"Oh for heaven's sakes, John..."
"Quit whining and c'mon."
"You do realise how unpatriotic this is, don't you?"
"Depends on who you're asking, really."
"Do forgive me, I hadn't realised you'd changed nationalities while I was in the loo."
"It's just fireworks. It's fun, you nutter. Now hurry up."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and followed John through the crowd, far less eagerly than his friend would have liked. He strolled up the hill with petulant hands stuck in his pockets while John pushed on ahead with a small picnic basket and a blanket snagged from the hotel room.
For the summer holiday before they started at Uni, Sherlock and John had decided to take a holiday in the States. Neither had ever been. John wanted to travel, see the sun, meet a few girls maybe. Sherlock just wanted to humour John.
And the thought of spending their last summer— before they separated for Uni— alone... It was a thoroughly unappealing idea. So off they went.
It was July fourth, and John was like an eager puppy for those bloody fireworks. For fuck's sake, thought Sherlock, watching John finally reach a deserted spot on the grass with a a triumphant little grin, you'd think the man had never seen them before.
Disneyland fireworks, John had said. Disneyland fireworks were different. Special. Sherlock had scoffed. They were all the same. Lights in the sky, ooh. They were all just chemical reactions shot up into the air for people to gawk at like idiots. In fact, more deaths happened in relation to—
The music began playing, loudly enough to be heard outside the barriers of the park to where John was spreading the blanket. Sherlock jerked in surprise, staring up as the first firework lit up the sky.
Hm. That was actually quite...
He must have stood there staring for a bit too long. When he finally came back to himself, John was chuckling and tugging on the leg of his trousers.
"Sit down," he ordered fondly, "you're blocking the view."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and sat down carefully beside John on the blanket. He opened his mouth to reply with a snappy retort, and John popped a chunk of cold watermelon into his mouth.
"Shut up and watch the damn fireworks."
Sherlock sighed around the mouthful of watermelon with a roll of his eyes and obeyed, stretching down onto his back to watch.
They really were quite lovely, he had to admit. The music added to it, resonating in his bones, punctuated by every boom that permeated the air around him. He felt entranced, awed in a way that echoed how he normally felt about his music. Rather than watching colours burst behind his eyes, this time he kept them wide open as the awe was accompanied by brilliant bursts of light.
When the music lulled slightly, transitioning into a softer piece, Sherlock turned to John to grin contentedly. Only to find John lying beside him on his own back, his head turned to stare over at Sherlock.
This wasn't altogether new. They'd been close friends for close to seven years now, but Sherlock had noticed lately how John's gaze tended to linger. How his eyes would darken almost imperceptibly when Sherlock was particularly clever, or closer than normal, or wore that purple shirt that pulled just a bit too tightly across his newly-broadening chest. None of it was conclusive proof, of course. Nothing Sherlock would ever risk losing John over. That wasn't an option, no matter what. So he brushed off the little details that made him wonder if there was something more just beneath the surface.
But now... Now John was staring at him, and he wasn't averting his gaze. And for once, neither was Sherlock. Instead, he watched as the bursts of light illuminated the tiny scrape of stubble that decorated his jaw, the golden flecks in his hair that flashed red and blue in tandem with the fireworks above.
Before Sherlock could study him further, John slowly lifted his hand from his stomach. Sherlock held his breath as John's fingers brushed lightly against his shoulder. A touch Sherlock felt through the thin t-shirt like an electric shock. There was nothing demanding in the touch, nothing so very life-changing.
And yet... John still watched him with hungry eyes. As though Sherlock's pale features were as beautiful in the light of the fireworks as John's.
Deciding to take a risk, emboldened by the heavy tthump of the fireworks in his chest and the look in John's wonderfully expressive eyes, Sherlock gently snagged the hand at his shoulder and brought it to his lips. The kiss was soft, so soft, barely even a kiss at all. Except that it was. And Sherlock couldn't believe his own daring as he stared back at John with something like quiet determination. A sense of yes, I'm doing this, and yes, I must be mad, but I'm going to do it anyway.
He watched as John's eyes darkened further, his chest heaving in a forced rhythm. John drew his hand away to sit up on one elbow, shuffling closer to Sherlock and leaning over him slightly. Sherlock couldn't breathe. John's face hovered above his, backlit by the brightly coloured fireworks still exploding merrily over his head.
The pounding beat of their explosions were nothing compared to Sherlock's beating heart as John leaned down further to brush tentative lips across Sherlock's. To his own frustration, his eyes slid shut against the light of the fireworks, to overwhelmed by sensation to even try and keep them open. John's free hand came up to cradle his face, and everything about the kiss was so gentle. So perfect. No one had ever accused Sherlock Holmes of being a romantic, but in that moment, he could have wept with the perfection of it all.
After not nearly enough time, John's lips slid away from his. The soft suction of their lips was drowned out by the music and noise, as was Sherlock's tiny whimper of dissatisfaction. John stared down at him in surprise, as if he hadn't been the one to initiate the damn thing. Sort of. It was all a bit fuzzy now.
A particularly large boom startled them back into the present, and they both smiled sheepishly at each other. Without another word, John rolled back over onto his back (although pressed quite pleasingly closer against Sherlock's side) and took Sherlock's hand in his own as he watched the fireworks with a grin of content. Sherlock mirrored him, popping another chunk of watermelon into his mouth.
They'd have to talk about it eventually, he knew. John would want to know what this meant, where it would go, how it would affect their friendship. All in good time. Maybe when the show ended, perhaps not even until they returned to their hotel room (Sherlock's grin widened as he considered the alternative possibilities in sleeping arrangements). It would happen. And for once, Sherlock didn't think he would mind taking about his blasted feelings.
For now, though, John seemed just as happy as Sherlock to simply lie back and enjoy the fireworks.
God, this was so sappy. I don't think I've written anything so flowery before, so hopefully it doesn't come off as sounding too ridiculous. Just a cute little scenario that popped into my head while I was watching the fireworks tonight. Not to toot my own horn, but ten points to me for managing to write a Fourth of July-themed fanfiction about characters from a British show.
The fireworks show at Disneyland really is gorgeous. I adore it. It's a personal dream of mine to be proposed to under those fireworks, I love them. And there actually is a grassy area just outside Downtown Disney where you can sit and watch them without having to pay to get in. It's lovely. Go do so if you ever get the chance.
Happy Fourth of July!