Don't Ever Let Me Go
The silence in the flat was deafening, John decided. It had been more than an hour since Sherlock had said anything; he was just lying on the sofa, not moving. John counted down the seconds until Sherlock would burst. 3….2…1….
"Damnit!"
And there it was. Sherlock's baritone voice echoed throughout the flat. John raised his head from his laptop and looked at the man on the couch. Sherlock's spindly legs were curled up and chin was tucked into his chest. He looked so much like a child, it was humorous. John sighed, he knew what was bothering Sherlock. He was bored..again.
"What's wrong Sherlock," John asked, exasperated.
"I'm bored, John," Sherlock replied without glancing up.
John sighed. "Then maybe you should get out of the flat and stop bothering me!"
Sherlock groaned in reply and turned over. He was obviously going to be stubborn about the whole thing. John smirked, it was so like Sherlock. So why not give him a surprise, John thought. He quickly closed out from his blog and onto a travel website. He had enough money to spend, thanks to Mycroft's inconspicuous deposits into his bank account. After a good twenty minutes, John looked over at Sherlock, still unmoving, and smiled.
"Sherlock…You might want to go get packed," John said, happily. Sherlock rolled over and looked at him warily.
"Why?"
"Because, I have just bought us train tickets to Paris," John said, stifling a laugh as Sherlock's face turned to utter confusion.
"But, why?"
"Well why the hell not?" Sherlock looked at John, wanting an actual explanation. John sighed. "And also, you need to get out of the flat and away from London."
Sherlock sat there silently for a minute. "Well then. I'd better go and get packed," Sherlock said quietly, obviously not happy about it. John smiled and went to his room to pack his things.
It was late when they arrived in Paris. It had been a struggle on the train, trying to keep Sherlock from stating his deductions about the other train riders aloud. John actually had to bribe him by telling him that he would let Sherlock do whatever experiment he wanted when he got back to Baker Street. Sherlock had then wrapped his long, black coat around himself and shut up the entire trip. John had no doubts that Sherlock was making deductions in his mind and straining to keep them from bursting out. They had taken a cab to the hotel. The hotel that they were staying at was very quiet and not very busy, probably because they came on a Thursday. John checked in quickly and both of the men went up in the elevator.
They reached the 5th floor quickly and John navigated toward their room, practically dragging Sherlock behind him. Before John opened the door, he turned to face Sherlock. "Alright, Sherlock, what's wrong with you? You haven't said a word since we left Baker Street," John said, raising his eyebrows at the taller man.
Sherlock looked at John like he should have already known the answer. "Nothing's wrong with me. Although I was literally forced, against my will, to come here with you. Now, where's my room?" Sherlock asked, glancing around but returning to John.
"You don't have a separate room, Sherlock. It was too expensive. Luckily, I got a room with two beds for a lower price," John explained. Sherlock rolled his eyes as John unlocked the room and opened the door. They dumped their things and decided to not do anything at all. Well, actually, Sherlock did. He refused to go out, at all. Eventually, John dragged him out into the cool night of Paris. They ate a quick meal where their waitress insisted on them being a couple until Sherlock said something in French that made her turn as white as a sheet. Sherlock and John laughed and paid for their dinner. They walked around Paris, Sherlock pointing small things out that John would never have known.
Eventually, they ended up in front of the Eiffel Tower. John caught his breath; he had never seen it before. Sherlock just sighed. John's shoulder was tapped gently. A photographer was insisting that he took a picture of him and his boyfriend. John muttered, "I'm not his boyfriend," under his breath. They shuffled awkwardly next to each other, forcing their smiles. The photographer kept telling them to get closer. Soon, they were so close that John could feel Sherlock's rigid chest against his back, his breaths soft and steady. John shuffled a little bit away and the photographer told him to go back. God, we're making a scene here, John thought. He didn't move back and the photographer became exasperated. And was about to take the picture like this when Sherlock said, "Oh, for Pete's sake."
Sherlock looped his arm around John and ducked down to his lips. They were soft against John's lips, not too hungry, but passionate. John heard the camera click but he didn't care. All he cared about was Sherlock, and that was it. Sherlock released him gently and held out his hand. John took it happily. He felt as though he had just reached a sugar high, he was on top of the world now. The great Sherlock Holmes had actually kissed him! His heart and mind were confused. Sherlock had told him once that he didn't have any attachments to anyone, but then why would Sherlock kiss him? As Sherlock guided him through the back roads of Paris, John thought about why he had decided to come to Paris. Why Paris, of all places? Well a) it was close, b) he had the money, c) he wanted Sherlock to be with him, why else? In the back of his mind, John thought that it was because he wanted Sherlock to fall in love with him in the City of Love. But that was crazy. He was supposed to be straight. But now, John wasn't quite so sure.
He'd never had that strong of a reaction to a kiss before. He felt a light as air when Sherlock's lips landed on his. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice that they had already made it to the hotel, gone up the elevator and into their room. Sherlock was standing in front of him, waiting.
"Did you like it?" Sherlock's said softly, his eyes downcast. John stood, completely stunned.
"Like what?"
Sherlock's cheeks lit up with a rosy pink. "The kiss? Did you like it?"
John stood there, thinking. "Of course I did, bu-" John said, getting cut off. Sherlock had slammed him against the wall and started kissing him. It was a rough, fiery kiss that John hadn't responded to yet. He just felt Sherlock's lips pressing against his. John came out of his shock and started kissing back with the same amount of passion. Sherlock's tongue sought entrance and John allowed it. Sherlock's tongue slipped around in John's mouth, exploring.
They split away, gasping for air. Sherlock looked at John and whispered, "I don't think we're going to need that other bed."
That night, they slid into bed next to each other. Sherlock played with John's smooth, blond hair, taking in his features. John stole a quick kiss from Sherlock and lay there watching the detective turn into something else entirely. He always seemed like he didn't have any emotions but he did. He kept them locked away, somewhere in his mind palace, never letting them see daylight. Moonlight, on the other hand, was a completely different thing. His emotions came to the surface so vividly; it was like John was with another person. He was used to the cold, sadistic man with whom he shared a flat with, not some giddy lover. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and pulled him close, like a child would a stuffed animal during a storm. He kissed John's neck and face and lips tenderly.
"You are mine, and mine only, John. I won't let anyone take you away from me," Sherlock whispered, his lips brushing John's cheek. John kissed Sherlock's forehead.
"Of course," John said softly. Sherlock's ice blue eyes searched John's face for any hint of deception, but there wasn't any. John didn't care what people said about them anymore. He wouldn't shy away from the questions and looks. "I would proclaim it to all of London and wouldn't let anyone stop me," he confessed.
Sherlock looked satisfied. He snuggled his head into John's collarbone, resting it there. John's fingers explored Sherlock's arm and chest. He watched as the detective's breathing became regular and his eyes were completely closed. John draped his arm over Sherlock, making sure that no one would take him away from him during the night. He rested his face on Sherlock's and drifted into his first blissful sleep for a long time.
When John woke up, Sherlock was staring at him. "You look so calm when you sleep, John," Sherlock said, getting closer to the doctor. Sherlock's long arms wrapped around John's neck and his fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. Sherlock leaned forward and gave John a kiss which John returned eagerly. "Come on, John. We haven't seen the good parts of Paris yet." Sherlock untangled himself from John and rolled out of the bed.
John lay there silently, listening to Sherlock turn the shower on. John didn't register what he was doing until he opened the bathroom door. He silently stripped off his clothes and leaped into the shower with Sherlock. "John," Sherlock gasped. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him into a passionate, hungry kiss. The hot water coursed over their backs, making their kissing sloppier.
John broke off and stared into the taller man's eyes. "Sherlock Holmes, I love you so much," he purred. Sherlock almost looked surprised. "I have loved you since the day Mike introduced me to you. I love you when you bend over a murder victim. I love you when you make your outrageous deductions. I love you even when you explode something in our flat. I will always love you, Sherlock, always."
Sherlock looked at John with a mixture of love, sadness, and surprise. "Nobody has ever loved me like that. Not even my mother or Mycroft can say that," Sherlock whispered. "I….I…I love you too, John," he choked out. He looked confused now. "I've never said that to anyone before, John. You've taken a special place in, what is called, my heart. I never thought that I even had one until now but you've shown me that I do," he confessed.
A silent tear dripped down Sherlock's face, blending in with the water so that John couldn't see it. John stood there, dumbfounded. He was at a loss for words. John pulled Sherlock into a hug and Sherlock kissed his neck repeatedly. They stood there in the shower, embracing each other, not wanting to let go for fear that the other person would fall apart.
When the water ran cold, they stepped out of the shower together. From then on it was an uneventful day. Sherlock stole a quick kiss while they were getting dressed. When they walked around in the city, they held hands, occasionally getting shocked looks from others. It didn't matter anymore to John though, he didn't care what people thought anymore. He didn't have to tell people that they weren't a couple or that they weren't dating. He wanted to scream it from the rooftops and tell everyone that Sherlock and he were together. John didn't want to leave this moment; he and Sherlock were walking through an open air market, enjoying the pleasant, summer air. Sherlock looked like he was at peace here, away from the stress of cases and the insanity of London.
They wandered back to their hotel after a long day of touring the city. Sherlock resisted at first but John insisted and so Sherlock had to comply. John lay down on the bed, completely spent. Sherlock crawled in next to him, like a child. They lay there, John curled into Sherlock. Sherlock planted soft kisses on the back of John's neck.
"Thank you," Sherlock whispered.
"Why are you thanking me," John asked, confused.
"You were the one who made me come here, with you. I'm so very glad that you did," Sherlock replied.
"You were the one who had the courage to kiss me though," John said, smiling.
"True, but you suggested that I got out of the flat which got me thinking. About us, mind you."
They lay there silently once more as John thought. He thought about why he actually wanted to come. He had hoped that Sherlock would, indeed, fall for him here. He had no idea that Sherlock had felt that way about him since the moment they met. There was nothing better than knowing his attempts at love didn't have to be so disastrous anymore. He had someone now that he knew would never abandon him.
All those times that he thought a girl was perfect for him went to waste. He had someone whose angelic perfection could satisfy John any day. John turned to look at the man he loved. He had never really noticed the way Sherlock's hair curled and cascaded down his head. He never noticed that Sherlock's eyes had bits of grey, green and brown sprinkled in them. He never noticed the marble-like features of his face. He never noticed any of this and now he wished that he had. They could have had a wonderful relationship months before this vacation. But sadly, John never had the courage to tell Sherlock what he thought. There was something about this man's stoic beauty that caused John to lose his breath. There was something about the ivory pallor of Sherlock's skin that enthralled him. John twirled a dark curl of Sherlock's hair around his finger. Sherlock smiled a genuine smile that John didn't know he was capable of. It wasn't forced, it wasn't for a press photograph, and it was in the moment, with John.
God, he was amazing, John thought. There was something surreal about this moment. The fading sun was dancing across their bed, with their entangled bodies under the sheets. The light danced off of the back of John's head. Sherlock's lips skimmed across John's neck and collarbone, causing John to give a soft moan. Sherlock chuckled at the sound. They fell asleep quickly, trapped in each other's arms, not wanting to let go.
They woke early to pack for their return to London. They walked silently, hand in hand, to the train station. They boarded the train, still acquiring strange looks from other passengers. They sat together; John was looking out the window. A low whisper came to John's ear. "Thank you, John," Sherlock whispered. John smiled; he knew that Sherlock would thank him.
"You are quite welcome, Sherlock. I'm glad that you actually came," John whispered back. He rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder and listened to his steady breathing and heartbeat.
When they got back into London, they took a cab back to Baker Street. Life continued on as normal. They went to crime scenes, Sherlock astounded people with his deductions, and John went to the surgery, life carried on. It was only the nights that no one knew about. Those belonged to Sherlock and John only. They were filled with kisses and embraces, love and romance, passion and fire. These times were the times that Sherlock seemed completely human, not that cold shell that he placed around himself in the daytime.
"I love you so much, Sherlock and I'll never let you go," John whispered one night.
"I love you too, and neither will I," Sherlock whispered back, giving John a kiss between each word. They stood in the dark, the two lovers that were destined to come together, and they never let each other go.