I don't own the beautiful Sherly or Jawn. Nor do I own SCD or Moffat and Gatiss (god I wish).
Sherlock and John were walking out of the cafe down the street from 221B Baker street, just after a late dinner, when he heard it.
"They're a really cute couple," a woman on the street whispered to her companion, pointing at Sherlock and John. John, of course, as obtuse as the doctor was, did not notice, but Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned around.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, what are you doing?" John grabbed onto Sherlock's jacket sleeve, but the taller man was faster than he was and quickly pulled out of the doctor's grip. Sherlock was in front of the ladies quickly, his eyes narrowed.
"What was that, madame?" He towered over her by a foot and a half, at least, and she looked up at him with surprise. She stuttered for a moment, then managed to repeat herself.
"I said that you and that young man make a very cute couple. The way you both lean towards each other when you're walking, your hands brush together, you watch each other out of the corner of your eye. It's very clear that you're together." She blinked a few times, and looked down to where Sherlock's hands were gripping her coat, his knuckles white. "Did I say something offensive?"
John pulled Sherlock off of the woman's coat, finger by spidery finger, and apologized profusely. "I'm so terribly sorry for the inconvenience. He really hasn't slept for a while, and he's…well, he's always like this. Anyways, I'm not gay." He put a hand up onto Sherlock's shoulder and steered him away from the women.
"They think we're a couple. John, do other people think we're a couple? I don't lean towards you. I sometimes grab your hand to pull you along with me, but that's just because you don't walk fast enough." Sherlock kept rambling on about how they weren't a couple, how could people think they were a couple, and really, he was asexual, didn't people respect that?
John pulled his detective into the flat and up the stairs. Sherlock was still on about the woman in the street. "Honestly, if she wanted to tell if we were together, she could tell if we were attracted to each other. She could have taken our pulses, looked at our pupils, checked to see if our breathing was erratic—"
"Shut. Up. SHERLOCK." John finally exploded, his face red and his hands gripping the detective's lapels. Sherlock blinked in surprise at his flat mate's authoritative tone and just stood there, staring intently at John.
"Is that an order, Doctor?" Sherlock looked down at him, a bemused expression on his face. John stared up at the detective and tried to formulate a response. Sherlock leaned forward, their chests nearly touching. He concentrated intently on the doctor's eyes, watching. "You're attracted to me, John."
John was so flustered, he didn't even consider contradicting his friend. He reverted back to his training. "I said shut up, soldier. That's an order!" He stared up at the brunette fixedly. Sherlock nodded and stepped back slightly. He raised his hand to his forhead and assumed a rigid position, standing at attention. John bobbed his head approvingly and began to circle Sherlock slowly, looking him up and down for flaws – of which there were decidedly few. He dragged his eyes up and down the slender frame, admiring how the broad shoulders tapered down to the thin hips, hips that he suddenly felt the need to touch.
John reached out a hand and stroked a single finger across Sherlock's hipbone, causing the latter to shiver slightly. "Did I say you could move, or react, or anything?" John stood in front of Sherlock again, his head tilted slightly to the side.
"Sir, no sir." Sherlock stared straight ahead, looking every bit a trained soldier. John adjusted his hand so it was in the proper position across his forhead, then stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Sherlock was a truly stunning soldier, all long limbs and straight lines. His pants were even pressed to perfection, despite a day spent travelling in cabs to different crime scenes and to the morgue. John could practically see his brain whirring behind his eyes, trying to deduce what would happen next.
"From now on, you will call me "Sir" or "Doctor." You will heed my every order, do you understand, soldier?" John rested his full hand on the detective's hip, running his thumb along the rigid line of the bone that jutted out in a rather masculine way.
"Yes sir." Sherlock swallowed, hard, and maintained his gaze somewhere along the lines of the hat stand. John took Sherlock's chin in his hand and pulled so Sherlock was looking directly into John's eyes. Sherlock's eyes shifted slightly with a nervous habit that John had begun to recognize, and he tried to maintain the doctor's gaze.
John stroked the sharp cheekbones of his detective and leaned in closer, standing up a bit on his toes so they were level. "There's a good boy." He planted a kiss on his forehead, then let go of Sherlock before striding out of the room and up the stairs to his own room. He closed the door soundly and sunk down against it, breathing heavily and trying to calm his heart.
Reviewers get to run up the stairs of 221b Baker street with me singing "Staying Alive."