Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and in the present version by Steve Moffatt and Mark Gatiss. I have merely borrowed them for my amusement and hopefully yours.
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This story is told in the words and voice of John Watson.
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Is Sherlock Holmes trying to woo me? The idea seems ludicrous. I know he cares about me, but certainly not in any way that might lead him to woo me. But I don't know what else to make of his behaviour.
It is a couple of months since he came back after two years of pretending to be dead and after my initial anger and hurt gave way to gratitude and love that I could barely keep hidden, I moved back to Baker Street and we settled into our old routine.
Only it isn't our old routine. It isn't routine for Sherlock to make tea for me every morning. It isn't routine for him to help me with the cooking or to accompany me to Tesco's...though all he does there is deduce the hell out of everyone and make me laugh.
I looked at him as he sat across the table from me. He was working on my laptop as I read the paper and sipped my cup of perfect tea (he gets it absolutely right every time) and wondered what was going on in that giant brain of his.
He hugged me when I came down from my room this morning. He just walked over to me, hugged me tight and said, "Good morning," like we do this every day.
"Nice shirt," he said when I was setting out for work yesterday.
"Can I take you out to dinner?" he said last night and he did...to an new Indian place that's opened all the way across town, just because I like Indian food.
And then there's the way he looks at me. That piercing stare is nothing new of course, but it feels different. He's not calculating or deducing. He's just looking. His eyes linger and he usually has a smile on his face like he's happy just to be looking at me. I may be imagining the whole thing of course, but I don't think so.
I know Sherlock loves me. I don't doubt that any more than I doubt my love for him...though I don't think his love is of the romantic kind. I doubt that he feels as if he could drown in my eyes or that he dreams of kissing my perfect lips or that he wants to pepper my neck with kisses and love bites...all thoughts that I have about him all the time, these and many, many others.
It's ironic, I know, given my protests every time that someone assumed that we were a couple. I had always found him attractive but I was too wrapped up in not being gay to notice how much I loved and wanted him. That two year absence cured me of all my delusions. I wondered if that was what had happened to him as well. Not the delusions bit, but I know he missed me. Is that why he started being considerate? Maybe that's all it was. He just wanted to be nice to me. It was just friendship, nothing romantic at all...
I looked up at him again. He was clearly absorbed in what he was doing. I decided on impulse that I was going to test him, do a little experiment as it were. I put the paper aside and got up. I picked up our cups and plates and put them in the sink.
"I'm going to go get dressed," I said.
"Hmmm..."
I stopped as I walked past him and kissed him on the top of his head. He tried not to react, but I could tell that he was startled...and then he smiled. I smiled back as if it was no big deal and I went up to my room.
I got dressed and went downstairs expecting to see him at the table, still working on whatever bit of arcane research he was engaged in. He was sitting on the couch waiting for me. I put on my coat and picked up my bag.
"I'll see you at two," I said.
"I'll meet you outside the clinic," he said.
"Case?"
"No. Lunch and then maybe a play?"
"A date then," I said. I was testing him again. I wanted to see how he would react.
"Of course," he said and then leaned forward and kissed me on my cheek.
He stepped back with a slightly mischievous smile on his face. He was clearly wondering what I was going to do next.
I set my bag down. I put my hands on his shoulders and kissed him lightly on his lips. He responded just as lightly. I stepped back. My heart was thudding. I wanted to grab him and kiss him stupid, but I sensed that he wasn't ready for that yet...
"I'll see you at two," I said and then I left. It was clear that Sherlock was interested in me, but I knew for a fact that had almost no experience with intimacy and I didn't know how much of it he was ready for. Clearly, we needed to talk.
He picked me up at two 'o' clock as promised. We went to Angelo's and had a leisurely lunch and talked about everything other than our feelings. We decided that we weren't in the mood for a play so we went for a walk instead. We walked through Regent's Park. I don't know which of us reached for the other first, but we ended up holding hands. We still didn't say anything, just continued to walk, accepting the moment for what it was.
We went back home. I took off my coat and kicked off my shoes. I sat on the couch and I turned on the TV. Sherlock disappeared into his room for a while. He came back, having washed and changed into his pyjamas. He sat on the couch for a moment and then he lay down with his head on my lap. I put one hand on his chest and the other in his hair, running my fingers gently through his curls. Sherlock hummed appreciatively and he settled down to watch the movie with me.
It was an old James Bond movie. Sherlock found much to ridicule and deride. This might have irritated me at one time, but now I just smiled fondly at him. The movie ended and Sherlock looked up at me. His eyes, his face, his heart...it was all open. Everything I wanted to know...it was all there. I leaned down and kissed him. He put his arms around and dragged me on top of him. And we lay together on the couch, touching and kissing as we had so longed to do...
It seemed that we were easing into intimacy without having to explain, define or analyse anything. I liked that, the thought that once we allowed ourselves to cross the lines we'd drawn when we first met, we came together like it was the most natural thing in the world...