A/N : Hi! Just a little fluffy Johnlock oneshot to help me get back into the groove of writing. Enjoy!
Soon
It was quiet, silent even. The city was at peace. A rare sight in London. The streets were near empty, the pubs and clubs closed for the night, no animals crying out in the darkness. A gentle drizzle was falling from the blackened skies, dawn just around the corner. John Watson stood by the window of his flat staring out over the silhouetted cityscape, only streetlamps and the occasional lit window breaking the never-ending sea of shadows. He heaved a heavy sigh, grieving for the three years gone by. Time had flown so quickly and yet seemed to crawl when he noticed its passing. It seemed only yesterday that he had been standing on the pavement below St Bart's. It seemed only yesterday that Sherlock had…
John shut his eyes against the memory, it was too painful a thought to let drift to the surface. He raised his face to the sky, watching the water stream down over the glass and whispered sadly "Merry Christmas, Sherlock," before turning slowly and making his way to bed.
Sherlock sat perched on the roof of the building opposite Baker Street, glancing impatiently at his watch. 11:50 pm. That's it! John was like clockwork, always going to bed at the exact same time. It had taken Sherlock a few days to get the hang of it but once he had it, he never forgot. Sherlock worked his way across the rooftops, keeping his coat wrapped tight against the rain. He shuffled down the stone wall and dropped into the window. Here he was again. John's room. Sherlock's eyes fell on the roll of covers in the middle of the bed. Sherlock eased his way over. John lay on his back, his face blank with the exception of the small smile on his lips. He looked just the same as he had the last time Sherlock had visited Baker Street on John's birthday. John hadn't seen Sherlock but he was there all the same. Sherlock fished a cloth from his pocket and placed it gently over John's mouth and nose. He frowned briefly before the chloroform took effect and he fell into a deep sleep.
"Hello, John," Sherlock started, his voice catching in his throat, "It's good to see you again. I just came by to make a promise. I've found all of Moriarty's men. All except for Moran but I'm so close, John, so very close," Sherlock reached out and cupped John's cheek. It was warm, stubble tickling his palm. "I just needed you to know that I promise," Sherlock lifted a small parcel from his pocket, a box wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow. He set the parcel down on John's bedside table on top of a white envelope. Sherlock replaced the cloth in his pocket and looked back down at John. His mouth hung open slightly, lips wet and pink. Sherlock leaned down, eyes closed, and pressed his lips to John's; lightly, tentatively, fearfully. They were soft and so warm. They felt like home. Sherlock wanted so badly to never leave; he just wanted to stay there with John forever. He pulled away. He knew he couldn't. Sherlock held his face close to John's, drinking in his scent; that strange mix of disinfectant and tea that comes with being a British doctor. Sherlock committed everything about his blogger to memory, right down to number of wrinkles that lined his eyes. A bell tolled in the distance, signalling midnight.
"Merry Christmas, John,"
Light poured through the window, golden rays blinding the doctor as he rolled lazily out of bed. He yawned and stretched, wondering why he'd slept so solidly. It had been months since he'd managed a whole ten hours without waking up once. He shrugged it off as he turned to look at the clock. There, sitting in front of the display, was a small parcel and an envelope. John slowly took the box, making sure that it wasn't some form of hallucination. He undid the ribbon and opened it. Inside laid a golden ring set with bands of diamonds, the largest of which sat in the centre of the band. John shakily lifted it out and turned it so the inside was visible. It was engraved. It read 'Helpless Without My Blogger'. Tears streamed down John's face as he snatched up the letter and ripped it open. His eyes scanned it. Stopped and read it again. The tears fell freely now as John slid the band onto his left ring-finger, the letter slipping from between his fingers. It landed lightly on the floor, one simple word decorating its surface:
"Soon"
The End