AN: As I'd promised: Here's my version of a Johnlock-New Year's Eve.
I wrote this sometime during this year, but I really wanted to post it on NYE, so here we are.
Either make some time skip until it's 2014 where you are or read it as a New Year's present :)
Have fun reading!
Sherlock was blaming himself for what had happened.
He blames himself every single day because it was John.
John always said it wasn't his fault. Sherlock didn't listen.
„Sherlock, come on!"
„No, John! I refuse to enjoy myself with such tedious traditions."
He turned around on the sofa, facing the cushion with his blue dressing gown tighter around his slender body.
„Sherlock, it's only once a year, come."
„Still too often if you ask me."
John stood next to his chair, giving his flatmate a stern look.
„No, Sherlock! You are not going to lie here on the sofa all night, sulking." He stepped forward, gripping his arm and tried to get his maniac of a flatmate off the sofa.
"Sherlock, come on. It won't take long, I promise."
He turned his head to look into the blonde's eyes. It took him mere seconds before he sighed and sat up.
"Fine. I'll go with you."
John smiled and went upstairs, shouting "You should get dressed, Sherlock. It's winter, so it's cold outside. Pyjama bottoms and your blue dressing gown, however flawless it may be, just won't do."
Sherlock got up and went to his bedroom to get dressed. He knew it had been Mrs. Hudsons idea that they celebrated New Year's Eve together and after John's one-hour-nagging, he had given up.
It had taken him some time but Sherlock had eventually realized that it was impossible by now to blend John out. Whenever he went to his mind palace, he ended up in a room labelled "My John".
It also occurred to him that he referred to his short army doctor-flatmate as "My John". At the beginning, the room in his mind palace had simply been labelled "John". But now that John had stuck with him for so long, he realized he'd become very possessive of this fascinating human being that was John Watson. It seemed that John was a never-ending mystery that even Sherlock would never be able to fully explore. He never ceased to surprise and amaze Sherlock.
He would go so far as to say John would kill for him (again). And Sherlock had the urge to protect his army doctor at any cost. Everything would be all right as long as John was safe.
"Sherlock? You've been in there for half an hour. Is everything all right?" John sounded concerned. He most likely was.
"I'm fine. I'll be right out." He quickly dressed and opened his door, almost colliding with John as he wanted to leave his room. Sherlock smirked.
"Shall we?" He strode past John down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson. John followed suit.
Their landlady came stepping out of her flat and the three went outside and stopped in front of their door, John looking at his watch and then into the sky.
"What are we waiting for, exactly?"
John smiled at his flatmate, answering "Midnight" before nudging Mrs. Hudson. She took a quick look at his watch, they shared a look and started counting in unison.
"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1,... Happy New Year!"
They hugged and John kissed Mrs. Hudson on the cheek before she went back inside. John turned around, looking at a flabbergasted Sherlock, fireworks going off above them, illuminating the dark sky.
"Happy New Year, Sherlock." John stepped closer, wrapping his arms around the taller man, burying his nose in Sherlock's shoulder to be able to inhale his flatmate's scent. Sherlock's arms were hanging limp at his side, but after a few moments, he tentatively wrapped his arms around John, his nose hidden in the shorter man's hair, silently sniffing, memorizing.
"Happy New Year, John!"
Sherlock let go and they stood next to each other, looking up at the sky that was now colourful and bright with all the fireworks. Nothing was said, even though both had plenty to share with the other.
"This is really beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yeah, John. Thank you for dragging me out here!"
John smiled. "Any time." They looked at each other and started laughing.
Sherlock observed he rather liked to see and hear John laugh. If John laughed, he couldn't help but laugh along; it was highly contagious.
"Sherlock, I-"
"No, John. Let me go first." The blonde nodded and motioned for the detective to go on.
Sherlock took a deep breath before he went on.
"There are only a few things in the world I don't understand. You know, relationships, socializing and emotions. I didn't need to. I had my work and I knew everything case-related." Sherlock started smiling and John was glad his taller flatmate wasn't close enough to hear his heartbeat almost stumbling over its own rhythm.
"And then you came and you are the biggest mystery I've ever had to face. You fascinate me, John."
John turned away, smiling and blushing.
"Look at me." He turned his blogger towards him again, putting his hand beneath John's chin so they could look into each other's eyes.
"You practically turned my life upside down. People always told me I was a machine, that I wasn't able to feel any emotions. I was alone and it had been all right that way. And I believed them. I thought of myself the way everyone else thought about me and quite frankly, I didn't care."
John got a sad look, listening to Sherlock and as the detective saw this, he nudged John's chin.
"Don't be sad, John. It's not your fault, practically everyone's an idiot and it's all in the past. What I'm trying to say is that all that changed when you invaded my life. Through you, I have realized that I do have a heart, John. It may be strange to hear that from me, but ever since I met you, I can feel. I can't block this out. It's pleasant but at the same time extremely frustrating for me to not have control over this emotion stuff. You made me more human, John, more like you. Mycroft kept telling me 'Caring is not an advantage' and I've always agreed with him until you."
John couldn't help but smile, a blush making its way to his cheeks and in that moment, he was glad that it was dark, so Sherlock couldn't see. Of course, it was Sherlock, if anyone would know, it would be him, but he was too preoccupied with what he wanted to say to notice.
"You are my advantage, John. You can never be boring, you just never cease to amaze me, you are far from predictable and you put up with me for so long. It is amazing that I'm never bored with you around and I trust you with my life. John, I would kill for you." He looked his blogger in the eyes, searching for something, anything.
Unconsciously, John leaned in as Sherlock dipped his head and their lips met briefly, softly.
It may seem kitschy and unreal, but right then and there, fireworks went off above them.
It only lasted a few mere seconds before John pulled back with wide eyes, looking shocked. Sherlock flinched away from John.
"I'm sorry... I-" He turned around and moved to walk away as pale, slender fingers curled around his wrist to stop him from leaving.
"John, no!" The grip got tighter and John was forced to stop or else he would've possibly hurt Sherlock. "Don't go." He sounded softer again, slight desperation audible in his silky smooth voice.
"Sherlock, let me go, please."
"No!" Now it was a growl and his grip got even tighter.
John looked at the ground as Sherlock forced him to turn around.
"We've just had this, John!"
Slowly, John tilted his head upwards to look the detective in the eyes.
Sherlock smiled at the blonde and John felt his heart beat faster, sure Sherlock could hear it.
But before he could dwell over it, he felt a familiar pair of lips touching his own. John felt lost and soon, he got lost in the kiss. He knew how much he'd wanted this and as Sherlock wrapped his arms around his blogger, he knew he felt the same.
Sherlock felt a rush claim his body, washing over him like the drugs used to do. John turned out to be a replacement for the cocaine. He was the perfect drug and from now on his only one.
He felt a pair of strong arms around him to tug him close and deepen the kiss. He let his tongue glide across John's lower lip and as John happily obliged, Sherlock let his tongue slide inside, their tongues dancing together.
This time it lasted much longer as they both seemed to fall apart in the other's arms. When they broke for air, both panting heavily, neither wanted to let go, so they stayed like this, wrapped in each other's arms, their foreheads resting against one another.
They weren't looking at the other, both trying to catch their breath with their eyes closed as Sherlock opened his and broke the silence between them.
"What I was trying to tell you before" he gestured between them "...before all this..." He trailed off, thinking, trying to find the proper words. John looked at him expectantly, but he stayed quiet, waiting for Sherlock to go on. He knew it wouldn't take long, Sherlock was never lost for words. But it did take some time before the detective spoke again.
"Do you have any idea how much I want this, want you?"
John still couldn't think straight, his mind still foggy, his breathing too ragged and shallow to provide enough oxygen for his brain to function properly and his heartbeat too fast to supply the brain with oxygen even if there was enough.
"Ever since the day we met, John. Listen to me."
John shook his head to get out of his trance and raised his head to be able to look Sherlock in the eyes to show him that he was listening. While his blogger still didn't know how to talk, Sherlock was able to coherently voice his thoughts and that's what he did.
"You matter to me, John; always have, always will. You mean more to me than I care to admit. Your opinion is the only one I consider relevant. And..."
This time it was Sherlock's turn to look away and John put his hand beneath the detective's chin to make him look him in the eyes. John placed a soft kiss on the taller man's lips before he put his arms around his waist to pull him close, whispering in his ear "I love you too, you mad genius" and then pulling him down for another kiss while there were still fireworks in the sky, painting it blue, pink and green.
As they pulled back, smiling, they heard a bang. It was New Year's Eve, nothing unusual then, but John felt something wasn't right and he swirled around, his soldier instinct kicking in.
"Sherlock, did you hear that?"
Sherlock was still holding him tight as he started to look around as well.
"Gunshot." John nodded and kept a firm grip on his flatmate.
As another gunshot was fired, louder this time, John turned him around so he was shielding Sherlock before throwing him to the ground. Sherlock was lying on the floor, looking up wide-eyed at John, who was slowly crumpling down onto him.
"John! What is wrong?" He laid the shorter man on the floor, looking for a bullet hole while trying to keep him awake. As he saw the wound – 9mm, probably fired from a 15 meter distance, the entry wound indicates an angle of 15 degrees, so most likely the first floor of a building – he took off his coat and scarf, quickly crumpling the coat up to put it on the wound, the scarf tied around his waist to keep the coat in place.
Sherlock still kept one hand on his coat, increasing the pressure just enough to stop the blood loss while he reached inside his pocket to retrieve his mobile. He had Lestrade on speed dial, so it only took him mere seconds to get the DI on the line.
"Listen, Lestrade and don't interrupt. John's been shot in the stomach. He is losing a lot of blood and I want you to find whoever did this because I'm staying with John. You're most likely searching for a male who had access to the first floor of the building 15 meters south from our flat and has a 9mm. Just get here quickly or he may be gone when you arrive. Mycroft has most likely already sent one of his cars over to get us to the hospital as quickly as possible so we'll be okay. Just get him before I do! If I catch him first, I won't be held responsible for my own actions, Lestrade!" He ended the call and looked up to see a sleek black car turn around the corner and Sherlock's gaze shot down to John who was fighting to stay awake.
"John, stay with me! Stay with me, John!" It was turning into a mantra as he kept repeating those words to John as he picked him up to carry him to the car. He laid him across the seats in the back of the car, John's head cradled in his lap as they drove off. Sherlock kept talking while stroking his blogger's hair the whole way to St. Bart's.
As they stopped in front of the main entrance, Sherlock quickly picked John up again and strode inside, yelling for a doctor, not without calling them imbeciles, though. As a doctor and a few nurses arrived with a bed, he calmed down a little bit and laid him down, quickly explaining what had happened before the doctor yelled some commands and they all disappeared.
Sherlock sat down on one of those ugly, uncomfortable chairs in the hallways of the hospital and buried his face in his hands. He could feel a stinging where his heart is supposed to be. Sherlock felt guilty for letting John take the bullet. He was sure that deadly little piece of metal was initially meant for him and just because of him, John now had to suffer through the consequences. And Sherlock could only hope for John to make it through this. He would make it! Sherlock couldn't let his thoughts go in the other direction.
He just sat there, fighting. Fighting the urge to find the guy who did this to John and let him suffer for a while before slowly killing him. Fighting the urge to run into the OR, making sure the surgeons were doing everything possible the right way. Fighting the need to yell at the nurses because all of this would definitely be more than just 'a bit not good'. Sherlock sat there, hoping, no, knowing, fighting, waiting.
It took exactly 4 hours, 43 minutes and 58 seconds of trying to find an acceptable seating position and pacing the hallway to drive the nurses mad before the doctor who had yelled at his incompetent nurses stride towards him. Sherlock didn't voice his deductions – again a bit not good – but waited for the doctor to finally speak.
"Are you family?" Sherlock immediately disliked the doctor.
"No, we're together. I'm his boyfriend."
"Then I'm not allowed to give you any information."
That must have been it for Sherlock, he snapped.
"Listen, I know you hate your job because you think you don't earn enough money. But really, that his neither your wife's fault, who you're cheating on with her sister, nor your children's fault, who you are abusing. You get drunk after every shift and on top of this, you just recently started doing drugs, cocaine to be exact. You've started shaking, so it's been at least 10 hours since your last dosage. You always drink alone so nobody of your colleagues finds out about your drinking habit and the drugs. You are depressed but you fear seeing a therapist would ruin your reputation. You don't love your wife or your children, most likely because she cheated on you and got pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl.
You've given me enough information, doctor." He spat the last word out as he looked around to see if they were alone as he stepped closer, growling. "This just wasn't the informations I wanted. Are you willing to reconsider now?"
To say the doctor looked shocked would be a major understatement. He stared at Sherlock with wide eyes showing disbelief and as Sherlock had growled his question, the doctor had flinched, stepping away.
After some time of silence from the doctor, Sherlock was getting impatient.
"Did you hear me? I was wondering if you would like to reconsider and make a quick choice. I'm not really what one would call a patient person. And I advise you to choose wisely."
Sherlock now had him trapped between himself and a wall, recognizing the doctor's ragged breathing. He could almost smell his fear. And he had every right to be scared. After all, Sherlock was determined to get the information he wanted despite the consequences. But which could there be when Mycroft, the government, was having your back? Theoretically none and practically... well, most likely less than none if that was possible.
"So, what do you say, doctor?" No reaction.
"I offer you a deal. You tell me now and you'll keep me updated until I can see Dr. John H. Watson or you'll soon come home to the police searching for drugs. Your wife and children will be gone and you will be all alone in your big house without drugs. Oh, wait you won't even be home, 'cause I'll be sending you to rehab for endangering the life of the most important person to me. I'll personally kick your pompous, idiotic, imbecile ass if you're willing to choose that option. And as a bonus you are going to lose your approbation.
So, ready to make a choice? You should be, otherwise I'm going to make it for you."
John felt like a junkie would probably feel when he comes down from his high. The doctors must've given him all the drugs they had but it seemed as if those had worn off. He was in so much pain that he could barely think, wondering why he wasn't unconscious. Pure, excruciating stinging pain, accompanied by dizziness. He wanted to scream, but he couldn't. It took him a while to realize that he had a tube down his throat. So he was in a hospital, would explain the pain as well. As he tried to open his eyes, he found he couldn't.
Fear started to rise inside his chest, the feeling of not knowing what was going on. Where was Sherlock? Was he all right? What had happened? Why was he here? And where exactly was 'here'?
All these questions were floating around in his head as he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. It felt as if he was being torn in two. John tried to move and then the constant regular beeping that had been there was going faster, more erratic.
"What is wrong with him?" A man's voice. Concerned.
"I-I don't k-know." Female voice, most likely a nurse. So they were checking his heart rate constantly. But what was wrong with him?
"Check if he's awake, quick!" Panic. There was panic in the man's voice. Whatever they were doing to him, John wanted them to stop, wanted the pain to go away. So he forced his body to damn well better listen to his brain shouting "Move!"
"He's wiggling a finger! He's awake, doctor!"
John relaxed slightly, well as much as the pain would allow, as he heard the nurse's words.
He heard some footsteps, a short pop and then... nothing.
"So, what's it gonna be, doctor?"
He still seemed paralysed, being trapped by Sherlock who also was a lot taller which made him seem more frightening to the doctor.
"Are you deaf or just plain stupid? Don't answer that, you clearly are an idiot."
He saw the doctor flinch, so he supported himself on the wall, his hands next to the doctor's head.
"Make. A. God. Damn. Choice. Right. Fucking. Now."
Sherlock was growling again and his 'prisoner' flinched at every word.
"Fine, I'll tell you. I'm going to be ruined either way. This one's less self-destructive."
"Good doctor." Sherlock smiled self-satisfied and stepped back. The doctor straightened up and rearranged his clothes before he sat down on one of the chairs, motioning for Sherlock to take the seat next to him.
Just as he'd done that, the doctor started to speak properly this time, now that he wasn't threatened any more.
"We had to operate on him to get the bullet out and get the bleeding to stop. We managed to do so and got him fixed. His liver was hit, but we sewed it shut, hoping there won't be any permanent damage."
"And if there was?"
"Then he'd need a new one, Or part of it."
"I would be his donor!"
The doctor looked shocked, but it made sense. The man had afterall said that he was Dr. Watson's boyfriend.
Sherlock studied his expression as the doctor nodded and realised the stiffness in his posture.
"There's something you're not telling me. What is it?"
Although the doctor seemed to be afraid of Sherlock, he stayed silent, avoiding the detective's gaze. Sherlock started to really lose his patience with this imbecile 'doctor' sitting next to him now.
"Talk to me. Now. I can still make your life a living hell, doctor. Believe me, I have contacts." He was growling again and the doctor tensed visibly with every word Sherlock let out of his mouth with that now really husky, dangerously low voice he used.
"He has had a panic attack because he'd been awake some time during the operation. It seems the anaesthesia had subsided way too early."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and balled his hands into fists at his side, his knuckles turning even whiter than Sherlock's skin already was.
"Are you trying to fucking tell me that you and your complete team of imbecile, bumbling idiots were too plain stupid to give him general anaesthesia so he was awake when you cut him open to get the bullet out before sewing him back together?!"
Sherlock had jumped up, talking through gritted teeth while he trapped the doctor in the chair. The doctor fell back before an extremely pissed off consulting detective who started talking again then.
"You shouldn't be allowed here anymore because you are a horrible excuse for a doctor. I'm actually wondering how you made it through med school, probably your daddy buying your way through because you are clearly too stupid for being a doctor. So you know what? I'm going to make you pack your things once and for all. You are going to pay, I've got enough on you to prevent you from stepping inside this building in that fancy white coat of yours one more time. Are we clear?"
"Clear as crystal." He looked at the floor and Sherlock stepped back.
"Good, now go, pack your things. You don't have much time left. And I'm afraid you'll lower my IQ if we spend more wasted time together, breathing the same air."
The doctor hurried off and Sherlock fiddled his phone out of his pocket, dialling.
"Brother, dear. To what or whom do I owe the pleasure to hearing from you?"
"Let's skip the niceties, shall we? This is important, Mycroft. It has to do with John."
"Has Dr. Watson gotten in trouble?"
"No, he's in the hospital. John was shot."
"I will make sure he is going to be treated by the only doctor I trust."
"And I need you to do is make sure one other doctor will never be allowed to take one step into this building again."
"What do you have on him?"
"Enough to take his approbation for good."
"I will see to it, brother."
Sherlock hug up and went to the information desk, hoping the nurse sitting there was capable of using her few brain cells to the best of her abilities.
"Excuse me." He switched into charm mode and smiled brightly at her as she looked up "Hi. I'd like to know which room Dr. John Watson is in."
She smiled back at him as she said "One moment please, I'm gonna check."
She searched the name on the pc screen while Sherlock was waiting anxiously.
"I found it." She looked up at him again with a wide, most likely flirtatious smile spread across her face. "Room 21, that's just down this hall, last door on the right."
Sherlock flashed her the brightest fake smile he had in his repertoire, thanked her and went off.
As he stood in front of room 21, he took a deep breath before he even dared to reach out for the doorknob.
He was working with the police, so he surely was used to seeing people dead, poisoned, strangled, shot... But this, this was not just anybody, this was John, his John lying behind this door, severely wounded.
But Sherlock wanted to see him, needed to, had to. He needed to know for certain that he was still here with him, alive and breathing.
So he closed his eyes and breathed deeply 10 timed before he reached for the knob to open the door.
As he peeked his head inside, he froze at the sight before him. The door flung open and crashed against the wall but Sherlock didn't even react as he sunk to his knees, his face still frozen in shock.
"John?"
He got up and stumbled across the room to his whatever-they-were-now's bed, taking John's right hand in his, covering it with his left.
"I never should have let that happen. I'm so sorry, John."
He let his head fall onto their joined hands and felt them get wet. "See what you have done to me, John. I haven't cried since elementary school. I was 7 years, 8 months and 21 days old when dad broke my microscope in his drunken haze before he hit me again. That day I forced myself not to care, so I didn't. He must've hit me again after that, but I didn't care anymore. Until you came along. You small package of dangerous ex-army doctor covered in friendly-looking, woolly jumpers. You make me care again, John. If you leave me now, I'll go back to my sociopath-label. I'll shut myself off again and I'll be alone, not that I'd care, but still..." He looked at John who hadn't moved yet and went on. "Don't leave me, John. I'd be lost without you."
Sherlock took his left hand from John's and caressed the side of his face as he murmured "I love you" before he bent down to place a loving kiss on John's lips.
As he pulled back, he felt John's fingers wrap tighter around his own, so he looked down at their joined hands before settling his gaze on John's face again, starting to caress his face once more.
John leaned into the touch and opened his eyes to look into Sherlock's indescribably beautiful ones, smiling.
"I love you too, beautiful. And your father is an arse, although we may not have met if it hadn't been for what he's done to you. I do hate him but I love you just for being you."
John let go of Sherlock's hand to pull him down for a kiss as he wiped the tears away with his other hand.
Both smiled into the kiss and as Sherlock pulled back, his tears were gone and John noticed a glimmer in these beautiful man's eyes that he hadn't seen ever before.
Sherlock gave John one last kiss on his lips, another one on his nose and one on his forehead before he sat back down, holding John's hand in his.
"You called me beautiful."
Did Sherlock actually blush? John didn't think that was possible.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I? You are beautiful, Sherlock Holmes. Beautiful and incredibly smart."
John sat up slowly, flinching while he did so, and caressed Sherlock's face just the way he'd done it before, feeling the detective tilt his head to lean into the touch.
Sherlock then turned his head and kissed the palm of John's hand before he twined their fingers together when he spoke again.
"I was so afraid of losing you, John. Please, don't do this again. I couldn't bear the thought of being without you. And they didn't even want to tell me how you were. The doctor was an idiot, though."
"I didn't want you to end up in this bed. You would already be bored and I felt sorry for the nurses who would've had to take care of you. Plus" he lifted their twined hands to his lips and kissed the back of Sherlock's hand "I didn't want to see you lying here."
Sherlock was silent and looked at the ground.
"Is something wrong? You know you can tell me." John sounded concerned. It was definitely unusual for Sherlock to be that silent, not meeting John's eyes.
"Sherlock, look at me." Still no reaction from the detective.
"Please." This time Sherlock reacted and met John's eyes.
"The doctor."
"What about him?"
"He didn't want to tell me about your condition. So I deduced him and he shouldn't be allowed to do his job. I know I'm no saint, I did do drugs as well, but I'm not responsible for the lives of hundreds of people daily. In addition, he hits his children and comes to work drunk. I gave him a choice to either tell me how you were or I'll get his approbation revoked and he'd have to go to rehab. He chose to tell me about your condition."
"He was operating on me?!"
"Yes, but relax, I checked your file. Everything's fine given the circumstances." John let out a breath and Sherlock smiled at him reassuringly. "Anyways, after that I called Mycroft to ask him for a favour." John raised his eyebrows, but otherwise remained still. "It had to do with you, so it was extremely important. I asked him to make sure he couldn't hurt you anymore. No, John, Mycroft is not going to get him killed."
Sherlock looked at him, waiting for some seconds before he went on. " I have enough on him to stop him from setting one foot in this building ever again and I asked Mycroft to get this underway. He could have killed you just because he went to work, which he hates, drunken and high."
John nodded and Sherlock knew he understood.
"I couldn't have done this, but if I had been you in that situation, I probably would have done the same."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you have done the same?"
"Well, doctors usually aren't allowed to tell about the condition except for relatives. And you know Harry and I are not really on speaking terms, meaning I wouldn't want her here since she's got to deal with herself first. It's the same with you and Mycroft. You wouldn't want him here either. So, for the both of us that only leaves the other."
He looked at Sherlock who just stared at him in awe and John started beaming before Sherlock bent over to press his lips to John's.
"There's just one thing I've thought about though, Sherlock."
He looked at John quizzically.
"We could avoid all this deducing and blackmailing and most likely frightening the doctors quite easily."
Sherlock still didn't seem able to catch up. After all, emotions weren't really his area, so he just kept staring.
"I love you and if something like this happens, I want people to tell me immediately how you are."
Sherlock's eyes widened in realization as he dared to speak again.
"You want us to get married?"
"Yes, Sherlock. I want you to be my husband."
"Are you high?"
"No, Sherlock. I'm on painkillers, yes, but those don't affect my judgement and since the general anaesthesia has worn off long ago, I have perfect knowledge of what I'm saying."
Sherlock looked shocked and was hardly able to get the words out.
"You... want to... m-marry me?!"
John took Sherlock's face in his hands, meeting his eyes.
"Yes, Sherlock. Life can be short as we've just experienced. And I'm tired of wasting time instead of committing to you. I am yours already, but I want this to be real, I want everyone to see that you belong to me and I belong to you. So, I am in for the long haul if you are willing to take that step with me."
Sherlock was still flabbergasted, silently sitting there, staring at John who actually was waiting for a response that didn't come. So, John got tired of waiting and pulled the speechless consulting detective down towards him to give him a little nudge in the right direction by capturing Sherlock's lips with his own.
As he pulled back, Sherlock had stopped staring, his gate now focusing on John, his John.
John wanted him. He wanted him. He wanted him. He wanted him. No matter how often Sherlock said it in his head, no matter which word he stressed, it sounded unreal.
"John, I..." Sherlock still didn't know what to say. John just sat in his bed, intertwined their fingers and waited patiently for Sherlock to find his speech again while he ran his thumb across the white knuckles.
"I want you too, John. But you need to be absolutely sure about this because I won't share you and I'm never ever going to let you go then, understand?"
John felt Sherlock's gaze boring into his soul. He only managed to nod and Sherlock smirked.
One week, about 15 crying nurses, 2 extremely angry doctors later and lots of doing on Mycroft's side, John was being released.
"Sherlock, I can walk on my own perfectly fine, thank you very much." Sherlock was actually carrying John out of the hospital to the car Mycroft had sent.
"You mustn't exert yourself, John!"
John sighed to show Sherlock he'd won the discussion. His soon-to-be husband smiled and John couldn't help but mirror the expression.
Sherlock gently sat John down into the back seat before he ran to the other side of the car to slide in beside him.
They took off and after only a short amount of time, John felt his eyes droop and he let himself fall against Sherlock who then started stroking John's hair, watching him fall asleep quite quickly.
Sherlock smiled at John sleeping soundly, lying across the back seat with his head cradled in the curly haired detective's lap.
Although Sherlock was incredibly eager to find out what made his deadly blogger in innocent-looking jumpers sleep so content, he didn't dare move or make any kind of sound while they were driving except for the stroking of John's short blond hair.
They weren't far away from Baker Street anymore as John stirred and Sherlock went completely still, hands held up in surrender, holding his breath as he looked at John.
"No, don't." John opened his eyes and blearily gazed up at the detective, smiling.. "Don't stop that Sherlock, please." He raised his left hand, pulling him down at the collar of his coat to let their lips meet. John let go of Sherlock's collar and tangled his fingers in the silky curls instead.
As the detective felt his neck hurt, he pulled back, took off his coat and scarf to place it beneath John's head so he didn't have to reach that far down to kiss his blogger again.
"Thank you." John smiled again and gave Sherlock one quick peck on the lips before letting his head sink back down into Sherlock's lap, nuzzling his nose into Sherlock's belly, revelling in the smell of the coat and scarf, the smell that was unique and purely Sherlock.
"I love the way you smell" John mumbled into Sherlock's clothes before he went quiet again, his breathing evening out again as sleep won him over once more.
"I love you too, John. All of you." Sherlock placed a feather light kiss onto his forehead before he sat back up, starting to stroke John' hair again. Suddenly there was a noise and Sherlock flinched before realizing the sound came from John who seemed to purr. The detective smiled and never stopped stroking to not make the beautiful sound stop.
As the car stopped, Sherlock bent down, nuzzling at John's neck, dropping kisses here and there before John turned his head so their lips met. They kissed lazily for a few minutes, both not really caring what was happening around them, too lost in the moment and each other.
"We're home" Sherlock mumbled against John's lips because the shorter man didn't make any moves of letting his detective go.
But he made it out of John's 'iron grip' to get out of the car before taking his blogger with him, carrying him through the door that Mrs. Hudson had opened and up the stairs to their flat. John didn't bother protesting anymore since he knew he was at loss against Mr. Know-it-all. Sherlock put him down onto his bed, took off his shoes and jacket before he pulled the covers over his John. He then hurried off into the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with two cups of tea in his hands. After kicking his bedroom door closed with his foot, Sherlock slowly made his way towards the bed, placing both cups onto the bedside table before taking off his shoes and climbing into the bed beside John.
They both drank their tea in silence and as John had finished his, he laid down, snuggling close to Sherlock who then put his cup away to lovingly stroke John's hair in silence. John felt content listening to Sherlock's steady heartbeat, reminding him what he'd done for this man to save his life. He was glad he'd done it though.
"I'm sorry." This tore John out of his thoughts. "I really am."
John raised his head off Sherlock's chest to being able to look him in the eyes.
"Why? What for?" Sherlock turned his head away before answering.
"For letting you get shot."
Right then and there, John felt his heart shatter into a million pieces. He looked at the man next to him who had always proclaimed to be a sociopath without any feelings. And now this man was practically pouring his heart out to him and John's couldn't bear it.
"I'm not!" John suddenly said sternly, ripping Sherlock out of his thoughts.
"I'm not sorry I turned us so I would get shot instead of you. I'd do exactly the same thing if I'd have been put in that same position again." He placed one gentle finger beneath Sherlock's chin to turn his head towards him. "Look at me, you madman."
They locked gazes and Sherlock could see the softness in his eyes, reassuring him that he wasn't mad, that it was all right, that they were all right. "I wouldn't have wanted to start the new year with you in a hospital bed, probably dying of boredom or not starting any year with you anymore. I am a soldier, Sherlock. I've been shot before and you are way too thin to have been able to survive the bullet."
Sherlock still looked guilty. "I could have lost you." 5 words, barely audible, but John heard them and placed a short, gentle kiss on the detective's lips before pulling back to lean his forehead against Sherlock's, whispering "I'm right here. And I'm not planning on going anywhere if it means leaving you."
Sherlock smiled and John felt like he could breathe again. The curly haired detective picked up the pieces of John's heart and put them back together, his love filling the holes and cracks to make it whole again.
"Thank you, John. For always being there, even when you're not, for taking care of me all the time, forcing me to eat and sleep, for caring so much to risk your life to save mine." He pulled John in for a quick kiss before laying back down, murmuring "Thank you for being you".
"You're welcome. Thank you for being the way you are. You're not a freak, don't let people label you. I love you for who you are and I always will."
"I love you too, John. And soon we'll be getting married and you will be mine forever."
John looked up at Sherlock. "I already am, in case you've forgotten. But I will gladly remind you. Every. Single. Day." He punctuated every word with a kiss before laying his head onto Sherlock's chest again, listening to his steady, comforting heartbeat. The sound of the heart he would die to protect slowly made his eyelids droop again as he carefully snuggled closer, wrapped in Sherlock's arms.
"Happy New Year, Sherlock."
He hardly heard Sherlock's answer before falling asleep with his arms around the man he loved.
Sherlock had stopped blaming himself for what had happened. Because for once, he was wrong and John had been right all along.
AN: I hope you liked this, please let me know whether you did or not.
Whatever you think, I wish you a wonderful 2014 with loads of Sherlock, happiness, love and everything you desire :)
May this year be amazing!
Love,
xxx