A/N: Yes, sorry about the long wait. (And believe me, it's not worth it.) But I went on holiday and then I went back to uni last week. My professors think it's a good idea to start each semester with a couple of exams, which is a lame excuse for not updating sooner. Also, I'm thinking about changing the genre, because the story is going into another direction than I had intended. We'll see.
I'm gonna try and write the next part before Christmas. Really.
Chapter 4 – The One Where John Thinks About Stuff
It's evening, and John is back in his tiny flat. He is exhausted and has difficulties keeping his eyes open. But he knows that he won't be able to fall asleep if he would go to bed now. The thoughts in his head are spinning around at the speed of light. Once, he heard a story about tourists in Florence who are trying to visit as many museums as possible in less than 48 hours; they see so many things and have to cope with so many new impressions that their brains can't handle all the input and, inevitably, they faint. That's how John is feeling right now.
But that's not all. Ever since he left Laboratory 7, he can't stop grinning. On his way back to the flat he had to look at the ground all the time, because people started staring at him suspiciously on the tube. But John can't help grinning, no matter what he is doing or what he is thinking about. And every time his thoughts wander back to that lab and to Sherlock Holmes, his grin grows wider.
All this happiness has made John very tired. But he can't switch off his brain. So he is sitting in his green armchair, with a cup of tea on a small table next to him, watching telly. Well, watching is an exaggeration. He is looking at the screen, but not really seeing. If someone were to walk in right now and ask John what he was watching, he wouldn't be able to give a satisfying answer. John is thinking about the day. First, he had met Mike, whom he hadn't seen in ages. It had been nice to talk to someone besides his therapist. And thanks to Mike, John had met Sherlock Holmes.
Now, here's a thing about John Watson. John has been in love many times. All right, to be in love is too strong a term. Let's call it to have a crush on. John has had a crush on someone lots of times before. Like that one time in seventh grade. His parents were really proud of their son, because of his good marks in maths. But all that John wanted was to impress his teacher, a nice, very pretty young woman, who had just graduated from uni. Or that one time in med school – a tutor. Or that other time in med school – a fellow student. The list is actually quite long. John has also had crushes on men before. And then, in Afghanistan … But John doesn't want to think about that right now. Because thinking about what happened in Afghanistan is still too painful.
That's another reason why John can't go to bed. He has to think about if he's ready to commit to another person so soon after, well, everything. So why now? Why are his feelings for Sherlock Holmes so similar to and yet so different from anything he has experienced before? Especially after seeing him only for about ten minutes and after exchanging a couple of sentences with him. John hasn't got an answer to any of these questions, just as he has no idea what's on telly this evening. His feelings are the same and yet completely different, and that's that. (John has a theory, though. It's because of those cheekbones. It's a stupid explanation, but the only one he has at the moment. And let's not forget about the black curls. Every time John's thoughts wander to that particular feature of Sherlock's body, the only thing he can think about is that he wants to touch them.)
And finally John thinks about the reason he met Sherlock Holmes: he is looking for a flatmate, which means that, very soon, they could be living together. And John can't wait to see where it goes from there. Because if there's one thing in this mess he's sure of, then it's that his feelings are mutual. Even though it's not easy to see through Sherlock Holmes (he seems to be living in a world of his own), John is sure that Sherlock Holmes is most definitely interested in him. After all, he was staring into John's eyes for quite a while, he was touching John's hand longer than necessary when he handed him back his phone, and he was smiling at John almost all the time. So when John finally does go to bed, he makes a mental not to call Sherlock Holmes the next day.
When John wakes up in the morning, he isn't so sure anymore. After all, he could be imagining things. He has spent so much time on his own lately that he is yearning for contact with other humans. So maybe his mind is playing tricks on him. Maybe he wants Sherlock Holmes to be interested in him. Also, that nightmare isn't helping. In his dream he had called Sherlock, but Sherlock had started laughing at him, and had told him that everything was just a joke and that he wasn't looking for a flatmate. But John knows better than that. If Afghanistan has taught him one thing, it's to seize every opportunity. And that's what he's going to do.
The first time John calls, Sherlock's phone seems to be switched off, because after ringing once, he gets to the voicemail. But John doesn't leave a message – that's a really weird thing to do. So he goes out for a walk and to get some milk. He always seems to be out of milk.
John takes the tube into the city again. And when he gets off, it's snowing. Snow in London! Miracles do happen, after all. John loves snow; he still gets really excited, as if he was a five-year-old boy. But the few snowflakes turn into a fierce blizzard in the blink of an eye. So John sits down inside a cosy Starbucks and watches the people outside who are trying to find shelter form the snowstorm, while sipping some sort of Christmas Special hot chocolate, which is supposed to taste of hazelnuts, but actually has a vanilla-y kind of taste.
While John is waiting for the storm to die down, he decides to try and call Sherlock again. This time the phone rings four times before John gets to the voicemail. So Sherlock doesn't seem to hear it. Or he can't pick up right now. Or he doesn't want to pick up right now. Maybe John should text him. But Sherlock told him to call him.
John has difficulties getting back home again. If there's one thing about snow in London that's really annoying, then it's that everybody acts as if they've never seen snow before, as if London was some city in the south of Italy where it never snows. So, of course, the public transport system breaks down. London can't handle six inches of snow without descending into chaos. John has to take a cab, which is taking ages to reach his flat. He doesn't even want to think about the bill. On the other hand, he really enjoys driving through a snowy London. It looks just like a fairytale with all the holiday lights illuminating the streets. For the first time in nearly 24 hours, John stops grinning. He rests his head against the cool glass of the car window and just smiles happily.
Back home, he tries calling Sherlock again. This time the phone rings twice. It's as if Sherlock has decided not to take the call. John feels a tiny bit disappointed. But even though he has tried to call Sherlock thrice now - unsuccessfully - he still is quite happy. Or let's call it contented. So he makes himself a cup of tea and sits down in front of the telly.
His phone wakes him quite abruptly. Is the ringtone always that loud? Well, it certainly is at two o'clock in the morning. John must've fallen asleep in front of the TV. And now his phone is ringing for a second time. John yawns, rubs his eyes, and grabs it. But his brain is too tired and drowsy to be able to make any sense of the name on the screen.
John picks up, his voice heavy with sleep. "Hello?"
"Hello, Doctor Watson," a really deep voice says, "Sherlock Holmes here."
Suddenly, John is wide awake. "Mr Holmes," he stammers. "Is everything all right? Has something happened?"
"Actually, I wanted to ask you that," Sherlock replies. "After all, you called me three times today."
"Yes, I did," John mumbles. He's a tiny bit confused by the genuine concern in Sherlock's voice. "I wanted to talk to you about the flat and all."
Silence. "Oh!" Sherlock finally exclaims. "And I thought that something terrible has happened. I didn't expect you to get back to me on this matter quite so quickly."
John doesn't even know how to respond to that. But he has to say something, so he tries to come up with a reasonable explanation. "I thought it would be best to discuss the matter before Christmas. Because the longer we wait –"
Sherlock interrupts John. "All right," he says. "What are you doing Christmas Eve?"