To Be Loved
(A/N): Hello everybody :) I apologize to any followers who have been itching for me to update. I have definitely been on hiatus for the past while! I was busy with school since it started up! But I am back and doing my best to update my stories. Here is a fanfic based on BBCs Sherlock that I wrote at 2 am! Please read and review!
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Sherlock is not mine and as a result, neither is Benedict Cumberbatch.
This story takes place before the events of the season two finale.
Minor slash and major fluff
Nobody ever thought of John Watson as a man with a difficult upbringing. Everybody assumed he came from a loving family with laughing children and fluffy pets running around his feet. What a nice boy he was to give up this happy life to go fight a war in Afghanistan. What people believed, however, was far from the truth. Even the good doctor's best friend, Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective and self proclaimed sociopath, couldn't deduce the mysterious history of the one John Watson. Of course, he had learned that John's sister was an alcoholic with an interest in women, but that's all he ever really knew about his flatmate's family. He didn't know the reasoning as to why John joined the military, or why his sister became addicted to alcohol, but then, he was a high functioning sociopath and took no time to consider these minor and unimportant details. But then, once you start caring for someone so deeply that just the thought of them being hurt causes you pain, then every detail matters...
"Why the military?" Sherlock asked from his spot in the armchair with his legs folded up in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees.
"Sorry?" John replied, walking into the sitting room with a cup of tea. The two men were currently not involved in a case and were thus taking the time to relax. At least, John was relaxing. Sherlock was instead performing mundane experiments and rambling to his skull on the mantelpiece- anything to keep him entertained. Now it appeared as though he was going to entertain himself by learning more about his flatmate.
"The military, why did you join?" Sherlock repeated, his eyes sliding shut for a moment before turning to focus on John with a catlike gaze. John shrugged.
"I don't know. Wanted to make a difference I guess." The older man replied, taking a sip from his tea. Sherlock's eyes narrowed. Judging by the slight twitch of John's left hand, his immediate drink of tea, and the slight clenching of his jaw, Sherlock concluded that John was lying.
"Wrong." Sherlock stated simply, tilting his head as John rolled his eyes.
Of course, John thought. No fooling the great Sherlock Holmes! The man sighed.
"Why the sudden interest?" John retorted, causing Sherlock to falter a moment. It would have been unnoticeable to anybody else, but John definitely saw it. Sherlock, however, quickly brushed off his surprise and continued in his baritone voice.
"I am simply attempting to uncover more information about my flatmate. Is that so strange?" Sherlock challenged, causing John to scoff.
"It is for you." Sherlock winced inwardly but quickly continued his pursuit for information.
"I became a detective because these types of things fascinate me. But what is the draw in becoming a military doctor? You could do just as much good here, and for a better price." Sherlock inquired. The more he thought about it, the more he became interested in John's career choice.
This time, it was John's turn to flinch. He didn't like talking about his past, he hated it almost as much as Sherlock hated Anderson. Mind you, John's history did not involve an annoying, greasy haired forensic examiner, but it had the same effect.
"It's not about the money Sherlock," John replied, avoiding Sherlock's question. Sherlock's eyes narrowed once again, taking in all of his flatmate's form. John shifted under his scrutinizing gaze, but made no effort to elaborate further.
The two sat in silence for what to John, felt like hours, though it was probably around three minutes, Sherlock studying him as the time passed. Finally, just as John was considering saying something to get Sherlock's stare off of him, Sherlock groaned and leaned his head back on the armchair.
"I haven't the slightest idea." Sherlock stated, lifting his head once more. "The most I can get is that you wanted to leave. To go somewhere else and simply help someone. Other than that, nothing. You're getting better at keeping secrets my dear Watson." John shrugged in response, setting his now empty teacup on the coffee table in front of him. With a sigh, he dragged his hand across his face before dropping it to his lap.
"Sherlock," he started, causing the detective to straighten up in interest. "My reasoning for joining the military is very personal and is due to most of my childhood and early adult years. It's not something I like to talk about. But yes, you are right, it was to get away." John looked out the window down onto the road of Baker Street. He stayed like that for a good minute, and when it became clear to Sherlock that the doctor was not going to continue, the detective moved towards John, placing a hand on his knee and lightly calling his name. John jumped, he was obviously lost in thought remembering his past, and Sherlock had startled him. What also scared John was the fact that Sherlock Holmes of all people, was touching him in a comforting gesture.
"You can tell me," Sherlock assured him. "You are my friend, and I wish to learn about you as well as be here for you when you need me."
John blinked in surprise. Never before had he seen such a caring side to Sherlock. Was it possible that the detective was simply deceiving him in an attempt to gain information for some experiment? Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous John, I wouldn't betray your feelings for an experiment." Sherlock stated, scoffing lightly. John's eyes narrowed and Sherlock sighed. "I promise." He said, taking his hand from John's knee and placing it on his heart while raising his other arm above his head. John laughed slightly, relaxing into his chair. With a sigh, he prepared himself to tell Sherlock about his childhood.
"I was never the favourite child, that's for certain. But then, neither was Harry. I suppose I should tell you that I have a younger brother. His name is James, and he was most definitely my mother's pride and joy. My father, well, he was always working, doing his best to provide for us. But everyone knew that he couldn't stand my mother, just as she couldn't stand him." John shuddered at his repressed memories. Sherlock gave him a supportive look, urging him to continue. With a deep breath, John continued his story.
"She never wanted me. It was only ever James. Harry knew it too, but she could care less. She was always rude to mother in an attempt to be noticed, but she didn't care. And then there was me. I didn't have many friends as a child, trust issues, you know? But on the occasion I did go out, I always came home to a lecture from my mother. If I had forgot to clean the drain or take the trash out, I was suddenly the worst child in the world. She made sure I knew that." With a shake of the head, John stood up and collected his teacup, taking back into the kitchen to wash. As he turned the water on, Sherlock scooted up beside him.
"What does that have to do with your decision to leave?" Sherlock asked, genuinely confused. John let out a humorless laugh, before answering.
"She never loved me Sherlock," he replied bitterly. "I have no idea what it feels like to be loved by someone. My father was never home, and when he was he just argued with my mother." John let out a shaky sigh. "She said she loved me, but I knew she didn't. She didn't worry about me the way she worried about James, she didn't spoil me the way she did him! She only ever yelled at me for not being perfect, when she was the one in need of fixing. I decided I wanted to go to medical school, I figured she'd be proud of me helping people. But no, it was always 'we can't afford this John', 'you're so selfish John', 'I didn't choose to give birth to you John'." The doctor released a cough, his voice was filled with emotion and Sherlock was starting to get uncomfortable. But, as promised, Sherlock stayed where he was and placed a comforting arm around John as the shorter man leaned into him for support.
Sherlock felt a small flickering of something in his chest as he comforted the now sobbing doctor. Was this what it's like to care for someone? Was the something that he was feeling...compassion? He had always been attracted to John, there was no denying that, but did he really care so deeply for him that John's pain became Sherlock's pain?
As John pressed his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, the answer became startlingly clear.
Yes
Obviously. For someone who was so observant of other people, Sherlock Holmes was incredibly blind to his own emotions raging within.
Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's shoulders as the shorter man continued to weep. He slowly rocked the older man back and forth in his arms, providing comfort and whispering soothing words into his hair. Had anyone told Sherlock Holmes yesterday that he would find himself embracing his flatmate and offering words of comfort, he would simply dismiss them as crazy. But now that he found himself in the situation, he could think of no other thing to do that we be acceptable. He cared deeply for the doctor, that much was obvious, but what he didn't know was if John possibly reciprocated his feelings.
A few minutes later, John pulled away from Sherlock's embrace, his face red with embarrassment.
"Uh, sorry Sherlock..." He said awkwardly. "I guess I've been holding that in a little longer than was healthy." He glanced up at the detective to make sure he didn't make him very uncomfortable. To his surprise, Sherlock was offering him a supportive smile with no trace of awkwardness present. That just made him even more embarrassed. "Um, right... Well, I'll just... Um.. I'll make us some dinner..." John stuttered, making his way around Sherlock's tall frame and towards the refrigerator. Just as he prayed to himself that there were no strange body parts in the fridge, John felt a hand grab him around the wrist. Turning, he saw Sherlock, no more than six inches from his face.
"John," the detective said softly. "I'll always love you." John smiled at his flatmate before lightly brushing his lips against Sherlock's.
"And I, you." The doctor replied against Sherlock's lips. Gently, he pulled away and offered a caring smile before turning back to the refrigerator, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his chest.
Thank you for reading! Please review!