Genius' Audience
*Author's Note: My first Sherlock fic! I'm really excited about it! I've seen all the episodes and I was just dying to write about these two since they desperately need to get together. So much sexual tension. Like SOOO much! Anyways, this takes place before The Reichenbach Fall episode since I didn't want to have to discuss Sherlock's faked death in this particular story. Maybe for my next fic. Anyways, I hope you like it! Enjoy!*
John watched London flicker past the car window through half-lidded eyes. Night had fallen, but the streets were far from dark. Fluorescent light spilled out from streetlights and shop fronts, creating a land scape defined entirely by pinpricks of light. The gentle bumps and rattles of the cab were soothing, lulling the tired doctor ever closer to sleep. His eyelids felt so heavy. Surely just closing them for a second wouldn't hurt.
"John? John? Are you even listening to me?" exclaimed an indignant Sherlock. He was used to John's undivided attention, and here the man was, dozing off in the middle of Sherlock's latest deduction about the case. Didn't John realize how important the words coming out of Sherlock's mouth were? Genius needed an audience, an awake audience, and John was Sherlock's favorite. Ever since that first moment when Sherlock's deductions had pulled awed compliments from John instead of a demand to piss off, Sherlock had been hooked. He needed John's attention.
"Mmm…" grunted John non-commitally. It was the best his groggy mind could do. Sherlock sulked, glaring irritatedly at John as the doctor's breathing became more and more even and sleep set in.
"Ouch!" yelped John, bolting upright in his seat. "Did you just pinch me?" He glared daggers at Sherlock, who smiled smugly.
"Of course, John," Sherlock replied unapologetically. "I needed your undivided attention. You are wasting my time for something as boring as sleep. We have a murder to resolve here, John! A murder! So bloody well wake up!"
John held his glare for a moment then sighed.
"Fine. Right. Well, if I'm going to go without sleep, then I'm at least going to grab something to eat. I can either go tired or hungry, but not both." Sherlock pouted, apparently finding eating almost as boring as sleeping. John rolled his eyes.
"Don't bother with the puppy dog eyes, Sherlock," he chided. "They won't work on me. Not when I'm this hungry." As if to emphasize this statement, John's stomach let out a disgruntled growl.
"Puppy dog look? Honestly, do you really think I'd resort to something so petty?" scoffed Sherlock. John raised a skeptical brow. He knew Sherlock would do whatever it took to get his way, petty or not. Sherlock did his best to look innocent, widening his blue eyes angelically. John just sighed, shaking his head hopelessly.
"Look," he said, pointing out of the window at one of the few places still open this late at night. "That diner is still open. We can stop there."
"Really, John," Sherlock protested imperiously. "There's a murderer out there in need of catching, and you want to stop to eat some overly greasy burger and drink watered down coffee in a place like that?"
"That's the plan," affirmed John tiredly, tapping on the back of the seat in front of him to get the driver's attention. "Could you pull over here, please? Thanks." The cab swerved over to the curb, narrowly missing a bicyclist who flipped them off enthusiastically.
Sherlock tightened his scarf around his neck and slid out of the cab, taking it for granted that John would pay the cabbie. John made a face briefly at Sherlock's retreating back before pulling out his wallet and handing over a few bills to the expectant cabbie. The cabbie muttered a gruff thank you, and John slid across the seats to step out of the cab.
"Do hurry up, John," called Sherlock impatiently over his shoulder. John sighed, jogging a few paces to catch up with the tall genius.
"Well maybe if you paid the cabbie for once I wouldn't have to hurry up." He grumbled resentfully. Sherlock gave John a surprised look.
"I pay sometimes," he protested.
"Sherlock, when have you ever paid for a cab we've shared?" Sherlock thought for a moment then pulled out his wallet, thrusting several crisp notes at John.
"That's not what I meant," said John tiredly. Sherlock began to put the money back.
"Oh, that doesn't mean I won't take it," continued John, tugging the notes from Sherlock's pallid fingers. An amused smile crossed Sherlock's face.
"What?" asked John, seeing Sherlock's expression as he folded the bills into his wallet.
"Nothing," replied Sherlock, still smiling affectionately. "Let's get you that food then, shall we?" Sherlock banged into the small diner, giving the tired looking waitress a superior look. John followed more sedately, flashing the waitress a polite smile by way of greeting. In his experience it paid to be nice to waitresses. Being nice to people was not, however, Sherlock's strong suit.
"Two?" drawled the waitress in a tone of almost impressive disinterest. It took years of resignedly hating one's job to develop such complete apathy. John nodded.
"Follow me," the woman said, grabbing two menus and trudging over to one of the smaller tables by the window. She stood there blankly while John and Sherlock sat down, and then unceremoniously dropped a menu before each of them.
"I'll be back in a minute for your orders," she informed them before heading off to vanish into the privacy of the kitchens. John picked up the menu, scouring its laminated surface for something worth ingesting. Sherlock just sat there with his elbows propped on the table and his chin resting on his folded hands, examining John as the doctor picked over the menu.
"Are you not going to get anything, then?" asked John in mild surprise, noticing Sherlock's inattention to his menu. Sherlock shrugged one shoulder, still watching John closely. To be honest, it was starting to make John uncomfortable.
"I'll probably just get a coffee," the genius replied off-handedly.
"Oh, right. Well, ok then," mumbled John, returning his gaze to the menu in his hand and trying to ignore Sherlock's examination of him. A moment of awkward silence descended. John cleared his throat, uncomfortably shifting in his seat. He could feel Sherlock's eyes on him like two lasers. He wouldn't be surprised to find scorch marks on his cheeks from where the detective's gaze had bored into him. Then Sherlock broke the silence.
"You're my best friend, you know that?" he said solemnly.
"I'm also your only friend," replied John. "Not exactly much competition for the title." John put down his menu to frown up at Sherlock.
"What brought this on all of a sudden?" Usually Sherlock didn't bring up his relationship with John unless he was apologizing for something. Commenting on how important John was to him had become Sherlock's last resort method for getting John to forgive his numerous social shortcomings.
Sherlock just shrugged, still looking calculatingly at John.
"Sherlock?" John prompted. "Is something wrong?"
"I have a theory," Sherlock stated, ignoring John's questions.
"About the case?"
"No," scoffed Sherlock. "I solved the case on the way over here, which you would have known if you'd been listening to me."
"Well if you're going to insist on waking me up at one in the morning to go chase down a lead, you can't expect me not to be tired. Especially since I didn't actually get to go to bed until eleven since you insisted on me listening to you go on about the case."
"Yes, yes," said Sherlock hurriedly, dismissing John's complaints with an impatient wave of his hand. "But like I was saying, John, I have a theory."
"Wait, but if you've already solved the case, then who did it? Who murdered Mrs. Batisani?"
"Oh, John, it was so obvious. What must it be like to live in that slow little brain of yours? It must be so incredibly boring." John just sighed. He'd heard this sort of thing from Sherlock so many times at this point that it hardly even insulted him anymore.
"It was her publisher, Mr. Karasaun," Sherlock continued hurriedly. "She told him she wasn't going to write that last book after all, and he snapped. She was his last successful author, and consequently, the only thing keeping him in his job. If she left, he'd lose the job he'd been working up to for years. The idiot. Like killing her was going to help get that book written. Honestly, some people are too stupid to live. But focus, John! I said I have a theory!"
"Mr. Karasaun!" breathed John, the missing pieces clicking into place inside his head. It made sense.
"Yes, John," snapped Sherlock irritatedly. "Mr. Karasaun did it. Now focus!"
"Alright, alright. I'm focusing," soothed John patiently. It took a lot of patience to deal with Sherlock. "Go on then. What's this new theory?"
"You're my best friend, John," Sherlock repeated, starting the buildup for his point all over again.
"Yes, Sherlock. I know," interjected John. Sherlock glared.
"Right. Sorry. I'll be quiet," apologized John. Sherlock's glared wavered, then vanished as he pressed on.
"I think better when you're around. Your company is useful, but it's more than that. I enjoy having you around. I actually like you."
"Well, yeah," interrupted John despite his promise to stay quiet and let Sherlock speak. "That's what being friends means."
Sherlock growled in frustration. John wasn't getting it.
"Yes, John. Obviously I know what being friends means," he snapped.
"Obviously," agreed John, choosing not to point out that since Sherlock had never really had a friend before he quite probably didn't know what being friends entailed.
"My point is," continued Sherlock, "that you're the only real human connection I have. I'm not good with people. I generally don't find them worth my time, and the only people who do care about me despite that I drive away with how I treat them. You're the only person who's been able to put up with me long enough for me to actually start to rely on." Sherlock glanced away from John then, and to John's surprise the detective actually looked embarrassed, a faint blush dusting his typically wan cheeks.
"I don't want to drive you away too, John," Sherlock admitted quietly. This sort of thing didn't come easily to him. He was uncomfortable dealing with emotional situations. Facts were so much easier, so much more straightforward.
"Hey," said John soothingly, a warm smile curling up his lips. "I'm not going anywhere. I've handled everything you've hurled my way so far, and I'm sure I can take anything else you throw at me. I'm your friend, Sherlock. You can count on me." Sherlock nodded, meeting John's eyes but still looking rather embarrassed.
"You're sure?" he asked seriously.
"Of course," replied John, giving Sherlock a final affectionate look before returning to perusing his menu. Deeper conversations like this with Sherlock never lasted long. It was a guy thing. Once John had finished assuring the detective he had nothing to worry about, the subject would change back to more normal things. "You're my best mate. I'm not going anywhere."
Why was Sherlock worrying about this? Their friendship had survived every hurdle so far, and with Sherlock's prickly personality and all of their near death experiences, there had been quite a few hurdles to get through. Surely nothing much worse would happen to test them. It seemed impossible.
Reassurances done, John returned his attention to the prospect of food. The blueberry pancakes sounded good. It was almost breakfast time by now anyways.
John must have been more focused on the idea of food than he thought, because he didn't notice Sherlock's hand until it was tangled in his blondish hair and was dragging him forward over the table. John looked up in time to get an up close view of Sherlock's delicately upturned nose before Sherlock's lips descended upon his own. It took John a moment to register what was happening. It took John another moment to then label what was happening as a kiss. Sherlock was kissing him. It didn't seem possible. Maybe he was hallucinating.
Sherlock pulled back for an instant, leaving just a hair's breadth between their lips, before kissing John again. Sherlock captured John's lower lip between his, sucking on it lightly before gently nipping the soft flesh. It was this bite that finally pulled John out of his stunned stupor. John dropped his menu onto the table and reached up to cradle the detective's face in his hands, kissing back tentatively. John's brain wasn't sure if this was the best idea, but his body was deciding for him, and it certainly didn't feel wrong. John's stomach was digging painfully into the edge of the table, but he didn't care as Sherlock's tongue hesitantly traced John's upper lip.
After what seemed like forever, although it was probably only a minute, the pair pulled apart, breathing heavily.
"You still sure?" Sherlock whispered, his fingers gripping John's hair like he was afraid the other man was going to run out the door then and there. It hurt, but John found he didn't mind the niggling pain. Figures he'd be a masochist. No wonder he enjoyed Sherlock's company so much.
"Yeah," he murmured, giving Sherlock's soft lips a chaste kiss. "I'm sure. It'll take much more than that to scare me off."
Sherlock beamed, and John found himself admiring how perfectly blue the detective's eyes were this close up. Then Sherlock was kissing him again.
A loud cough broke the two apart and out of their amorous stupor. John looked up to meet the utterly unimpressed gaze of their waitress.
"You two ready to order?" she drawled with complete disinterest.
"Um, right. Yes, actually," stuttered John. "I'll have the blueberry pancakes with two eggs, over easy, and a cup of coffee please. Um, two sugars." With each word John's face grew steadily redder, a flush traveling steadily up from his neck to the tips of his ears. Sherlock watched the process in amusement.
"Coffee. Black," he snapped, not even bothering to look at the waitress while he ordered.
"Coming right up," the woman said in a bored voice before drifting off towards the kitchens once more. John and Sherlock just looked at each other for a moment. Then the laughter started. It began as amused giggles, but rapidly evolved into hearty guffaws until John was finding it hard to remain upright. John wasn't sure if it was the sleep deprivation or embarrassment fueling the laughter, since the situation wasn't quite that funny, but it was a full minute before he and Sherlock managed to calm down.
"So," gasped John between the occasional lingering chuckle, "what was this theory of yours?"
"Theory?" asked Sherlock innocently, his face carefully blank. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about. You really should be less tangential, John."
"Tangental? Wha- Sherlock!"
Sherlock decided to halt any further protests with a kiss.
Thinking that moving things forward with John would be a good idea really had been a very good theory. And there was nothing Sherlock liked more than testing a theory.
*Author's Note: Well there you have it! I hope you enjoyed it! Please review with any feedback or with any requests for stories about these two lovely characters. Thanks for reading, and you can expect to get more stories about this series from me soon! I love it way too much not to write about it.*