hate shining in his beautiful eyes.

My heart broke when I saw you kept your gaze controlled.

"John Hamish Watson! What has gotten into you?" Sherlock yelled at me. His angry gaze was fixed on my face, eyes scanning every inch of it.

Oh I cannot solve.

"I don't know, Sherlock! I just... I was drinking with a girl and then I saw that- that- that absolute cunt touching you and I just, I don't know!" I sobbed and turned from him.

Why can't you want me like the other boys do?

I could feel everyone's eyes on me as I ran away from him. I ran out the door, and had to stop with my hand on the wall to keep from falling as I wept into my jacket's sleeve. I thought I heard him whisper my name, but it's impossible because now he hates me.

They stare at me while I...

The last notes of the song floated on the air out to me when I stood up straight, eyes red and puffy, tears cooling on my cheeks and hailed a cab to take me back to the flat.

Crave you.

That was it, then. Apparently I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective, only one in the world. He created that job, you know. And now I've gone and messed it all up. With Sherlock, with Sarah, with everything. There's no way he'd let me stay at the flat after this. I'd better start packing now because I sure as hell won't be able to even look him in the eyes even if he does let me stay by some miracle.

AN: Soooo first songfic, how'd I do? Leave reviews and the like so I know what to work on. Might do more, might not, maybe this has an actual plot, maybe it doesn't. Hope you didn't hate it...