Hello and Welcome!
"Sherlock", Sherlock Holmes X John Watson (2014) (a.k.a. Johnlock)
As usual, this chapter shall be different. "What's different this time?" you ask. This chapter is a long one that I woke up at 3:30 am to write the outline for, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
*IMPORTANT NOTE* These chapters, unless otherwise noted, will not be connected in any way. Meaning, one chapter might have lovely passionate sex, the next, shy and aloof that Sherlock and John haven't established any sort of relationship with. These, as I've stated before, are purely one-shots and in no way meant to be part of an overall storyline.
*ANOTHER IMPORTANT NOTE* So I haven't seen the episode in which John and Sherlock get drunk, go home, and play the game where they each have to guess who they are (Sherlock is Sherlock, John is Madonna: "Am I a pretty lady?"), so I made up my own drunk-scene! Before anyone goes bat-shit crazy about how inaccurate the miniscule information or the timeline of events according to the original Sherlock show is compared to what I'm writing, please know that the chapters I write are 200% fiction (yes, I said 200). The only "real" factors are John, Sherlock, other possible characters (i.e. Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Moriarty, etc.), and specific locations (i.e. 221B Baker St.).
I thank you for your patience and understanding. You are good people.
Thank you and Enjoy the Show!
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((Part 1))
John Watson knew Sherlock Holmes was gay. A lot of people did, for that matter. But he never expected to have strange and similar feelings for the man so inexperienced in love.
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John fumbled with the front door lock to his flat. It had been a long day and even longer mystery to solve. Yet they managed to catch the criminal, save the day (along with a few lives), and celebrate afterwards. That was the mistake.
He figured he would take Sherlock to a nice restaurant to not only mark their achievements as a team, but also to acknowledge their 4-years of friendship. It was kind of a big deal to Sherlock. Forgetting the fact that he didn't have anyone so close in his life (except maybe Mycroft, but brothers didn't count did they?), John finally forgave him from his two year absence of death. Things had almost gone back to normal.
John had gotten a girlfriend while Sherlock was "dead" and intended to propose marriage. And he had asked Sherlock to be the best man. The best man, of all things! Sherlock was already crushed enough that his best friend, flatmate, and "secret lover" as he called it (because of the assumptions of them being a couple from countless people) was getting himself hitched. It was worse that he was asked by that very person to be by his side; practically handing over his "lover" to a woman he barely knew and hardly trusted! Sherlock either wanted to shrivel up into a silent ball on the floor, or scream his head off and cry right in John's stupidly-adorable face. He was absolutely torn.
But now they were peaceful, and one of them had decided that drinking more than he should would be no problem to him. Sherlock had drained the bottle they shared during their meal while John just stared at him, halfway done with his second glass. He could hold his liquor just fine – Sherlock, apparently not so much.
So now here they were, outside their flat that they shared. The air around them was crisp and cool with the night close to approaching 10 o'clock, but Sherlock showed no signs of chill whatsoever. No goosebumps, no silky blue scarf wrapped around his pale neck, nothing! Just his collarbone exposed from his open coat and tight purple shirt, face flushed a light shade of pink, and a wide smile that made John feel better about anything just by looking at it. He had no idea what the drunkard was babbling about this time, but just the sound of his voice wrapped the day in a nice big bow.
John clicked the lock and pushed open the door, dragging Sherlock under his arm. They half-walked/half-trudged up the stairs, and had to stop once or twice to regain balance. Sherlock was starting to slip from John's grip and he didn't want his falling and breaking his neck. They stopped at the short flooring connecting the two thin staircases.
"Alright, Sherlock, you have to walk up this part yourself. My arm is nearly numb from carrying you," he gently leaned the dainty man against the wall and rotated his shoulder, trying to get the feeling back into his limb. It was the same feeling you get when your foot falls asleep, and it was not all that comfortable.
"But John ~" he started, staring up at the stairs that seemed to grow longer the more he stared at them, "it's so many stairs! You have to carry me!" Sherlock tried to wrap his lengthy arms around John's neck, but John grabbed his wrists in protests.
"Look, I'm not going to carry you, but I will help you get up, we'll get comfortable, and I'll make us some tea or something. Okay? How does that sound?" Sometimes he had to treat him like a child to get him to say anything rational. Sherlock pouted, but nodded his head. He let John take his hands and he guided him up the stairs. Sherlock grew happy at the sight of John's small hands inside his bigger ones. He started laughing.
"What's so funny?" John grunted, looking over his shoulder so he could see the next step behind him.
"Your hands are so tiny!"
"Yes, thank you, Sherlock." He tried not to sound too sarcastic.
"But you have a big heart so small hands are okay. Cute, in fact." He loosely curled his fingers over the backs of John's hands. The tips were cold from the lack of gloves on their way home. They almost made it to the top of the stairs when John stopped. He tried not to acknowledge the blush racing across his cheeks. It wasn't common for Sherlock to compliment him without some smart ass remark afterwards, especially after saying it so casually.
"Thank you," he smiled down at the detective.
"Look how high we are!" Sherlock unconsciously ignored John's response and glanced over the stair railing at the first floor. It wasn't high whatsoever, but who knows what went on in Sherlock's brilliant mind at any given time unless he spoke aloud.
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John was in the kitchen, busy with tea making. He was able to get Sherlock to lay on the sofa, give him his coat to hang up, and sit still so he wouldn't do anything stupid. So far, his role of playing "nurse" was going well. No pun there. John clicked off the stove and picked up the kettle of boiling water, ready to be distributed into two cups.
"I don't want you marrying Mary, John. I don't want to give you up."
John froze mid-pour. He didn't overflow the cup, but he stopped moving, analyzing the meaning of his words, and shocked that Sherlock would say that at all. He wasn't negatively surprised; he just never expected him to say that . . .
"What do you mean, Sherlock? You were dead for two years and I grew to love a nice and beautiful woman."
"Did you meet her after you found out I died? Was she –" Sherlock paused, "is she my replacement? What can she do for you that I can't, besides give you kids, of course, but even still –"
"Sherlock!" John ran to him and put his hands in his shoulders, instantly silencing him. "Why in the world would you think that?! I met her a good year after your death. I went to your grave every day I could and just talked to your headstone like you were still listening." What was he saying? "Mary could never replace you, Sherlock, you should know that by now!"
Sherlock stayed silent. He stared intensely at John with big blue eyes, eyes you could easily get lost in and never want to return from. But he broke the gaze and slumped back into the sofa with his back facing John.
"It's just, you're perfect," he muttered. "You're kind and smart and brave and strong. I feel like you're my other half, John. I most likely wouldn't be the person I am right now if just anyone was next to me." A headache started to form at the top of his forehead. He pressed on. "You're the only person I feel this comfortable around; as if I can tell you, and only you, anything and everything." John heard Sherlock's voice crack with a sniffle. "I always want to protect you from everything I can. I know you're a grown man from the military, but I still want to keep you out of harm's way." He looked over his shoulder to see John seated in the floor, giving the ranting man his full attention. The alcohol was starting to wear off, but there was no turning back now. "I fell off that roof because I wanted to protect you, John. Obviously it was a trick, but if I hadn't done that, I can't even imagine what would've happened to you. It's just that I really –"
John grabbed Sherlock in a tight embrace, nuzzling his face into the cool pale neck. His face had grown noticeably warm because of his friend's caring words.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I have a feeling I know what you're going to say and I know how hard this must be for you."
Sherlock shut his teary eyes and pulled John over him onto the couch so he had his face snuggled against John's stomach. He wrapped his arms around his waist and inhaled the sweet, sweater-scent of John Watson until he drifted asleep.
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The next few days were interesting. John knew how Sherlock felt about him – he could tell just by the way the man acted around him compared to other people – yet hasn't said a word about it since. It seemed to John that Sherlock had forgotten he had said that night at all. Maybe John could do a little experiment of his own . . .
Sherlock had once again done a brilliant job of solving another mystery, although it was a rather small one that would leave him bored as soon as they got seated into a taxi home. The evening traffic and trying to get a cab was horrendous (any normal person would have had serious case of road rage by the time they got to a stoplight), and John considered the fact of actually losing Sherlock in the sea of pedestrians and vehicles. That would be horrendous in its own way, wouldn't it?
John reached out and took Sherlock's large hand in his; Sherlock was right, he did have small hands compared to him. Nevertheless, he curled his fingers between Sherlock's own, gave a light squeeze, and pushed through the crowd of people with Sherlock behind him. With the amount of bodies and nighttime lights closing around them, one might think they were simply running to catch the next departing train or something.
He felt a squeeze back. He wasn't sure if it was to hold on through the sea of people, or simply to hold on tightly to John in a public place. If Sherlock had said anything against hand-holding, John couldn't hear a single word. Between the rush of cars, chattering of people, and the surprising fuzzy-feeling of his own head in this situation, he couldn't hear a damn thing. Not that he cared, anyway.
John grinned wide. He hadn't felt like this in years! He realized he only felt this way with Mary a few times within the first few months of dating her, but even then it wasn't as strong as it is now. Similar feelings sporadically happened to him when he was with Sherlock. A twisting sensation tingled high in his gut and he could tell that Sherlock's intense gaze was at the nape of his neck and back of his head.
Eventually, they ran through the crowds enough so there were only a few people here and there left standing around them. Most were walking past, unaware of the two men huffing and puffing for air. The chilly air felt good as it ran down their throats and through their lungs.
"Geeze, you have tight grip! Did you not hear me calling after you to slow down?" Sherlock was certainly caught off-guard when John took his hand and didn't pay attention to him.
"Sorry," John smiled, but didn't know what else to say. His mind was still working at a mile-a-minute. He didn't dare make eye contact, for fear that Sherlock would say something cute that he would deny by habit.
But Sherlock didn't say anything; he didn't know how to word his feelings or thoughts without drinking, and that probably wasn't going to happen again anytime soon. He looked down at the short man continuing to grasp his hand. He looked so bashful with his rosy cheeks and adorable smile that his own lips twitched to a happy grin. His stomach tightened.
"John," Sherlock's voice cracked as he muttered the name. John turned his head and found his gaze straight into the coat-covered chest. Long arms wrapped around him and pulled his close. Sherlock's wonderful scent filled his nose and eased his nerves. To John's surprise, he found himself relaxing at Sherlock's comforting touch. He closed his eyes and returned the embrace. He could feel the fast heartbeat above his breast plate against his ear. He didn't care if anyone saw them. He was happy right now with this man and that was all that mattered to him.
"John, I didn't get to, um," John looked lazily up at the attractive mess of curls above him, "tell you that night that I, um," Sherlock beamed nervously and looked away for an instant before resting his gaze back at John.
"I already said it was okay. I know, I'm your best friend, and you – "
"No, you're more than that to me." Sherlock's face grew hot and pink from the sudden blood rush to his cheeks.
He said it.
Not exactly the words he had in his mind, and certainly not like any cheesy romantic movie scene, but it certainly took John off guard.
"Think about it John. I'd go to great lengths to keep you safe and even greater lengths to see you happy."
"Sher –"
"No, John, you have to hear me out this time." John stayed silent and dropped his hands loosely to Sherlock's waist. Butterflies threatened to escape Sherlock's stomach, but he continued. "There's a lot I can't do on my own and I'm more than grateful to have you with me," Sherlock whispered. He wanted to say more, but he couldn't believe the emotional shock he just put himself through. Being solely focused on the facts and observations of everything around him most of his life, he felt insecure about feeling this strongly over something such as John. John chuckled sweetly.
"You look like a teenage girl, Sherlock."
"Shut up, I'm being serious!"
"So would a cute teenage girl who just finished confessing her love!" John joked. Sherlock stared at John, hoping he would try to pick up what he had just done and how difficult it was. John's expression dropped as he saw the emotion swell in Sherlock's eyes. No tears were forming, but they looked darker and deeper than usual. And John knew exactly what he meant.
Sherlock loved him.
His face rapidly darkened with red at the sudden realization. He released Sherlock's waist in slight astonishment, never breaking eye contact. How could a man this brilliant love a man as average as him?
John's cell phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket and the ringtone played loudly, interrupting the semi-awkward moment. Sherlock knew that ringtone too well and tried to ignore it when John quickly looked away to answer it.
"Mary! Hi, yes, we just finished up. Yes, we had to make a quick stop, but we're on our way back now." John silently motioned Sherlock to follow him to where the available taxis would be. "Yes, I love you too. Alright, see you soon."
Sherlock quickly brushed John's ever-so casual conversation with his fiancée of his out of his mind. He saw how flushed John's face had gotten – you couldn't tell Sherlock that he didn't feel something back. He could feel a small mixture of the harsh emotions bubbling in his chest. Jealousy? Envy? Regret? Too many confusing emotions for one night, he decided. Hopefully he could sleep in peace tonight and try to forget he almost had a shot with John Watson and almost succeeded. Hopefully.
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Hello Again! ^u^
See what I mean by "different"? It took me a long time to write this chapter (I enjoyed every minute of it though), and the next part of this mini-story will be posted when it is perfect! *Italian accent and kiss in the air*
I was writing an outline for another Johnlock story, except this time, it will be a four-way crossover including "Sherlock", "Doctor Who", "Lord of the Rings", and "Star Trek: Into Darkness" (gee, I wonder what the connection is). Basically, it's about John, still not able to move on after Sherlock's death, traveling through time and space to search for him. Sound interesting? (Please let me know . . . I'm trying to get different people's opinions about it and it would really help me out . . .)
Sorry for the extensive Author's Notes . . . So much I wanna say and not enough time to say it all, I guess . . .
Anywhoooooooo I'm done :3
Stay Awesome and Thanks a Bunches!
