A/N: Just a little one-shot partly for Firework Night, and and partly for Remembrance Sunday. There's no real allude to the Remembrance day, but it did inspire the whole fic, gives it it's theme, and it is the reason for it's name.
Love & Hugs; Ari.
DISCLAIMER: If I owned Sherlock, and by default Benedict Cumberbatch, I would not be in my bedroom writing fan fiction. I would be in my bedroom doing other, more interesting things
Remember, Remember
"Sherlock, do you trust me?
The consulting detective almost sighed as he looked up from his book, turning his now undivided attention on the ex-army doctor
John had been standing at the window for almost twenty minutes now lit in the orange glow from the street lamp outside, clearly waiting for something, but Sherlock hadn't questioned him. Now, however, John's warm brown eyes were focussed on him and he frowned
"Really John, that's a question on a scale of stupidity I expect from Anderson-"
"Just answer the question"
Sherlock scowled at the interruption, but responded with a sharp "yes" before his flatmate threw something small and black at him that he snatched from the air instinctively
"Put that on then... and don't ask questions"
Sherlock stared at the small strip of black fabric and raised a single eyebrow "A blind fold?"
"No questions, remember?" John told him, even as he grinned, hands in pockets waiting on the detectives cooperation. Sherlock sat up and set aside his book with a sigh that hid his intrigue, and as soon as his vision was plunged into darkness he heard John dart around the flat. The Doctors light steps on te stairs, heavier on the way back down; so, carrying something. The rustle of coats in the hall confirm that they're going somewhere, which supports the theory that John has been watching for some kind of vehicle, probably a pre-booked taxi, hopefully not one of Mycroft's cars
"So, where are me going?" he asked softly as Johns gentle grip on his wrists tugged him to his feet and the detective hoped he'd managed to smother his small smile at the exasperated laughter he'd drawn from John
"Wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you would it... here's your coat"
The next few minutes were awkward, for Sherlock at least, full of light touches as John helped guide him into his coat and the soft brush of fingers across his skin while the Doctor carefully ties his scarf round his neck, but eventually they were making their way down the stairs, Johns secure grip round his waist revealing that he was carrying some kind of large shoulder bag. Probably the same one the smaller man usually lugged to the gym whenever they'd had a lull in cases, Sherlock deduced.
"'e's not gonna be sick is 'e?" came the gruff voice that identified John's chosen transport as a London cab
"'Course not!" came John's sharp response, rather closer to Sherlock's ear that he'd anticipated
"I dun do tha' night shift 'cause I dun want drunks bein' sick in ma cab..."
"I am neither drunk nor deaf, and I am not prone to random bouts of illness so I suspect your taxi is more than safe for whatever journey my flatmate had booked"
The driver grumbled some more at Sherlock's waspish tone of voice, and continued grumbling as John made sure the consulting detective was settled, but the driver did pull away smoothly and without revealing their destination which is more then either Sherlock or John had expected by that point.
The location had obviously been something else prearranged, and Sherlock was beginning to wonder how John had managed to pull this off without him noticing anything. He suddenly realised the taxi was silent, and turned his head to where he knew the Doctor would be sitting
"You're very quiet, John"
The silence held for a moment longer before Sherlock heard the sigh
"I was just thinking that, at this rate, I'll be lucky if you don't work out where we're going before we get there" there was a pause, and the Sherlock could hear the smile in Johns voice "What with that mental street map of yours"
Even with the blindfold on, Sherlock glared and even with the blindfold on, John knew and laughed.
"It might surprise you to know, but with my eyesight gone my sense of direction is practically non-existent, my best chance of deducing our location is to listen for distinctive sounds or snippets of peoples boringly mundane conversations"
"You mean..." Sherlock wasn't sulking; He didn't sulk "You mean, the best way to actually surprise you is simply to blindfold you?"
The consulting detective should have known by now that John wouldn't ridicule his skills, or think them strange, and he felt a small amused smile sneak it's way onto his face as his shoulders relaxed and he registered that John's first reaction was, of course, to think how he could use this information to surprise the detective more often.
Silence lapsed again, this time comfortable and Sherlock didn't break it again, contenting himself by trying to figure out their location, but when the driver went round an either incre4dibly large round-about or round a small one multiple times, Sherlock gave up and settled back into his eat.
The journey wasn't too unbearably long, and was mostly spent listening to the rumble on London life go by with Sherlock's mind stilled by the weight of a soft hand pressing his into the seat. For John Watson even small public displays of affection such as this were rare, so Sherlock relished the firm pressure of his lovers hand, trusting in wherever the other man was leading them.
As the taxi eventually pulled to a sharp stop, John even swiftly managed to remove any clue the price of the journey would have revealed by firmly telling the abrasive driver to 'keep the change', before guiding Sherlock from the vehicle and moving them away from the car onto soft, uneven ground.
"Grass, John?" Sherlock asked, frowning beneath his blindfold and drawing a chuckle from the shorter man
"How many times before your massive intellect realises that 'no questions' means no questions?"
Sherlock huffed but kept quiet as John guided them up a shallow slope that levelled out slowly. Everything was unnaturally quiet for London, the constant buzz of the city was still there but there were no nearby footsteps and all traffic noise was faint and rather muted.
As John gently tugged him to a stop, the ex-army doctor's hands trailed down Sherlock's arms and slid round his thin body till the consulting detective could feel the warmth of John radiating against his back even through his thick coat.
"You'll probably want to sit down Sherlock, make yourself comfortable"
Sherlock suppressed the shiver that the warm words against his ear elicited and stumbled over his response
"Ah, John … The rain, ground wet now … uh ..."
"There's a blanket"
There was laughter in his answer but Sherlock was beyond caring, he was intrigued by this new game and sat, elegantly folding in on himself and feeling John slide down to sink in behind him, chest pressed to the detectives back.
They sat in silence, keeping each other warm, until eventually John shifted his head from where it had been perched on Sherlock's shoulder and unwound his arms from the other man's slim waist to pull the blindfold gently away and revealing the view to those steel grey eyes.
Sherlock blinked for a moment, disorientated as he felt John slip his arms back round his waist... Then he smiled as his sharp gaze focussed on the stars above them and a memory assaulted his senses.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" I'd murmured softly, my eyes fixed upwards, and for once barely noticing the half puzzled glance John sent me before the other his eyes turned skywards to the stars; a brief respite to stare at something untouchable in the middle of our first big game with Moriarty.
"I thought you didn't care about things like that-" John had started dryly, before I'd cut him off swiftly. I remember my voice was sharper than I'd intended, but he'd annoyed me with those stupid blog posts about the solar system.
"That doesn't mean I can't appreciate it"
John had dropped the topic at the time, had not questioned Sherlock further, but the detective was just beginning to realise that this puzzle of a flatmate had taken more notice of that brief exchange than he'd realised.
Sherlock honestly didn't know why he was surprised that his doctor had remembered, but he opened his mouth to thank the man when joining the thousands of diamond glints above the two men came showers of golds, greens and reds with an almighty bang that had the consulting detective gaping in surprise.
"Not everything remarkable is out of reach, Sherlock" Johns soft voice reached him as the doctor studied the other man's rapt expression greedily, his own face softly smiling when piercing grey eyes finally turn to meet his gaze at the end of the firework display.
Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to Johns waiting lips before pulling back briefly "Guy Fawkes Night display, while greatly appreciated, wasn't necessary John" he whispered, unwilling to shatter the moment by speaking any louder, or letting his deep voice travel any further than his partners ears, "You remind me of that fact daily.