This is my birthday present for the amazing You_Light_The_Sky. I hope you like it sweetie, and happy birthday!
Edit:As you can read above, this was destined as a bday gift mini-fic. I was in the middle of something completely different when this ending popped out of nowhere. I just knew I had to write it, but wasn't sure of what came before. So this is something like a first draft, and this will surely be re-written.
I know that maybe I shouldn't have posted it here if it still isn't ready and perfect fot you to read,and show it only to the bday girl, but hey, I had to share that ending!
Guilty as charged, expect a longer and better version soon!
Not beta-ed
Tags: Platonic Relationship/ dark!Sherlock / dark characters
-x-
John ran.
He ran and he didn't look back. He didn't dare.
He should have seen this coming. It was too good to be true. The light in the end of the dark tunnel his life had become after being shot and sent back home like the useless toy soldier he was.
Unbelievable as it may sound, he truly felt that man could change the bottoomless pit his life had become. And oh, if he didn't.
Sherlock Holmes.
He seemed too much of everything to be true. Too amazing. Too tall. Too many sharp angles. Too much brain and not enough good sense.
He could be simultaneously the most incredible, intelligent man in room and still, the most childish.
The man was a walking paradox, and John was hooked.
Freak.
That was what she called him and what others said with their eyes.
Even D.I. Lestrade, who seemed to be the only one that accepted Sherlock's presence, kept a wary stance when he was in the room.
They all thought there was something wrong with him.
John still didn't know what to think.
Then the weirdest kidnapping John had ever been subjected to happened.
The man knew things he shouldn't have. He just knew he wasn't someone he'd want to be on the bad side of. But still...
What's your connection to Sherlock Holmes?
Might we expect an happy announcement by the end of the week?"
I imagine people have warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen.
And to think all of this happened only a few hours after knowing the man.
But then there was a drug bust. And then Sherlock went and got himself alone with the deranged serial killer.
And then John went and killed him.
Just like that. In cold blood. Before he knew it, just as he saw that Sherlock, that nutter, was actually going to take the pill, he pulled the trigger.
That shouldn't have happened. He shouldn't just go and take someone down like that. He was a soldier. He swore to protect, to-
But he wasn't a very nice man.
No. He wasn't really, was he ?
He also knew that just because Sherlock agreed with him he shouldn't have felt all the weight lift off his shoulders.
But it did.
It wasn't Sherlock's lifestyle that was dangerous. He was dangerous.
John could feel his morals slowly sliping, joining Sherlock's as they went down the drain. He had to force himself to feel the compassion he used to take for granted. He had fought so hard for it.
After he passed some time mark Sherlock apparently had, John realized that he should have listened to what some people tried to warn him about.
Sherlock didn't care.
He didn't know if he biologically did not possess the ability or if he consciously chose not to, but the results were the same. All that matters are the puzzles. The chase for the answers, for the truth. The sheer need he had to keep his brain busy.
But he also obsessed. There are very few people who keep close to Sherlock and maybe, that's for the best.
does show up whenever she pleases, and at times it's trying. But John knows she does it because she just cares for "her boys". He forgot how many times he had to remind her he sleeps in the upstairs bedroom. But she's always there, a constant presence. A warm and comforting one.
But so is Sherlock. A few months after he moved him, he realized that Sherlock and had something like a syncronized dance. They were constantly aware of the other. Sherlock always knew what was doing, even when she was out. No doubt thanks fot his Homeless Network. And she didn't care. So he thought nothing of it. Thought of it as Sherlock being protective on his own way of his mother figure.
But then Sherlock started doing the same to him. He knew everything.
He knew when John was starting to wake up. He knew how long he usually took in the bathroom. He knew in which order he dressed. He even knew when he did things he didn't want him to know.
He saw him outside the clinic once.
He always saw him when he was out in dates.
He didn't know he talked to his girlfriends. He didn't know he threatened them.
He didn't know why he didn't care when he found out.
It hadn't been the kiss that scared him.
It hadn't been when Sherlock crowded him against the wall and snogged him senseless.
It also hadn't been when Sherlock looked him in the eye and stated : You're mine.
Life didn't change. They didn't become "boyfriends". John didn't found out that he was bi or gay after all. He still liked women, thank you very much. He just didn't bother anymore becase Sherlock would always drive them away. And he was fine with that. Because honestly, everyone else is just so boring.
But maybe they did touch more. And sit closer. And maybe some nights Sherlock would actually climb in his bed whenever he felt like sleeping or counting how many times he twitched in his sleep or something for science. And maybe John kissed him good morning when he woke up in a good mood. Which was as frequent as Sherlock sharing his bed. Which means it's rare. And maybe Sherlock kissed him when he was jealous or when he suddenly realized he had been ignoring John for long. Which is ever rarer.
John wasn't scared when he sat and thought how much his life had changed and how different it was from everything he ever thought he'd wanted. He wasn't scared of the thought of living the rest of his life in a psedo-relationship, having no other sexual satisfaction that his hand. He was content, happy even, and more relaxed that he ever remembered being.
What scared him was when, a weeks later, Sherlock said he was bored and looked at him, expecting him to do something about it.
He had never felt dread like this before.
He wasn't a bad person. He wasn't. He was a soldier, Queen and Country and all that shite.
He would't do what Sherlock wanted him to. To stop his boredom.
Sherlock couldn't possibly know.
But maybe he did.
John ran.
He didn't know where to go.
He had nowhere to go. There was always Greg, and Molly, and if he was really desperate, Sarah, but he was already hearing footsteps behind him.
He didn't even know where he was, but it was late at night and there was no one in the street. Just him, running like a madman. And a madman slowly walking towards him.
Then the footsteps stopped.
John felt his breath catch in his throat and something that was very much not disappointment swelling in his chest. Was he giving up on him. So soon ? Didn't he mean anything ? Wasn't he his ?
"John, stop."
And just like that, he did.
He stood there, in the middle of the pavement, waiting with deep breaths and shivering from adrenaline. His legs felt wobbly from the having stopped running so suddenly.
Arms encircled his waist and a chin rested on top of his head. He did nothing for a while except holding him, slowly rocking him back and forth, like a giant personified rocking chair.
"Come back."
"No." and immeadiate response. He couldn't, he would be the end of him.
"I will never ask that from you again. Never."
John turned and looked at him in the eyes.
"What am I to you ?"
"You're mine."
"Sherlock! Really, what am I to you ? And don't say that, it's..it's not...It's not how people express how much... they care for another."
"You were going to say something else there, weren't you, John ?"- Sherlock all but purred the question.
" No! No, I wasn't going to say anything else!"
Sherlock bent and whispered right on his ear. "You were going to say love."
John jerked back and out of his embrace, face flaming and his heart beating madly.
"It's alright", the detective said as he crosses his arms and looked down at his flatmate. He seemed to be calculating if what he was about to say was worth the risk. "I guess it is a kind of love."
Poor John was so shocked he didn't manage to draw a breath to deny it before Sherlock started talking again.
"I like you just the way you are. You seem so plain and so boring but in reality you're anything but. You stayed in Baker Streets for seven months and four days by now. No one can stand me for so long. Well, except , but she's different. You see, she's mine too. And I'm hers. Like mother and son, you could say."
He uncrossed his arms and put his hands in his pockets, taking a small step towards John, who took a step back. The way he had said that tickled him. And not in a good way.
"I find everything about you fascinating. And you find me fascinating as well, I know. I'm everything you need, don't you see, John ? I won't ever judge you, no matter what you do. Other than ruining experiments, of course, but!" , he raides his voice as he saw John was about to interrupt , "we'll keep living our normal lives. Nothing has to change. You already accepeted that you're mine."
Sherlock then moved into Jonh's personal space, a hand gripping his jaw, forcing him to stare at him.
"You're mine to own, to possess in whichever I deem fit. And I already know you agree with my terms. I don't expect nothing from you other than being yourself. But John, you're missing the point."
"Oh am I ? Enlighten me then." replied the soldier, feeling a bit breathless. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe Sherlock would keep to his word. He just had to know. "Do you promise you'll never do it again?"
"I already did, John, do keep up." Sherlock said as he raised one eyebrow and looked at him in a reproachable way.
John did, despite himself, feel a bit after that look but still "You have proved countless times you have no problems with doing whatever it takes to have things your way."
"Never to you."
"I-" he stopped himself. He was right. Sherlock lied through his teeth to everyone but somehow, he rarely did to John, and when that happened he made sure to leave dozens of clues to what he was actually doing. He gulped. "So, what's the point I'm missing ?"
Sherlock gave him one of those rare smiles."I can only take whatever you wish to give me."
And that, John thought, was how it felt to reach the lightened end of the tunnel.
John was happy.
Sitting as he was, in his armchair, eating some cookies had made and listening vaguely to what their landlady was talking about, John thought how coming back home with Sherlock all those months back was the best decision he had made.
Their lives didn't really change, but Sherlock would sometimes be consciously too rude, too cold, too not good, so John could correct him, guide him, stand in a higher moral ground. He gave him just what he needed. And now it was his turn.
Suddendly the front door banged against the wall and thundering footsteps were heard as Sherlock stomped his way to the flat.
Oh, he was ecstatic then.
Mrs. Hudson shared a knowing smile with him and went on her way, downstairs to start preparing herself for their dinner appointment in Angelo's. Sherlock was going, even if they had to drag him there. But John didn't think it'd come to that. He had leverage.
Sherlock bursted into the living room, in a flurry of long coat and thrown scarf, talking miles per hour, a ramble John didn't need to listen. He just sat and smiled as he saw how happy Sherlock was.
How happy he had made him.
"-sion! It's amazing John! A true criminal, a mastermind, right here in London! Oh, I was beginning to lose faith in them, but oh, this murder is the best birthday present I ever had!" Sherlock exclaimed as he paced back and forth.
He looked at John, as sheepish as he could force himself to look,"That wasn't very good, wa-" he stopped talking, turning fully to face John, who was still smiling at him. "John ?" he asked as some muscles started twitching in preparation for the smile that was beginning to form.
John's smile turned into a full grin.
"Happy Birthday.