A/N: This chapter goes out to my solitary story follower. You know who you are ;)
On the dark streets of the city, one could clearly observe the silhouettes of two individuals, one noticeably taller than the other. The taller was shrouded in a long coat, his lengthy and unruly curls contrasting sharply with the lighter, cropped hair of his smaller companion.
After ten hours of what seemed to be nonstop running and no food, Sherlock had finally solved the case and had Lestrade arrest the proper criminals. All John wanted was to return to the flat and have a nice cup of tea, and perhaps order some takeout, but seeing as neither of them had any cash on them, John and Sherlock were forced to walk the twisting mile back to Baker Street.
Fortunately, the weather was comfortable and dry, although the temperature of the air dropped noticeably as the time approached 11 pm.
John eventually plucked up the courage to break the comfortable silence that had fallen between them as they walked side by side.
"Sherlock?"
"Hmm?"
John cleared his throat softly.
"We're…friends, right?"
Sherlock laughed unexpectedly. John was one of the few people lucky enough to get to hear Sherlock Holmes' genuine laugh, and that low, rumbling chuckle was enough to lift John's spirits any day.
John joined in laughing, and he shifted closer to Sherlock's side as they walked.
Sherlock beamed over at John, silver eyes twinkling not unlike the stars that peppered the midnight sky above them as he replied softly.
"Right."
John knew he should leave it at that; Sherlock had been more open with his emotions that past week after the incident at the pool with Moriarty than any other time since John had moved in, and it would be unfair of John to ask him for anything more. But…John needed to ask, he just had to.
"And…we'll always be together, right?"
Sherlock was silent for a few moments, and it was then plain that he wasn't going to answer. John didn't mind; the fact that Sherlock was still standing next to him was far more than enough.
Therefore, it surprised John when Sherlock suddenly spoke.
"The stars are beautiful tonight."
John wasn't expecting this. However, he tilted his head so he could better observe the vast array of lights splayed out above the tops of the buildings as well.
"Come on, let's get a closer look," Sherlock said with sudden excitement, before springing into action with a sudden vigor and beginning to climb up the fire escape on the nearest building.
John rolled his eyes, but smiled and followed nonetheless, like he had done nearly every single day of his life for the past year.
"Funny, though, coming from someone who doesn't even know how the solar system works," he said as he began to follow Sherlock up the creaking metal stairs to the flat roof.
"Well, that just makes it all the more mysterious, doesn't it?" Sherlock asked, emerging onto the roof with John close behind, and shoving his hands into the deep pockets of his jacket, tilting his head back and looking up at the sky. "An unsolved mystery is a beautiful thing."
"Really?" John was taken aback. "I would have thought it would annoy the hell out of you, if there's something you can't figure out."
Sherlock shrugged his thin shoulders indifferently.
"Sometimes, John, it's not my mystery to solve. It would be foolish to put my time and energy into something that's best left the way it is."
"Or into something that you'll delete two minutes later because you think it's pointless."
Sherlock laughed again, and while in reality it was merely a soft chuckle, John felt as though it had echoed across the quiet rooftops and made the air around them a little warmer.
"In some cases, yes, John, you are absolutely right."
John felt that little, irrational sense of pride that always came hand in hand with even the slightest bit of praise from the detective.
John didn't immediately realize that Sherlock was still speaking.
"…I mean, I still retain the basics – fusion occurs, Helium is produced, et cetera, et cetera. But…" Sherlock looked thoughtfully up at the sky. "Humankind – four thousands, maybe millions of years, humans have come up with theories about the stars, and they think they suddenly understand the meaning of life, while it's all really just some simple chemistry and astronomy." Sherlock shook his head, smiling fondly. "Humans are so stupid."
John was shuffling his feet uncomfortably. This didn't go unnoticed by Sherlock, who froze.
"Did I say something? I didn't mean that you were an idiot, John, I meant everybody else, obviously! I mean, yes, sometimes you can be a bit slow, but there's nothing wrong with that!"
"No, no, Sherlock, it's not that." John offered a weak smile. "I know I'm an idiot. It's fine."
Not bothering to rebuke John's words, Sherlock began to pace.
"So what was it, then?" he pressed. "It must have been something I said…Was it when I spoke about the irrational theories about the stars? You're not particularly religious, but as a man with very strong morals…oh."
Sherlock stopped pacing and turned to face John.
"John, do you place…personal sentiment in the night sky?"
John's face reddened minimally, and he hoped that Sherlock wouldn't notice under the dim light of the stars.
"It doesn't matter," he mumbled, turning away from the detective. "Anyway, we'd better go, it's getting late…"
Sherlock furrowed his brow.
"John, why won't you answer my question?" he called after him.
"Because, Sherlock," John replied, his voice raising despite himself as he turned around to face the detective, jaw clenching, "you'll just stand there blankly for a moment while I try to explain, before interjecting with some smartass comment of yours and making me feel like a total imbecile. You don't want to hear me talk. So let's just go, okay?"
John turned around again and made to start climbing down the fire escape, but before he could reach the edge of the roof, he felt a hand close around his forearm.
"John," Sherlock said, his eyes and voice both pleading in a manner that even John rarely saw. "I do want to hear you talk. That's why I asked you. Will you tell me? Please?"
John took a deep breath, willing himself to remain annoyed at Sherlock, but finding it very difficult when he was widening his sparkling eyes at John like that, and using proper manners, for god's sake.
"Fine," he finally replied, his voice much softer now as he followed Sherlock back to the center of the roof. They stood, side by side once more, both staring up into the endless heavens. It was several moments before John spoke.
"I don't have weird theories about the stars, or anything, like those ancient cultures you were talking about," John began slowly, eyeing Sherlock nervously before continuing. "But…they always seemed, I don't know, comforting, somehow. I know it sounds stupid, and I don't need you to tell me that," he finished quickly.
Sherlock's gaze lowered from the sky to meet John's.
"It doesn't sound stupid," he assured John, slightly alarmed by John's hesitation. "Tell me more."
John gaped at Sherlock for a few moments before he realized that the detective was being completely serious. He didn't think that Sherlock ever cared about his opinion, let alone his personal feelings about the stars,of all things.
"Alright," John said hesitantly, dragging his gaze back up to the sky and clearing his throat. "Well, like I said, I've always found the stars comforting, even as a little kid. My sister and I would always go and lie out in the backyard and watch them for hours, finding the constellations and whatnot. But even though the stars were always moving, and were always in a different place, there was a certain amount of predictability. You would always be able to find the right star, even if you had to wait for a while.
"Looking up into the sky always made me feel so small, but not in a bad way. I suppose I knew that I would always be overshadowed, but I still got to be a part of things in the universe, in my own way. And the stars don't know I'm there, but I know that they'll always be there, no matter what, and that's enough to make me feel better, if something's been bothering me.
"The stars are distant, and beautiful, and so difficult to understand, but I suppose none of that really matters, because their presence is enough to make me feel calmed, I suppose."
John realized his gaze had shifted over to Sherlock at some point during the explanation, and he was held in awe by the way the starlight seemed to reflect off of his pale skin, creating gentle shadows under his cheekbones. John cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his eyes to the concrete roof under his feet, awaiting the snarky comment that he knew was sure to come.
But probably the very last thing that John Watson expected to hear at that moment was –
"That was beautiful."
And John knew that his mouth must have fallen open, but he was too transfixed by the strange sense of awe that seemed to glow in Sherlock's silver eyes as he regarded John.
When John finally managed to close his mouth, he cleared his throat again, looking down at his feet before looking back up at Sherlock. He meant to mumble out a Thanks or possibly an astounded Really?
But what came out of John Watson's mouth instead was a timid, "I thought you didn't care about beauty?"
Something in Sherlock's eyes seemed to change, but John couldn't put his finger on it. Then, so quietly John thought he might have imagined it, Sherlock murmured, "I care."
But then Sherlock had turned and was looking back up at the sky almost deliberately, and John thought he detected a faint trace of embarrassment on Sherlock's features. But no, that couldn't be right. Sherlock Holmes was incapable of embarrassment.
"Thank you for telling me that, John," Sherlock said more loudly, sneaking a glance over at John. "It…means a lot."
This time, a surprised "Really?" found its way out of John's mouth.
A grin pulled at the corner of Sherlock's mouth.
"It was fantastic."
"You know you do that out loud?"
And for the third time that night, John's hearty laugh and Sherlock's baritone rumble melded together in the cold night air and in the clouds of their breath, echoing across the flat rooftops of London and travelling up towards the stars.
