From a prompt on Tumblr

Prompt: Johnlock auPunk! fic. prompt words: dreams, smoke, alchohol

The silence was deafening, like ear muffs despite the faint bump of the music inside. A bluish swirl of blackness expanded over the building and streets, unperturbed by clouds, only freckled with an out-of-place star. Someone standing below it might come up with some clever metaphor or simile comparing their place to one of the silent, solitary stars, but luckily there was no such person there. Rather than an extended, in-depth metaphor that would be forgotten the moment it left the mind, a beautiful wisp of velvety smoke twirled high, making the sky appear almost like silk before dissipating much like the thought would have.

To say there is no metaphor, however, does not extend to say there wasn't a person. The sky would have been unobserved, unwritten and cast aside if someone would not had been there to observe it; it was simply that the person who stood under it, observing, was not an ordinary person that busied his mind with thoughts of stars that would disappear as soon as they came.

No, this person was very different. The thoughts were shelved in his mind, neatly, comfortably, vibrating with a slight buzz from the tobacco—or maybe it was a bit of the alcohol. These thoughts would not be leaving unconstrained unless he cast them off—or deleted them, as he liked to say. But enough with that. The point that he was standing there, outside of one of the few clubs he frequented, was—much to his chagrin—pure chance. It was ridiculous, this idea of fate, but, as his mother always said, "A dream is as good as a map of the future as you're every going to get."

Sherlock, settling the cigarette on his teeth and giving a sneer, never believed in such nonsense, but this time… this time was different. He shuffled his feet, glancing around. Under his breath, he scoffed, and was ready to dig into his pocket for his phone to tell Mycroft he was an idiot before, suddenly, the door to the bar opened behind him and he turned.

John was not having fun. Not having fun at all. He wasn't one of these… punks. What was punk, anyway? As his date giggled, clearly buzzed, and chatted with her friends, John reprimanded himself for allowing himself to be dragged to this sort of thing. He was only twenty two, but still—going to this punk club, being surrounded with colorful hair, tattoos, piercings, and guys who got just a little too close, just to get in this girl's pants?

He usually didn't frame it like that in his mind, as John would like to think of himself as somewhat noble—he was going into the army, for God's sake—but with the sweat and body odor and not nearly enough alcohol in his system, the college student really couldn't bring himself to care.

"Erm, Mary? Mary? MARY!" Finally, the girl turned to him, a huge smile on her face. She was a pretty girl, one of the somewhat outcasts, but popular enough not to be considered a prude; she had long dyed red hair and huge hazel eyes, and wore an extremely tight tube top. Her eyeliner had smudged a bit, the nose piercing (which only John knew was actually fake) hanging from the inside of her nose awkwardly, but she still was able to gather the attention of several men surrounding them. At this time, John honestly wouldn't care if one of them decided to hit on her; it would give John an excuse to leave without having to confront her.

"John? What is it?" she yelled over the music, moving closer so that her alcohol-stained breath breached his nose. Well, there were no takers yet, so it looked like he would have to face this the traditional way. John took a deep breath.

"I should get going. I have some tests to study for, and papers to work on that I forgot about," he lied. Mary gave him a disappointed pout before giggling, jumping up and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"Ok! See you later!" John sagged in relief as he tossed his goodbyes and shouldered his way through the crowd, spilling a few drinks and jumping and yelping indignantly when someone grabbed his ear—he was pretty sure it was a large dude with a green Mohawk and skull tattoos. John shivered, and his heart practically jumped and ran ahead of him when he caught sight of his silver lining; the door.

Slamming out of the door, John breathed in a liter of fresh, full night air, letting it out in a chuckle at his own ridiculousness. He shook his head, smiling to himself, and pondered where his keys were before a shuffle of boot on concrete to his right told him he was not alone. John turned, and his jaw fell open, not even realizing that he looked like an idiot until several seconds later after an eyebrow raise, and he snapped it shut, but refused to take his eyes off of the beauty in front of him.

Long, dark locks curled and waved in the breezy night air. Several fell across stark white, alabaster skin, sitting upon cheekbones that were too sharp to ignore. A swan-worthy neck stretched elegantly into a dark purpled scarf, which lay over a ripped band T-shirt layered with a short black jean jacket. Black skinny jeans that were too deliciously tight to be considered legal, causing John's mouth to water which he quickly licked up inconspicuously, ended as black army boots began, pulling even more of a string on John's libido that he'd never known he'd be attracted to.

And finally… he finally met those eyes, those eyes that before had been observing him but for a while now rested on his own; deep dark eyes, almost looking black in the dark though it was impossible to tell from the light, bore into him, calculating, pulling, yanking a string in his chest.

The eyebrow that had been raised lowered again, though the eyes didn't leave his as lips parted to take in the butt of a cigarette, cheeks hollowing in as he inhaled. John clenched his fists, mentally kicking himself in order to gain control of himself and his thoughts.

"So, er… is this your, uh," John muttered painfully, motioning to the building behind him. A quirk in the corner of the other man's lips let him know that yes, John was making an idiot out of himself, but luckily the stranger didn't seem to be laughing at him yet.

"If you're inquiring whether or not I 'come here often', then you are correct." John stuttered a second before nodding, giving a laugh.

"Yeah, I suppose—suppose that is what I was asking, wasn't it?" he laughed, a bit nervously, "So, um… English major? You sound very, um, professional, if you don't mind me saying, or asking, or—"

"Double major in Sciences and several minors in things you most likely wouldn't be interested in," the stranger replied, going on as John opened his mouth before he could speak, "I promise you, a conversation about college is not the best way to begin in this situation. I suggest something besides, such as why we're both here, as I already know you're planning on going into the army, probably as a doctor, and I'd rather not run over the information again, it makes things too… boring. Drink?" J

ohn gaped at him as the other man offered an almost have empty bottle of scotch. Not missing his chance, though, he stepped forward and took the bottle, thanking him before taking a sip. It burned pleasantly, and he let it simmer in his belly before breaking the silence once again.

"How, um, how would you—how'd you know that? Do I know you?" The other man shook his head, shoving his unused hand into his pocket and gazing around the street.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." John shifted a bit, turning fully to the other man curiously.

"Try me." Those dark eyes glanced at him again, and his lips quirked for a second time.

"I'd rather not. Most people find it… strange, and I'd rather this conversation continue, if that's alright with you." John blinked in surprise at the honesty, but then nodded earnestly, taking another swig from the bottle and wiping his top lip quickly.

"No, yeah, that's fine. But um, you know, talent isn't something you should hide. If, er, that's what that was. I mean, if you could just… you know, know stuff like that," John shook his head, "That'd be… cool. Unless you're stalking me or something." The taller man gave a small snort, flicking the ashes off of the end of his cigarette.

"I would hardly take the time to stalk someone, especially when I haven't even acquired their name." John jumped.

"Oh, right, sorry, erm, John. John Watson." He held out a hand, and the other observed him in slight amusement before shifting the cigarette to his other hand and taking a hold of John's with the right one.

"Sherlock Holmes." They shook hands and dropped them, John rubbing his slightly sweaty one absentmindedly against his jumper. Sherlock observed him out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm assuming you've brought a date with you—you aren't exactly dressed up for the place. Where are they?" John looked down at his simple jumper and jeans and chuckled.

"Yeah, well," he began, rubbing the back of his head, "Turns out this really isn't my scene after all. I suppose she's run off with some of her friends. I most likely won't be seeing her again any time soon." Sherlock made a grunt in the back of his throat, though John was unsure what to make of it, so he simply let it pass.

"So how about you? I mean, you certainly fit the bill. Why're you standing out here? Waiting for someone?" Sherlock took another drag of his cigarette, eyes going hazy for a moment.

"It was… an impulse. A silly impulse based off of a dream I had. Absolutely ridiculous." John smiled.

"You don't exactly seem like the kind of guy that would do anything just because a dream told you to." Sherlock gave a sigh, shuffling his boots a bit.

"Yes, well, older brothers can be pushy. He's been wanting me to start being more… social, I suppose. Getting me here is probably one of his experiments. No doubt he's watching right now." John's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced around them suspiciously. He couldn't see anyone on the street, and no cars had passed by in a while, but now the hairs on the back of his neck were on high alert.

"That's… strange." Sherlock smirked.

"You should get to know me." John smiled a bit.

"Yeah, maybe I should." Sherlock glanced at him and smiled a bit. John returned it for a moment, before glancing at the cigarette that was again lifted to the pale man's lips.

"You know, you should stop smoking." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"And you should quit dating women that don't suit you. We all have our crutches when we're… out of sorts." John's ears reddened.

"Fair enough." Sherlock observed him, something changing slightly in his eyes as he stared, sending shivers down John's spine.

"So, you came out here because of a dream, huh? So, like, fate and all that?" Sherlock's gaze didn't waver as John nervously took another sip of alcohol.

"Yes. Though the idea of fate is ridiculous, if it did exist, I would absolutely hate it."

"Hmm?" John cocked an eyebrow, "How come?"

"The thought of something or someone else attempting to control my thoughts and actions? That a path has been put in front of me and I absolutely have to follow it? Boring."

"Huh," John hummed, taking another sip of alcohol. He didn't notice Sherlock approaching until the scuff of boots was right beside him and he turned to stare up at those incredibly dark, deep eyes of his, John's breath hitching.

"That's why," Sherlock murmured, his voice sending shocks down John's body, "I decide to defy it." Pale hands grabbed the front of his jumper and his back was slammed against brick wall, soft lips immediately crushing his. John's head swam as Sherlock sucked the residing alcohol off John's top lip before deepening the kiss, and John all to happily opened up and enveloped the other man's lips as well. His hands went to tug on the dark curly locks as the stain of alcohol and shot of tobacco invaded his mouth, along with Sherlock's tongue. The kiss was heated and wet, and John whimpered (to his small horror) when Sherlock pressed even closer to him against the wall. Soon, though, John took command of the kiss, Sherlock submitting quietly under his lips and tongue.

All too soon they had to pull apart and John gasped for breath, blinking hard. Sherlock pulled away and looked at the cigarette he had dropped before promptly snuffing it out with the tip of his boot. John ran a hand through his hair, and noticed the bottle of spilled scotch he'd accidentally dropped. Sherlock didn't seem to mind as he glanced around, looking with all intents and purposes like he was going to leave. Finally he turned to John and gave a curt nod.

"Very well. I suppose it's time I went home. My dog may have eaten all the furniture by now." John stuttered.

"W-Wait!" Sherlock halted and turned back to him, causing John to blush and feel like a teenage girl, "Um, when will I, um, you know… will I see you again?" Sherlock seemed to consider for a second, before his eyes flickered to John's with a small smirk.

"Perhaps. In a dream." Sherlock turned away and raised a hand behind him as he walked away, the darkness calling him forward as he walked down the street. John took a moment to recover before pushing off of the wall, shaking his head and running a hand through his hair before looking up into the velvety sky. Was it just him, or were there two stars that were close together that hadn't been there before? John smiled as he drew the parallels in his head, letting the metaphor drift off, though decidedly keeping his memories from the night—as if he could delete them.

That night, he fell into an exhausted sleep, and had a dream he wasn't all too surprised about. In the morning, though, while cleaning his laundry, he found a small note in his pants pocket it wrote simply, Reality is much better, wouldn't you agree? –SH On the back was a number. John smiled. Yes, in this case, reality was much, much better. And who knows? Maybe some of those dreams would come true, too.

It turned out a lot longer than I expected, but ehh what are you gonna do, right? Hope you liked it :P