Authors Note: Hi their good looking, looking for a Johnlock fic where they make sweet sweet kisses to a Queen B song. Well step on up, this is the place.
The Queen has Spoken
"What is it you like?" John always wondered that. Sherlock never seemed to be excited about anything other than his cases.
Sherlock looked at John with a puzzled face. He would never answer John's questions with a question; instead he always made these faces, which bothered John immensely.
"Movies, music, books, like that stuff." It was quite a lot that John got excited for a new movie or his favorite band release of a new album, but never Sherlock.
Sherlock's reply was what John expected, Mozart, some biology books, and that movies where not his thing. He then explained that he didn't care for Bach anymore, and how movies, like the telly ruin the mind and the way it worked. Coincidently, the book he was reading described the different ways the mind could exceed stupidity or something like that. John tried his best to have conversations with Sherlock, even if he didn't get them 90% of the time and the other 10% he found boring. He made an effort, unlike Sherlock.
"Don't you like music where the artists, I don't know are not dead?" He tried, before, to put some of his music on the player, but Sherlock would look at him with yet another face, and he would quickly turn it off.
This time Sherlock did not answer, he just continued looking into his microscope.
That day John gave up trying to make decent and modern conversation with Sherlock.
The next day was different.
He woke up to the song Life on Mars by David Bowie blaring at his ears. For a moment, John stayed in bed the covers hugging him tightly. A thought flashed thru his mind, what if we are being robbed by a band of glam rockers. That frighten him, not only would there be a vast array of low cut shirts, he would also have to clean up all the glitter that spewed from them. He was about to call out for Sherlock, but that would only make him feel like a sissy, and he was a soldier for God's sake. He put his robe on, grabbed his handgun he had in his desk, and hurried to the living room.
John entered the living room, gun in hand, and stepping lightly. Sherlock was at his usual spot, looking into a microscope like everything was at the normal. His hands barely moving as he adjusted the settings, and he didn't look up at his flat mate holding a gun.
"Sherlock…" He was lost for words. He kept the gun in hand, ready to shoot the first glitter clad wild hair boy that came at him.
"Sherlock, what is going on?" He looked around the room to see if something else was amiss.
Just when Sherlock looked up from his scope, Mrs. Hudson stepped into their flat. She had a smile in her face.
"Good morning, Sherlock." She had a basket of muffins in one hand and some homemade jam in the other. "I've brought you breakfast. Just this once." She set them on the table and told Sherlock to clear off the scientific machinery, and complained about another head in the fridge.
The odd thing to John was that she didn't react to the singing man in the background, or the gun he had in his hand. John looked at them conversing over the loud music.
"Do you not hear that?" He pointed to the player, but they didn't make movement to tell John that they heard him. John watched a lot of telly and he had seen the stories of how people had outer body experiences. His heart beat a little faster at that. He didn't want that happening, not now, not ever.
"Okay, so I guess I am being ignored know. No, no stay there…" He waved his gun less hand to the unmoving pair "…and chat without me. I'll just sit here, ignored." He sat in the arm chair, threw the gun on the desk, and hugged the flag pillow.
He began to think if he was truly having an outer body experience. And here he was sitting in an armchair holding tight to a patriotic pillow. Shouldn't he be running down Baker Street naked and shouting curses at everybody he hated, or maybe go to the market and destroy that damn machine? No, he was still here hugging that pillow looking from Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock then back again.
It was all too much for him to handle at one point. He decided to close his eyes and go to his mind beach. Sherlock might have a mind palace, but his was a nice warm, sunny beach house.
It was awhile before he heard the faint sound of Mrs. Hudson's steps and the door opening and closing.
"John, a coffee, no sugar, Mrs. Hudson's jam is a cavity waiting to happen." Not only was he relieved that he wasn't having an outer body experience, he was frustrated that he was being treated this way. And to add to his frustrations, the player was now playing Countdown by Beyonce.
But either way, John got up and made Sherlock his coffee.
He didn't realize that the other man was staring at his movements.
"You're upset about something." John wasn't sure if Sherlock meant that to be a question or a statement. He set the badly done coffee next to Sherlock's scope hoping it would magically spill and ruin it. Maybe a person who was having an actual body experience would help him out.
For once it was John who didn't answer, he moved to the warm muffins.
"I thought you would enjoy the modern music." Sherlock gazed at John.
"It's fine, the music is fine…" He pointed at Sherlock with the piece of bread in his hand. "I just don't like being ignored like that." He moved to the small space that was now the dining room table.
"Sorry." John was surprised. Did Sherlock just apologize? Was he imagining things? He was thinking about what to say, when Sherlock leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. That was more surprising than the last. His lips where soft, and wet.
John shook his head, he was confused now. More emotions than he could handle.
"You said that you didn't do…" Do what me, men, or women. "…Relationships." John immediately regretted that. It was just a kiss nothing more, and here John was thinking it meant something greater. He didn't have time to punish himself, because Sherlock leaned in once more. This time he snogged John full on the lips, tasting his lips and a second his tongue before John pulled away from him.
"Quiet a character, she is." Sherlock looking thru the scope once more, stated about the singer. It said something of riding and grinding, quite a character indeed. "Queen B, they call her." Sherlock grinned at his words.
John didn't really know what he was doing with himself, but before he knew it he was on Sherlock. His arm accident knocked the coffee over as he went for the detectives lips. Sherlock didn't seem to notice. He hoped it would mess up, but he didn't stray on that thought for long, Sherlock's hands had found his boxers.
"Sherlock…" He tried to protest. He was afraid of what would happen, and he was somewhat glad Sherlock stopped him.
"No." Sherlock shut him up with a kiss, and led him to the bedroom.
It was there that John lost the ability to control himself. He felt embarrassed that he was so frisky. He shook his robe off, started on Sherlock's dress shirt, and nipped at the other man's chest.
He was hallway done when he realized the smirk Sherlock had on his face.
"What?" He laid his hands on the other man's chest. They were harder than he expected. The muscle tensed underneath his palms.
Sherlock smirk grew to his chuckle. That laugh that was only heard when he won someone over, when he won the game.
Was this another one of his game? Could he be so cruel?
Sherlock placed his hands on John's shoulders, and moved them up towards the sides of his face. His arms were warm has he moved his hands against Johns neck. Hit made him shiver. John didn't know why that told him right away that this wasn't a game for Sherlock. Sherlock had a look in his eyes that made John melt embarrassingly. It was soft and endearing, not clever and hostile like the consulting detective normally was.
John trusted him, even before everybody had told him to stay away from him. Trust is one thing, and love in another, or maybe there one in the same.
John was sure that loving someone is easier when you trust them. He couldn't say that he didn't love Sherlock. He always felt happier when Sherlock was with him.
He liked the day's best when he would be sitting in the chair blogging, and the other would be looking through his microscope, pacing the room, and looking through books.
It felt silly to say that those days, even when so apart from him, he could almost feel the other man's warmth. It was a good feeling to know that now he would feel it, when he would awake, or go to sleep, and whenever he wanted.
He no longer had to imagine it.
"Don't ever let me go." John fell into the taller man's arms, and placed his head on his chest.
"John, I'll always be with you."