October 17th, 2011
"So what can you deduce, John?" asked Sherlock.
"I'm not about to humiliate myself while you're obviously countless steps ahead of me, intellectually." John was angering.
"Your opinion has always mattered to me. Quite important, actually." Sherlock always knew how to lighten John's mood, although sometimes he seemed to only make it worse.
He accomplished the former. John's eyes softened; he cleared his throat and gave Sherlock a curt nod.
"Alright, so right back to it." Sherlock could never stay focused on something other than the case at hand for long. "What do you see?"
"Well," John began, "He is obviously mentally impaired judging from his, erm, location." He gave Sherlock a sideways glance. He returned John's with an equally questioning look. "From the continuous injuring and scarring of his wrists, I'd say he often strained against his restraints. Post-traumatic stress disorder? Schizophrenia? The list could be quite long but I have no idea of his history. But there was obviously some defining factor as to why he was here."
"Obviously." Sherlock could be such a complete arse. "But yes, you are right. There's something we're not seeing. Let's start from the bare details. He is found dead in solitary confinement, in this asylum. No breach in security, nothing on the cameras."
He pressed the pads of his fingers together to form a steeple under his lips. John thought to himself about how he could watch this man think for hours. He was like a hunter stalking his prey. Except the prey wasn't anything tangible. He was searching every nook and cranny of his expansive intellect for any and every answer to this mystery.
John realized what was running through his mind and quickly pushed it down. What are you doing Watson? Now and again he would catch himself thinking these strange thoughts about Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson's (and frankly everyone's) assumptions about Sherlock and himself were starting to mess with his brain. If you haven't forgotten, he thought to himself, you're straight and not whatsoever involved with Sherlock Holmes. The brain can be such a faulty piece of machinery. He sighed.
"I've got it!" shouted Sherlock, without noticing John's brief deviation of thought. "It was a suicide. Obvious, oh OBVIOUS!" His sudden outburst made John flinch. "He must've had someone working on the inside for him. Persuaded him to somehow get a knife to him to stab himself with. Then came in later to remove the weapon. Deleted the video data and replaced it with some sort of looped clip of this inmate sleeping. But the most brilliantly delicious question of all is why. Why would a guard succumb to the pleading of a mentally insane asylum inmate? Oh it's just BRILLIANT!" Sherlock was on a roll.
Suddenly, a security guard burst through the door, "What are you two doing in here! Are you with the police? Press? Just get out of here before I have you arrested for trespassing!"
"Come on Sherlock, we'll come back with a warrant tomorrow." John rubbed his eyes tiredly and followed Sherlock out of the cell.
The pair caught a cab back to Baker Street and climbed the steps up to their flat. They flopped into their armchairs, opposite from one another.
"So I'll phone Lestrade and see-"
"Sherlock, can we just relax for tonight? It's been a long day. Let's just watch some telly. Cuppa?"
"Yes, thanks." Sherlock replied. John got up and headed to the kitchen to boil the water for the tea. He grabbed some biscuits from the cupboard and arranged them on a plate. He brought the snack into the other room to see that his partner had relocated to the couch.
John placed the tray on the table and sat down next to Sherlock.
Hours passed and the two tired detectives started drifting off to sleep.
John felt his head drifting down and felt himself rest on Sherlock's shoulder. He didn't even mind as he was too tired.
They both awoke the next morning with a shout from Lestrade. John looked up to find Sherlock's arm around his back and John's arm hugging his friend's midsection. John was resting his head on his shoulder with Sherlock's head on John's. He had been almost snuggling up to Sherlock's neck when he awoke. John sprang away from Sherlock's embrace with a slight blush on his cheeks. Sherlock's lips curled up into a sly grin.
"What a nice snuggle," Sherlock said with a widening of the grin John knew so well and loved so much.
John cleared his throat softly and replied rather sheepishly, "Yes, it was, wasn't it."
Lestrade burst into their little confusing world, "Are you two coming out of your little cuddle session any time soon? Are you going to finish this case any time soon?"
"Yes, keep your trousers on, Lestrade," Sherlock waved him off.
"I'll be waiting in the car downstairs, hurry up!" Lestrade was down the stairs.
December 22nd, 2011
"So are we doing this whole Christmas thing, Sherlock?" John asked him. They were sitting in their usual armchairs, just watching telly. "Presents and all?"
"Why not, we've been practically dating for years now," Sherlock agreed.
John looked at Sherlock from under his eyelids. Sherlock looked back and with a slight smile turned back to the screen. Did he mean anything by that? Does he have feelings? Oh shut up Watson, you insufferable child. You overthink everything. He's right, we do almost everything together. Best friends. John gave himself a curt nod and refocused on the tv.
"Would you want to come visit my parents with me for the holidays?" John asked tentatively.
With a slight pause, he answered. "Sure John, sounds lovely!" John detected forced enthusiasm.
"If you don't want to go, it's perfectly fine! It's not like you're obligated to join me." Did John wish he was?
"John, I'm happy to go. Leaving tomorrow I deduce from the clothes laid out on your bed."
"Yes and you'd best pack too. Flight leaves early."
December 23rd, 2011
John and Sherlock boarded the plane uneventfully. The dreadfully early hour had both of them nodding off to sleep soon enough. Once again, John felt himself dropping onto Sherlock's shoulder. It's actually a perfect height for my head, John noticed to himself. Quite comfortable. John fell asleep with a small, absentminded smile running across his face.
John woke up with the side of Sherlock's face resting on his sandy blond hair. He didn't move as to not wake him up. John took a moment to breathe in his cologne. Radiating from his neck, the seductive scent made John want to stay here with this man for as long as possible. Without meaning to, John reached up to nuzzle into Sherlock's collar and neck. He stayed there for a few minutes, memorizing the smell of the vulnerable, sleeping man.
The pilot then announced that they would be landing soon, and to fasten their seatbelts for the arrival. Sherlock awoke at the sound and John shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He wasn't ready to get up just yet. How often does this opportunity come around? John tried not to question exactly what he was doing and instead put his thoughts back into the moment.
Suddenly, Sherlock reached a hand up to John's face and brushed his hair back from his forehead, being careful not to "wake" him. Sherlock's fingertips trailed down John's hairline. John could not help being overcome with the chills that rippled down his spine. Sherlock dropped his hand and, at that, John feigned awakening.
"Are we here?" John pretended to sound sleepy and disoriented.
"Almost," Sherlock replied. "We're about to land."
John hoped Sherlock couldn't detect the lie in his actions.