Loud voices and the clinking of glasses filled the room. John did everything he could to drown it out, taking a gulp of his beer and closing his eyes. The day had been stressful, first the awkward elevator encounter with the honeymoon couple, then the flight cancellation, and finally the receiving of a room with only one bed. This is what stumped John. This is what caused him to be sitting in at the bar in the hotel lobby and trying to drown out the noise. Sherlock was a confusing person. John could never quite understand what went on in his crazy brain, and this time was no exception. Why on earth was he so excited to share a bed? Did Sherlock even understand what that entailed? The problem wasn't exactly all Sherlock though, it was partially John. John who was not gay. John who had girlfriends. John, who was completely and utterly in love with his flat mate. That was the part that stopped John.
Sherlock stood from the chair in the corner of the hotel room and paced back and forth, his hands folded neatly below his chin. 'Why on earth was John suddenly so on edge?' Sherlock couldn't help but think that he had done something wrong. 'I tried to act like an adult. I got us a room. I'm giving John his vacation time. I'm not being rude, and I'm giving him his space. What could possibly be wrong?' He continued to think about these things, eventually fully entering his mind palace, oblivious to the outside world.
John let out a sigh and threw some cash on the counter, swinging off the bar stool, and exiting the bar. He started walking towards the elevator but stopped himself. The evening was nice and John decided to take advantage of this beautiful location. When the elevator finally arrived, John turned the other way, heading towards the doors. As he left the hotel he was met by a tropical breeze, different than a regular breeze, different from a London breeze. A tropical breeze was somehow more refreshing and calming. John made his way towards the beach throwing of his shoes and stepping into the sand. His feet sunk in and John closed his eyes, listening to the ocean and feeling the slight buzz of alcohol through his body. He walked along the beach, surprisingly empty, and watched as the final part of the sun set beneath the ocean. 'Maybe', John thought. 'Maybe, just maybe, I could handle sleeping with Sherlock.'
The sun had finally set just as Sherlock had awoken from his mind palace. 'What time is it? Where is John? How long has he been gone?' Sherlock sprang up out of his seat and headed towards the door, quickly sending John a text.
Where are you? Can I come meet you? –SH
As Sherlock walked towards the elevator he tried to remember where John said he was going. 'Was it the pool? No… Was it the beach? No…. Oh! The bar, of course, that's always where John goes when he's distressed.' Sherlock hopped on the elevator and clicked the button for the lobby. When the elevator finally arrived Sherlock walked out, turning to the left and heading straight for the bar. Sherlock had a plan.
John took the few steps needed in order for his feet to get wet, the water tickling his toes as the sand swished between them. He smiled and backed up a few steps, finding a place to sit in the sand. The wind had picked up a bit and the breeze sent a shiver up John's legs. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees. John had thought the Sherlock bed situation through many times now and he decided what he would do. John had a plan.