Short story on John/Sherlock. DDDD: Based on the song 'Yellow' by Coldplay. I was listening to it on my iTunes and immediately thought of John/Sherlock and was just like KJFSHGKJHDFGHDGJDF YES. reviews and critique please.
I DON'T OWN BBC'S SHERLOCK OR ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT
I DON'T OWN COLDPLAY'S SONG YELLOW OR ANYTHING TO DO WITH IT. :]
He'd never acknowledged how lucky he was to have him by his side, but that night he had realised that he really was privileged. Sure, Sherlock Holmes might have been a jerk sometimes, but Sherlock did great things and he loved him for it. He never regretted moving in with him, not even once, because he loved what he went through – and the person he was living with.
It was a cold September night and they were both lying in a field on the outer provinces of London, looking up at the sheet of monotonous black. The stars were out that night, each one gleaming with their own little spark, even if they were all yellow.
Look at them, Sherlock, he thought. Look how they shine, just for you.
He smiled as he thought of when they first met, the shock that overcame him when Sherlock had told him his whole life story, just at one glance. It was that moment he knew, maybe they were meant to be. Just maybe. He even wrote a song for him – the things you would do for love!
He called it yellow.
It took time, confessing the love he had for the world's only consulting criminal, and it hurt, it really did, just seeing him and thinking, he doesn't love me. He finally managed, to confess, and it all turned out good, in the end.
He glanced at Sherlock by his side, and smiled at the sheer beauty of him – the striking black curls that rested on his head and those grey eyes that always took his breath away – just the way Sherlock looked at him… it mesmerised him. It really did.
Do you know how much I love you?
He would do anything for Sherlock, really. Anything to keep him out of trouble. There was a part of him that hated Sherlock for sacrificing himself, because he never wanted to see him die, not ever. If anything, he would have to die first, before Sherlock, just so he didn't suffer the pain.
He'd never forgive himself for letting Sherlock Holmes die.
"Hey, Sherlock," he whispered, taking his long, spidery fingers into his own. "Have you seen the stars?"
Sherlock looked at him, and a smile spread across his mouth. Sherlock's face was illuminated by the starlight and he looked gorgeous, so stunning that his heart was beating at full speed. His smile was beautiful, and Sherlock's companion wished he could see more of it.
"They're shining for you," he murmured. "And all the things you do."
And John Watson was right. They were shining for Sherlock.