And the award goes too... My beta, the one, the only, Sherlockedmyheart!
More AN to come at the end, for now I present...
Two Knocks, Ch. 2 Twice Blind
The days went by as normally as a day living with the one and only Sherlock Holmes could go.
The second time was just after the events of 'The Blind Banker'. One of the nights I slept alone at 221B Baker Street, there came the two knocks.
"John, are you awake?" Sherlock called softly.
Sighing, I thought over saying no. Concluding that he would simply barge in anyway, so I said, "Yes, come in."
The door swiftly opened, and Sherlock was framed by the light as he stood in the doorway.
"Let me sleep in your bed." The baritone demanded.
"Only if you close the door behind you." I replied, resigned to this fate.
After a few quick strides, he was in my bed. He sat, curling into himself on the edge. I turned my head I looked at his curls. Suddenly I wondered how they smelt. How they would feel if I ran my hand though them. What he would say if I did...
I closed my eyes and dismissed the thoughts. I tried to pretend he wasn't there. I tried to pretend holding his hand did not feel better than holding Sarah's hand. Damn Sarah. Everything was going so well but our relationship was still failing. Whether it was Sherlock's interruptions, or my own failures I didn't know. I didn't want to know. I just wanted it to work for once.
"It won't work. Move on." Sherlock's voice drifted up in the dark.
"How'd you know that was what I was thinking of? Never mind, don't tell me. Why do you think it won't work out? We're fine." Even I knew that I emphasized the fine a little too much.
"The worry lines on your face say otherwise. The body language when you're together says she wrote you off subconsciously, sooner than latter she'll figure that out." Said Sherlock in an almost bored tone. He stretched out flat on his back forcing me to move over, his hands behind his head.
"Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about. Your not even interested in women so what would you know about this sort of thing anyway?" My voice sounded desperate even to my ears. He turned to look me in the eye.
"I never said I wasn't interested, just that they weren't my forte. Also I am very good at noticing the world and people around me." Sherlock said as his eyes burned into mine. "So much so that I created my own job of Consulting Detective. I am brilliant. Don't ever doubt that." The sharp edge in his voice emphasized every word.
He looked away and squeezed my hand once.
"But you're not interested are you?"
There was a conspicuous silence after that.
I tired again in a few minutes, "Sherlock, are you interested in women?"
Nothing. No response.
I looked down and saw that he had fallen asleep, with no pillow, hands cradling his head. I resisted the urge to pet his hair and looked away. The man was an egocentric (granted with resin), insomniac, self described high functioning sociopath who was probably in reality on the autism spectrum. Yet I put up with him.
Glancing back I resisted the urge to touch his hair. I counted sheep the rest of the night, deliberately ignoring the urge to touch the man sitting not one foot away from me and the startling heat in my belly.
I woke up the next morning remembering parts of a dream; soft lips on my forehead saying they loved me, fingers stroking my cheek, someone's forehead pressed to mine nose to nose...
There came the click of the door and I opened my eyes.
That couldn't have been...? No. No. Never. He would never... He didn't think like that. The bastard was as asexual as they come. He'd never guess what feelings are like, especially this sort. Never. It was a dream. A dream, I instead to myself. It could never be, would never be, anything else.
When I made my tea Sherlock refused to look at me, even as I handed him his morning cup.
AN:
Thanks to my beta, for she is of the editing species we need and love so dearly.
Thank you for reading! Don't be disappointed about the M rating yet, I promise you there be smut ahead...
I'd like you to meet my good friend Usa-Chan.
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