Title: Grenade
Pairing: John/Sherlock
Genre: Romance/Songfic
Summary: After wrapping up yet another case for Lestrade John and Sherlock take a taxi home. While he's listening to the radio John can't help but think about his best friend. Set between "The Blind Banker" and "The Great Game"
Beta by: Anbessette, Nixie & punchycat
Editing by: The absolutely brilliant TeaLogic
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat.
They were walking away from the crime scene, a narrow backstreet just a few minutes away from their home. Lestrade was still staring after them, wondering how Sherlock could possibly have solved a case that he had been working on for an entire week in less than two hours. Sherlock, as always, had a satisfied smirk plastered all over his face, head held high. John walked next to him, trying very hard to keep up with his best friend's fast stride.
They didn't talk. Once they reached the main street John waved for the next cab and they got in.
"Where to?" asked the cabbie.
"221 Baker Street," John replied as he lent backwards into the seat, not bothering to fasten his seatbelt.
The case hadn't been all that interesting. Sherlock mainly agreed to help Lestrade out to avoid being bored for too long. But John suspected that his best friend missed pointing out how idiotic everybody around him was almost as much as making a good observation.
As they set off a new song was announced on the radio. "Do you mind if I turn this up a bit?" asked the cabbie, a rather young fellow, and increased the volume without waiting for a response. The music felt like a heartbeat and John couldn't help but listen.
Easy come, easy go
That's just how you live, oh
Take, take, take it all
But you never give
Should've known you was trouble
From the first kiss
Had your eyes wide open
Why were they open?
He didn't know the song, but somehow... He glanced at Sherlock. Yes, it definitely reminded him of his best friend. The way he always demanded without ever giving back. And the way that he always kept staring at him, just to make John feel like an idiot. John had the suspicion that it was Sherlock's tactic to just keep staring at his friend when he was embarrassed or didn't understand something rather than just admitting to it. When other people would look at the ground or simply turn their head Sherlock kept on looking. It always felt like an interrogation to John.
Gave you all I had
And you tossed it in the trash
You tossed it in the trash, you did
To give me all your love
Is all I ever asked
'cause what you don't understand
Is
Now John was the one who did the staring but Sherlock looked like he was rummaging somewhere in his brain again for god knows what and didn't even notice. John looked at his friend who never seemed to realize that what John did for him every day was far beyond what friends usually did for each other, especially in such a one-sided relationship as theirs. But John didn't think that Sherlock had never noticed; he thought that Sherlock chose to ignore it. Sentiment was forbidden, and he saw caring about somebody as a disadvantage. Sherlock just would not allow himself to do any such things. And John was beginning to doubt whether he was actually capable of caring for another human being in a way that could be classified as 'normal'.
I'd catch a grenade for you
Throw my hand on the blade for you
I'd jump in front of a train for you
You know I'd do anything for you
I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won't do the same
As the chorus played a second time John found himself humming along. It was true. He'd do all that for Sherlock, even though he had only known him a few months. He couldn't explain it, especially since it was so – he hated even thinking of the word – bloody obvious that his feelings were not reciprocated. But he would do all of it, because no matter how hard it was to live in a world in which everything revolved around Sherlock Holmes, John knew it would be even harder to go back to living without him.
John sighed as the last few heartbeats of the song came pouring out of the radio and the cab pulled up to 221 Baker Street. Sherlock's concentration broke; he got out of the cab without another word, leaving John to pay the fare.
"Are you coming?" Sherlock asked with the door already open in his hand. John smiled. What a stupid question.