Many thanks to MrsNoggin for betaing. Chapter title taken from the song of the same name from Les Miserables.
"Are you coming?" Sherlock asked, putting on his coat.
John looked up from his chair in surprise
"Text from Lestrade," he explained, "There's been a string of robberies. He needs help, of course."
"I thought you weren't going to take on robberies."
"Well, I have decided to take this one on. Come on." He practically buzzed, bouncing up and down on his toes as he waited for John. It had been two weeks without a case, not that Sherlock had been idle. John had spent the past month chasing after Sherlock on cases, trying to prevent him from destroying the flat and antagonizing his brother.
"Look, Sherlock," John began awkwardly as he slid into his coat, "I know what you've been doing. And…and I appreciate it."
John recognized the expression on Sherlock's face- it was the look he wore when he was trying to pull one over on someone. It used to work on John, but he had long since been able to resist Sherlock's false charm.
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"You've been keeping me busy, trying to make it hard for me to sit and think about… about what happened."
"Yes, well, it makes the most sense. I can't have you moping around the flat."
"Right." John smiled, and followed Sherlock out the door.
"Hello John," Mycroft said, walking into 221b as if he owned the place. John wasn't surprised; the politician always seemed to have that air around him.
"Sherlock is out."
"I am aware of that. I came to speak with you. The conversation will go considerably easier if he is not present for it."
"What do you want?" John normally wasn't this short with Mycroft, but he had just spent three exhausting days trying to capture a team of robbers and all he wanted to do was sleep.
"I believe you are in need of a solicitor."
John's heart dropped. This was not a conversation he wanted to have with Mycroft, especially right now. "Why do you care? What's in it for you?"
"My brother is… rather fond of you," he said, the tone of his voice told John that he knew how Sherlock felt about him. "I would like to help him, and you, even if he doesn't wish for my assistance."
John let out a quiet "Oh," as he sat down on the couch.
"Of course, my solicitor will not charge you for her services."
"I don't need your charity," John snapped.
"Don't be ridiculous. You can hardly afford her on your own," Mycroft said.
John bristled with anger for a moment, frustrated with what he knew was the traditional Holmes way of insulting someone. Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten as he pushed his irritation away. He knew that Mycroft was right, and it would be foolish to refuse his offer. "Fine," he said, "Thank you."
"I will have her call you to set up an appointment." He nodded and left without saying goodbye, swinging his umbrella.
John watched him leave, trying to relax into the couch. Visits from Mycroft always put him on edge, and this one seemed to leave him more tense than usual. The older Holmes had only been away for five minutes before Sherlock dashed up the stairs, halting in the doorway.
"Mycroft," he spat.
John grunted his assent.
"Why was he here?" The contempt in his voice was unmistakable.
"He offered the use of his solicitor."
Sherlock stiffened. "Don't."
"You're being ridiculous." John pulled a face as he realised his echoing of Mycroft's words. "I'm sure they're more qualified than anyone I could afford."
"I'll find you someone. Don't let him…" Sherlock trailed off.
"Don't let him what?"
"You'll owe him a favour, and I'm positive whatever he has planned for you will not be pleasant."
"Planned?" John felt as if Sherlock was having a conversation that he could only hear every other sentence of.
"He obviously has something he needs you for, if he is offering to do this."
"Ah, I see." John sat forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. " Sherlock, this will really help expedite the divorce. I hate being stuck in this limbo- still technically married, but feeling single. It's been a month, and it still hurts, but I want to move past this. Having a top-notch solicitor will help."
Sherlock muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "arse," and flopped down on the couch. Tucking his feet under John's thigh, he threw an arm over his eyes, as dramatic as John had ever seen him.
They lapsed into silence, John focused on the telly while Sherlock seemed deep in thought. Only a few minutes passed before John's head drooped forward, eyes closing briefly before he caught himself, jerking back into consciousness.
"John," came a soft whisper from the opposite end of the couch, accompanied by a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Go 'way," he slurred, voice clumsy with sleep.
"Go to bed, John. You'll regret it in the morning if you sleep on the couch." He was pulled to his feet and steered toward the stairs. Stumbling into his room, he shucked his shoes and fell onto the mattress, sleep overtaking him completely.
Sherlock lips drifted down the line of John's jaw, peppering tiny kisses against his stubble. His calloused fingertips tickled John's sides as they moved lower, tracing the lines of his abdomen before settling in the crease of his hips. John arched up, silently begging Sherlock for release. He obliged, wrapping his fingers around John's erection. Leaning down, he pulled John's lower lip between his own…
John woke suddenly, his cock tenting the front of his pyjama pants. He swore to himself, trying to will his erection away, but found it impossible. He kept replaying his dream in his head, imagining what would have come next. The vision of dark curls and quicksilver eyes caused a surge of arousal downward, and he finally gave up, fingers wrapping around himself.
Brushing his thumb over the swollen head, he bit his lip at the sensation. He imagined Sherlock with his lips wrapped around him, bobbing as his tongue pressed against the underside of his cock. It was only the work of a few minutes before his back arched off the bed, fist pumping slowly as he rode out the waves of his orgasm. He felt he should have been embarrassed at how quickly he came, but the dream had been… intense.
John collapsed, realising that he would have to get up soon to change his come-covered pyjamas. A wave of guilt washed over him- he definitely should not have fantasized about Sherlock. Especially considering what Sherlock had confessed to him the other day. He had no idea if Sherlock still felt that way, but even if he didn't, it was more than a bit not good. Granted, John had known this before, but by the time he had figured it out, it was too late. He was already married with a baby on the way. So he had pushed those feelings away, hiding from his love for Sherlock by spending his time with Mary. John had needed to stamp down those emotions every time he had seen Sherlock, so he had distanced himself. Lying in his bed, however, he realised how futile it had been. A month back in 221 and he had fallen back into the familiar longing- imagining how the curls would feel threaded though his fingers, how Sherlock's ridiculous cupid's bow would feel pressed against his own lips, the taste of his alabaster skin.
Fuck, John thought, I'm completely head over heels.
It wasn't a new revelation, but the strength of it left him reeling. And he couldn't even act on his feelings. Mary may have cheated, but it wasn't in him to do the same thing. They were still technically married. And he didn't want to start a new relationship like that. It would practically doom the thing from the beginning. That is, if Sherlock would even want a relationship. John didn't know if Sherlock would even be interested in a relationship.
He rolled over, glancing at the clock.
6:47
Sighing, John rolled out of bed, shucking his damp clothing and throwing it into the laundry hamper. There was no point in going back to bed, so he pulled on an old jumper and comfortable pair of pyjama bottoms. He didn't have a shift at the surgery, and he planned on spending the day relaxing.
He padded downstairs quietly, trying to make sure he didn't wake Sherlock. Granted, usually he slept like the dead, but John didn't want to accidentally take away from the much needed rest.
Stepping into the living room, John was assaulted by a strong scent permeating the air. He was fairly sure it was bacon. Had Mrs. Hudson come up to prepare breakfast? John stepped into the kitchen and froze. A pyjama clad Sherlock stood in front of the stove, monitoring a pan of sizzling bacon. John hadn't expected to see him so soon after his… session. Sherlock would probably read it on his face. He schooled his expression, trying to hide his emotions deep inside.
"What are you doing?" John had thought that Sherlock didn't know how to cook, but apparently the assumption had been completely wrong.
"Making breakfast," Sherlock explained, the tone in his voice conveying his annoyance at the question. "I should think that would be obvious."
"Why?"
Sherlock threw John an exasperated look over his shoulder before turning back to the food. "You like breakfast."
"Oh," John felt stupid, reduced to one word responses. He was just so surprised at Sherlock's behavior. John slid into a seat at the kitchen table. Sherlock had moved all the science equipment to one end, leaving two chairs with a bit of space to actually eat. The detective set a plate down in front of John and joined him at the table.
"We don't have any brown sauce. And the toast may be a bit burnt, but we're now out of bread and I know you like it toasted."
John looked down at the food in front of him. The toast was definitely crispy around the edge, and the bacon was slightly undercooked, but he tucked in anyway. There was no way he wasn't going to eat this, considering how thoughtful this was, especially for Sherlock. The man never ate without John pestering him, and here he was making breakfast.
"It's good," he said, mouth full of dry sandwich.
"No, it's not, but thank you."
They ate slowly, enjoying each other's company. It was a rare occurrence that they were able to just be with each other without one of them having to rush off. John savored the quiet moment, relaxing in the warmth of their friendship. The ring of John's cell broke the comfortable silence. Not recognizing the number, he answered.
"Hello?"
"John Watson?"
"Speaking."
"This is Alanna Crowley's assistant. Mr. Holmes asked me to phone you to set up an appointment to discuss your pending divorce."
"Yes, yes, of course."
"Would tomorrow at two work for you at her office?"
"Sure. Um, where is her office?" John was impressed at how quickly he was able to get in to see the solicitor. Usually it took weeks. He supposed this was Mycroft's influence again.
"We are located on New Bridge street. Please bring all paperwork pertaining to your case. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Thank you," John said before Ms. Crowley's assistant hung up. He returned to the kitchen, but his appetite had gone, leaving an empty hole in its place. John noticed Sherlock staring at him, probably deducing everything about the call and how it made John feel.
"It's completely normal to feel conflicted about this," Sherlock offered.
"It's not that I'm conflicted," John replied, "I want to put this behind me. It's just… a difficult change. I thought Mary was all that I wanted, and deep down I think I knew it wasn't everything, but I had longed for that kind of stability since my last tour."
"Explain, please."
John took a deep breath. He knew what he wanted to say- that he had fallen, again, for Sherlock, but it didn't seem the right time. He wanted to take the genius' head between his hands and caress Sherlock's lips with his own, to take him, to twist his fingers through his dark curls, guiding the kiss and leaving both men weak at the knees. But he couldn't do it. The guilt that would come with that action would be unbearable, especially if the amount of guilt coming from simply fantasizing about his flatmate made him feel this bad.
Sherlock made a questioning sound, bringing John back to the present. Apparently he had taken too long to answer the question, and Sherlock's eyes were focused intently on his face. Fuck, John thought, he's probably figured all that out already.
"When I was with Mary, I was happy. I loved her. But there was always something missing. I don't know if a baby would have brought something to our marriage, and now I never will. But deep down, those months I spent away from here," he swept his arm out in a grand gesture to indicate the flat, "I missed it. Chasing after criminals, watching you figure things out at the crime scenes, the captures."
"Oh." For once it seemed Sherlock had nothing to say to such an intense statement. John felt deflated, despite keeping his outward appearance calm. He had practically admitted to Sherlock that his feelings were reciprocated, and all John had gotten in response was a one-syllable noise.
"Right, well, thank you for breakfast." The words sounded awkward in the sudden quiet of the flat. John turned into the sitting room, grabbing the newspaper and hiding behind it. He could feel Sherlock's gaze on him, be he ignored it, scanning the pages, but not really reading any of the articles. Mentally berating himself, John was thinking about a way to escape when Sherlock's phone beeped.
"It's Lestrade," he exclaimed, jumping up, "We have a case!"
"Already?" John moaned, but he still followed, sliding into the jacket Sherlock held for him. He followed the detective out the door, smiling. This was the life he wanted.