My first JohnLock piece. Let me know what you think.
T-rated for towards the end. =)
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Sherlock' or the image used for the cover of this fanfic.
Enjoy!
A hearty giggle followed by an uninterested chuckle.
Sherlock knew that sound.
It's what made him sit bolt upright from his earlier position of lounging on the sofa, balance his violin precariously on the table in front of him and stalk towards the nearest window.
Curling his slim fingers around the thin material of the drapes, he pulled them back just enough to look down onto Baker Street, dimly lit up by a series of lampposts, and see his John and a blonde woman having just emerged from a taxi.
His eyes narrowed for a split second but he made no move the leave the window.
They were back. At last.
Every time John went out on a date, Sherlock waited back at the flat with bated breath for his return. He had long since accepted this feeling as jealousy, naturally. Why wouldn't he be jealous? His John kept gallivanting off with different women each week.
Granted, it was all just a show to keep Lestrade and the Yarders of their backs. They didn't need them all realising that he and John were a couple, they already thought it were true. Conformation was something Sherlock, and John, wanted to avoid.
So every week, John would go out with a different woman to keep Lestrades suspicions at bay. And as much as he knew it was helping them, every week was painful for Sherlock.
Watching them now, how natural it seemed for John to act like he was interested in this woman. If it wasn't for the forced look of interest on his features, Sherlock would have had incentive to believe John was actually enjoying himself.
Luckily, the blonde fell for John's mask of engrossment.
Sherlock smirked to himself, of course she would. She was a just a receptionist after all. Her over-exaggerated efforts to look good was what gave it away to the consulting detective. Receptionists were always the first to complain that they were never noticed. People would simply ask them for directions to an office, sign-in, or complain before leaving again. Sometimes without even eye-contact. So this woman's forced attempts at looking good for her date, given away by her choice of hairstyle (self-conscious) coupled with her bony fingers and slightly damaged manicure (typist) and added to the fact she'd clearly not drunk much alcohol and was wearing a two piece outfit (had to get up early for work the next day, meaning for ease of getting to bed sooner, she chose an outift that could be easily removed rather than a cocktail dress or such-like) was what gave her occupation away to Sherlock.
It was also obvious that she had no intention of staying overnight with John for she was wearing her coat, not holding it. The simplest of deductions Sherlock had had to make. And also one that reassured him that John was well and truly his. She was not going to be getting her typist hands on him , not even close. This thought made Sherlock slightly happier.
That happiness however, was quickly twisted into dread as it settled uncomfortably at the pit of his stomach when the blonde woman stepped forward and kissed John straight on the mouth. Sherlock's fingers tightened around the drape but his facial expression did not change and he still did not move away from the window.
He stared at John, waiting for his reaction. Obviously, the idiot was a polite man and so didn't pull away straight away. Instead he waited until what would be deemed an acceptable amount of time so to not make the blonde feel stupid.
Sherlock continued to watch protectively as the blonde smiled and teetered off in the direction of her apartment building. (She was a receptionist after all. And no, Sherlock didn't need to make any deductions to tell why she had not taken a taxi, for John had informed him earlier that she lived on an adjoining street to theirs.)
As the woman disappeared, John shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at his detective, immediately locking eyes with Sherlock as he stood in the window. Sherlock grinned and John's lips curled upwards into a sort-of-smile before he nodded and turned on his heel towards the door to 221B.
Sherlock opened their door as soon as the sound of John's footsteps up the stairs had ceased, greeting the man by attacking him with a hungry, long-awaited kiss, both hands either side of John's face. John stumbled briefly against the detective but caught his balance and kicked the door shut behind him, kissing back with all his might. He'd missed the familiar feel of the detective's lips against his own.
The doctor knotted his fingers into Sherlock's unruly curls as he was pressed up against the nearest wall.
This date must have been a difficult one for him, John thought as Sherlock deepened the kiss further still, one arms around John's waist, the other used a leverage to keep them pinned to the wall.
'I'm tired of this...' John spoke breathlessly in-between kisses. 'I can't do it anymore...Sherlock.' He closed his eyes as the detective latched his lips onto his neck. 'I can't keep making you feel...like this...every week...it's unfair to you.'
Sherlock pulled away and locked eyes with John.
'Don't worry about me.' Sherlock trailed a finger along John's jaw line. 'After all, you're still mine.' He moved his hand behind John's neck, the cool tips of his fingers pressing gently against the back of his neck and his thumb resting just behind his earlobe.
John's mouth subconsciously parted at the familiar touch.
'When I'm standing in that window each week. I think to myself. 'I get something that not one of these women will ever have the pleasure of getting.' Sherlock continued then leaned forward, whispering his next sentence hotly against John's ear, earning a moan from the doctor.
'I get to have you after every one of those dates.'
