I know this is long. Longer than I expected. It is one of my only attempts at a one-shot and I do hope there are no spelling mistakes, I did try hard on this. This had spoilers for 2X01. I felt I needed to write this other my john/Sherlock mind was going to melt into a abyss of longing and pain. Okay thats dramatic I know but still... it's Merthur. It's so obvious to see yet the writers won't add it in.
Anyways - Warning - Slash! Don't like dont read.
Disclaimer - I do not own Sherlock /3
and please enjoy and let me know what you think :)
It should have been obvious to me from the moment that that I walked into the living room at Irene's house that Sherlock was indeed in love with this women. The wonderful, mystery that was Irene Adler had caught the attention of my friend, my companion, my reason for living, Sherlock Holmes. When he thought her died the emotion he felt towards her, the sadness in the song he wrote, the sadness in even his cold hearted eyes it was almost too much to bare.
I had to wonder if he'd feel that way for me. Would he almost cry at the thought of me died? Would he run to the end of the earth to save me, like I know he'd done for her when he thinks I'm stupid enough to believe Mycroft's story of her death. Sherlock may have been able to fool his brother into his cold-heartedness but me it was more difficult. I'd seen the way her very smile had caused his heart to flutter, send him into emotional confusion apparently no one else could bring on.
All these thoughts had been swirling around in my head all afternoon and for most of the last 2 weeks since Irene had 'died' and he kept up the image of sadness, the violin playing more frequent and more sad toned with each passing day and mention of her name. But I saw the glint of humour in his eye, that look of superiority he felt towards people when he was keeping things that meant something important to him.
The very man was laying on the sofa again, his usual ruffed hair and blue silk dressing gown hugging his slim tall frame. He was acting like he usual did but I caught the glances my way when he thought I was deep in my book. I also caught the look of -dare I say it- pain? weaved into his expression as he glanced at me. I had to wonder if he knew I wasn't really reading the page in front of me. He growled to himself and tossed over, finally remembering to move and faced me.
"John?" His expression and tone of voice was soft. It was the same expression he'd worn when he'd apologized to Molly on Christmas day. It was the same expression he'd worn when he thought he'd have to shot a bomb to save our lives almost a year ago. It was the same look he wore when speaking of 'The women' and I cringed inwardly at my jealous thoughts always leading back to her. I place my book down and turn to look at Sherlock
"Sherlock?" It surprised me when he sat up slowly starring at me intensely and walked slowly over to me. I knew it showed on my face and as he bent down in front of my knees, resting his head on them and I felt the vibration of his chuckle at my confusion, he always found my confusions humourous when most others he found frustrationing it was one of the many reasons I had hope for one day expressing how I felt to him, but when the vibrations of his now hidden face subsided there was this silence in the air. Something about the way he was affectionally resting his head on my knees or maybe it was just my wishful thinking?
I had told the truth when I'd told Irene I wasn't gay. But it should have figured she'd sense the subtext of that sentence 'but I do love a guy, a very good lucking, impossible guy' and I also knew she felt the same about the same man. I don't know how I knew but something about the way she glanced to the shadow I knew was Sherlock's or the way she smiled at him when he was in the room. Even when she talked dirty to him and he'd just obliviously continued with deducted things about her (what little he could anyway) and as awkward and jealous as I felt listening to it, it was one of those few moments I was glad Sherlock wasn't so socially normal.
The silence dragged on as Sherlock continued to bury his face on my lap. It wasn't uncomfortable but my worries that he'd taken cocaine again or something stronger was coming to the center of my thoughts. That's when I heard him chuckle again and he looked up at me, his chin resting on his hands on my lap, his eyes bright with amusement
"Does every little emotional thing I do have to be linked to drugs John?" I shrug not even bothering to ask how he knew what I was thinking.
"Maybe it's because this is very unusual for you" His expression changed then, the smile faded to a serious look that was twisted in with a kind of nervousness?
"It shouldn't be" I didn't know what to think of that, but I had little time to wonder because he was rabbiting on again in that croaky, sexy voice that I think only I could follow "You must think I'm a heartless man. You think I am without feeling. I am not John, why would I laugh at stealing an ashtray from Buckingham palace" I smiled at the memories he was recalling, it was a rare and treasured sound to hear Sherlock laugh and in that day I heard the same enough to feel my dreams with wonders
"why would I laugh at the fact I was not wearing pants in such a place?" I chuckled lightly at that, he always did have a way of being socially indecent in the most decent of places "Why would I write sad music about a women who understood me better than anyone, well anyone other than you" I frown at that very thought, she did know him well probably more than I even if Sherlock was telling me otherwise, but I'd barely thought that thought before he was babbling again.
"John please do not think yourself so low. You know me better than anyone ever has. Mycroft will never be able to deduct that Irene is indeed alive and I was the very person to save her, but you my dearest Watson took only one look and saw the smile in my eyes and knew she was indeed alive and I thank you for not asking about it" So he knew I knew and even though I was glad he was talking about it, I couldn't help wonder where this babble was going
"For I'm sure Mycroft has been listening to this very convosation and Irene is far enough away for me to not have to worry about him knowing anymore. I also know that you took one look at me that day I'd returned home from Mycroft's Manor and you knew Jim was involved, you knew I felt betrayed by her that she was indeed working with him but somehow John, lord knows how you also knew she loved me more than most ever could. You probably even sub-consciously knew that her password to her prized phone was 'Sher-locked'"
So I had been right, if there was one think I knew about women and knew it well was when a women was in denial about her feelings for a man, even a women as self exposed and smart as Sherlock and Mycroft combine. But maybe that's because I too had been denying my feeling for so long about Sherlock, maybe I was so accustom to the signs they were just second nature to see. Though I knew not of her persific password I could be sure it was something centered around my dearest flatmate.
"I should have been paying more attention to you when you were silent, instead of paying more attention to that stupid phone and a women who was so infatuated with me it was boring" I burst out laughing at that and Sherlock looked startled as he got up and sat on the coffee table in front of me, his hands where his face was only moments ago. I shook my head at his confused almost hurt expression
"No, no sorry continue" He nodded and once again that look of seriousness took over him. Only Sherlock would find infatuation and insult and possible the worst kind at that, but still the jealous was still there.
"But you John even with knowing all that would let her love me. Had forced her to text me to tell me she was alive because you realised I was hurting over her. You might say that was what any friend would do. You would say that it was your duty as my flatmate to stop my mopping. You might even say that it was enough for you to know I at least had a heart and could care for one person, even if you thought it wasn't yourself" I cut him off. I couldn't hear anymore of this
"Sherlock please, you needn't explain this to me. I understand she's alive and that she's probably been in touch for the last couple weeks, flirting with you I have no doubt. But if you mind I'd rather not hear the details" I got up mumbling a need for a rest at only 8 in the evening trying to ignore the sting of tears the sickening feeling inside my stomach.
But before I'd even got to my feet Sherlock had pushed be back into the chair with a look of complete domination and I secretly wished Mycroft or his mother were here to make that look fail.
"John please, listen to me would you? Did you ever wonder why I would be explaining this to you? You know I'm more a man of actions than words. Well at least the emotional words. John..." My heart was being so fast I barely heard him sigh as he let his face fall into his hands in frustration.
"John how do you do this to me? how to you make me laugh at the stupidest of things. Being indecent in the royal house is not funny" I chuckled along with him for a few moments until he sobered up and continued "Running away to catch a killer and laughing when we got home is not funny. hell even you commenting that your blog readers are probably too stupid to understand why the earth goes around the sun, that isn't funny. Though we both laugh at the words. Then there is the friendly exchanges of false anger between us" Figures he wouldn't know what 'banter' meant
"Like the picture of me in the ridiculous hat on my blog or your constant understanding that I don't care about things that are boring and you just mumbling words of frustration never losing patience with me to the point of wanting to leave." I was his friend of course I would do what I could to avoid the things he didn't like. I would do enough to let him know it was part of my usual routine but what I could avoid I would and it wasn't until now that I realised just how much I did sub-consciously for him. Leave? How could I ever leave the dear and wonderful man as impossible and frustrating as he sometimes was.
"Sher-" But I had barely time to take in his lustful expression on his gorgous face before he was on my lap, snogging me senseless. If I hadn't been so shocked I might have responded to the wonderful kiss he was giving me, full of emotion and passion. It was breath taking and heart mending. But after moments of no response Sherlock took to more desperate measures to show him how he felt as I was still trying to take in the way he smelt, intoxicating of nicotine patches, some kind of chemical probably from the lab and one smell that surprised me, lavender. Why he smelt like lavender I didn't know and I had little time to ponder on that as Sherlock's arms snaked around my waist and his kissed little butterflies up and down my neck.
"Sher-Sherlock. Please your killing me here" He pulled away looking up at me in confusion, even hurt. He's probably wondering if he'd hurt me not understand an figure of speech when he heard one. I sigh and smile sweetly at him. My hand resting on his cheek, the electricity sparking between us
"Have I fallen asleep and you're still on the sofa probably pondering the periodic table?" Sherlock laughed at that. A soft noise but he pulled one of his arms free and rested it on my chest
"John I promise you this is as real as your heart beats" I laugh, knowing he was trying to tell me that at the rate my heart was beating this was real as real can be.
"Only you would use stupid metaphors to explain how you feel" Sherlock smiled softly, the sight a wonder to my eyes.
"And only you my dearest John would be able to understand them" I had wondered when he became so mature about his emotions because he didn't seem to have any for a while or at least none other than anger that he could express right in a social situation. But right now he was expressing them, swallowing his uncertainties and as much as he tried to hide them I knew he was human enough to have them. Human enough to doubt his importance to one person. Especially someone who wasn't in his family, well I might as well have been considering how I could deal with his squabbles with Mycroft. Could calm his mothers worries about him enough to get her to call back at a time when he was coherent and not tending his lastest injury from our lastest case and I almost smiled at the thought 'Our' Cases. Because that was what they indeed were, Sherlock had made sure I understood that a long time ago.
Sherlock seems deep in thought too, though I could not see his face I felt him squeeze tight on me and his weak broken voice as he whispered
"Please don't leave me John" And I realised I had done nothing to show him how I felt, had done nothing to reassure him of my emotions. I had been so wrapped up in my dreams coming true that I had done nothing to show him I could be comfortable with this. that I wanted this.
"Sherlock I couldn't do that if I wanted to. You really think that I'd have stuck around in this flat for the last year or so dealing with you experiments, you violent at 3am, your constant moaning that I'm stupid, an idiot just to stop my leg from hurting? to unravel the mystery that is 'Sherlock Holmes', It's a lot more than that and you know it Sherlock. After all you've just said to me and your understanding of what I would do for you. You really can't believe I'm going to run away now" He looked up at me through his locks that had fallen over his eyes. Those gorgeous grayish blue eyes starring up at me that was so full of fear, of panick I could do nothing but wrap my arms around him like some upset child and kiss his soft hair
"You needn't ask me again Sherlock. I'm never leaving just you try and make me" I knew the direct approach was always best with the tall man in my arms. He chuckled and I wondered why he was doing such a thing until he mumbled into my chest
"What do you think I've been doing for the last year?" I knew he meant that he was being himself and that most people would have run away and gone to therapy way before now and that he was totally fine with that as long as I stayed and I laughed along with him for a moment. Silence filled the flat at Sherlock just hugged me close, both of us just content with the contact between us.
I knew that it'd taken a lot of courage and it was probably due to growing frustration to the strange emotions that he finally decided to tell me. For the first time I realised I was okay with Irene being in love with Sherlock and Sherlock having a keen interest in what she did as long as he came back to me. For the first time I could accept that Sherlock truly was mine and no matter his, my family or the rest of the world for that matter reaction I didn't really matter. We were happy like this. And most importantly For the first time I realised that I may not be as observant as the famous Sherlock Holmes when it came to the world. But when it came to the world of Sherlock Holmes I was just as good as Sherlock in my deduction and nothing but the thought of 'forever' with Sherlock could make me happier.