Yay! My first Johnlock! I'm so happy to finally be doing this! John and Sherly are seriously the ultimate OTP. Like, seriously.
Anyway, sorry for the bad summary XC but I hope you like this lovely concoction I have created just for my lovely readers! There will probably be smut in later chapters. Gotta get my sweet little Sherlock used to the whole sentiment thing, first XD. And also, the cover art is not mine, but whoever made it, you're amazing!
Anyway, enjoy! Reviews and critique are wholly welcome!
Chapter 1
Sherlock paced the flat in agitation. Where was John? I told him to get here no matter the situation, did I not?
He sighed and flopped onto the sofa as the door opened. Sherlock's head snapped up and John looked at him coolly, holding multiple plastic bags full to the top with groceries.
"Where were you? I've been waiting hours," Sherlock whined as John made his way to the kitchen.
"Sorry for going to the grocery store to fill the fridge with something that didn't come from a human. And it's only been 30 minutes, Sherlock. No need for melodrama," John explained, putting the food away, trying to avoid the body parts and experiments.
"Where else am I going to put them?" Sherlock grumbled.
John shrugged, "I don't know. Get a minifridge or something."
Sherlock leaped off the couch and threw his arms in the air, "Have you ever heard of a minifridge large enough to hold a human head?"
"I don't know. Maybe it says it in the manual or something," John looked at Sherlock.
"That's improbable. The average scale model of a fridge that size-" Sherlock started, but John cut him off.
"I don't think you called me here to tell me about the scale model of a minifridge. What do you want?"
Sherlock snapped out of his tirade and locked eyes with John. He strode over and grabbed John's shoulders, "Pack your bags, Watson," he turned and lifted his arms into the air with a flourish as he said, "because we are going to Italy!"
They stood in silence for a moment and Sherlock turned to look at John's face. He looked unimpressed.
The silence dragged on until John said, "We're not actually going to Italy, are we?"
Sherlock let his arms drop to his sides and he turned to John, "No. But we are going to investigate a murder on a gondola. Lestrade texted me the details. Grab your coat, I'll explain on the way."
John looked down at his fully dressed state and looked up at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow. He shrugged and followed Sherlock out the door, who was still throwing on his long coat and tying his scarf around his neck. He hailed a cab and jumped in, relaying the street information at record speed. John struggled to catch up with the long-legged man as they got to the crime scene.
The victim was lying face down on the bottom of the long boat, one arm hanging over the side, the other trapped under his body. He was clearly trying to escape the boat as he was dying. He looked around his late twenties with disheveled brown hair and a gaudy blue tuxedo. Drying blood was splattered all over the gondola, too much for a normal wound.
John scrunched his eyebrow together and grabbed a pair of gloves from a table nearby. He felt the man's side and his eyes widened, "Sherlock, this man's been gutted."
Sherlock gave him a withering look, "Do follow along, John."
John frowned and looked at Lestrade, "I'm going to flip him over."
Lestrade just waved a hand at him as a go-ahead and turned back to the police officer he was talking to. John gently grabbed the man's arm and flipped him over. the boat rocked gently at the sudden motion but soon stilled. John inspected the gaping wound and noticed the absence of the large intestine, the small intestine, the stomach, and the liver. He also noticed the small incision in the diaphragm. He reached through the hole slightly larger than his fist. There was a clear path through the lungs to the the heart. Or rather, where the heart should have been.
"Sherlock!" John called.
He was at John's side in an instant, "The heart's missing," John explained.
Sherlock's eye twitched a he processed this information. John studied his features as he went deep into his mind. His grey-green eyes looked off into the distance, his dark eyebrows low in thought. His heart shape mouth moved involuntarily as his long fingers wandered over his chin. The blue and res police lights danced across those perfect cheekbones, making him look like an aristocratic movie star. John chuckled mentally. He would pay to see Sherlock acting some cheesy movie lines on a movie set.
Sherlock turned his head abruptly to John, "Check the other areas of his body. I have a theory."
John obliged and started to search the other parts of his body until he found something that wasn't supposed to be there. He retrieved it and saw that it was the man's heart, which were located near his testicles.
John looked at Sherlock, who's lips were screwed up in a sadistic smile, "I was correct," he stood up gracefully and started to remove his gloves, "His name is Marcus Wrightman. 22, a boring office worker," he took his phone out of his pocket and tapped a few buttons before continuing, "he angered a feminist group known as the 'Choices'. An unoriginal name for an unoriginal group. Pro-choice for women's right to their bodies, but they are violently against men. This is the second case of a gutted male with his heart near his testicles. But this time they left a message," Sherlock turned the heart with his bare hands to show a letter 'C' carved into the organ.
"Jesus, Sherlock! At least put some gloves on!" John gently took the heart from Sherlock's slightly bloodied hands. Once the heart was safely stowed away, John turned to Sherlock, "You know the killer already."
Sherlock was texting on his phone with his unclean hands. John sighed and snatched the phone from him and replacing it with a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He looked at John with annoyance, but applied the hand sanitizer quickly, reaching-without permission- into John's front pocket to retrieve his phone.
"Of course I know the killer," Sherlock scoffed, "It was Marcus's 'date'. Savannah Cary. She was acting the entire time. Undercover group member, blah blah blah. Seriously, I don't understand how the police couldn't figure this out. She clearly killed the gondolier as well."
"It's really brilliant how you get all this from one look at a gutted man," John shook his head.
Sherlock look at him and smiled crookedly at him. John smiled back until he heard a groan from Sally.
"Seriously. Get a room," she scowled as usual.
"We're not-" John started, but the looks he received from the others-except Sherlock-made him shut up.
Maybe I am a little bit gay, John thought ruefully. He furrowed his brow and headed over to Lestrade to give the information from Sherlock. John didn't want Sherlock to offend the DI tonight, too.
The weary inspector thanked Sherlock and John and they were off back to the flat. John also happened to notice the horrified looks on Anderson and Sally's faces as they were leaving, however.
"What did you tell them this time?" John asked conversationally.
"The usual," Sherlock replied as he stared out the cab window, "Their nightly arrangements with each other and where..." he trailed off.
John sighed, "And?"
A mischievous smirk graced Sherlock's perfect lips as he drawled, "And also which positions."
He caught John's eye and held it. Then they were laughing. By the time they got to the flat, their sides were hurting, but they were still giggling like schoolchildren.
John collapsed onto his chair when they got into the flat, a large grin on his face. It slipped of when he recalled his previous thoughts, however.
Was he gay? No, John thought. Maybe bisexual. But, other men didn't attract him as much as Sherlock did. So he was Sherlock-sexual? John shook his head and rubbed at his eyes. He didn't notice when Sherlock got up in his face and practically screamed his name.
John jumped and frowned at Sherlock, "You don't have to be so loud. People are trying to sleep!"
"At 7:00 in the evening?" Sherlock countered, raising an eyebrow, "And I've been calling your name for the past two minutes! That's 119 seconds too long for a response!"
John averted his eyes from those unnervingly keen green eyes, "Oh, so you're the only one who can get lost in thought, now?"
"Yes," Sherlock said simply, "And I don't get 'lost in thought'. I go to my mind palace."
"Right," John mumbled, "Your 'mind palace'. How silly of me."
Sherlock frowned and leaned closer to John's face, deducing him. He was so close, John could feel his breath on his face as he looked deep into the doctor'e blue eyes. John's cheeks pinked slightly and he sucked in a breath. Sherlock then jumped up with an alarmed expression on his face. John wanted to snap a picture and send it to Lestrade right then.
"You..." Sherlock started.
Yes, yes, John thought, I knew he'd get it eventually. I didn't know it would be so soon, however.
Sherlock composed himself, straightening his sleeves,"I'm glad you've come to terms with your sexuality, John. Bisexual, I'm presuming?"
John fidgeted in his seat, looking anywhere but Sherlock's face, "Er, I...I'm tired," John shot up from his chair, trying to get past the taller man, "Goodnight, Sherlock."
Sherlock blocked his path, a peculiar expression on his face. He grabbed John's upper arms, rooting him in place. A surprised squeak came from John at the contact and he looked up at the consulting detective. Sherlock's eyes were soft, surprising John.
"Sh-Sherlock, what-"
Sherlock shushed him by swiftly bringing his face close to the doctor's. Another squeak came from John and he put his fists against the taller man's tight purple shirt, making as if to push away.
a moment of silence passed as Sherlock went through an internal battle. Then he sighed, blasting John's face with minty breath, "Oh, sentiment."
And he pressed his lips against John's.
Is it bad that I was gushing over the cuteness of my own writing as I wrote it? Yes? Okay...
Haha I really hope you enjoyed reading this! It's my first one, so it's probably not that good, but any advice is completely welcome!
I love you all!
~Libby c: