John Thinks Things Through ('Things' being mostly sex)
John had slept poorly and, by morning, was not in a mood conducive to giving statements to the police. Needs must though, and he had promised Greg, so he dutifully dragged himself out of bed and off through the London drizzle to New Scotland Yard. The adrenaline (and, sadly, the endorphins) had long since worn off, and by the time he was done with the police, he was seriously flagging. Thankfully, Greg seemed to realise this and summoned up a firearms tech to give him his Browning back, before sending him home.
"You look like death!" Greg had said to him, oblivious to any irony, as he left.
By the time he got back to the flat, Sherlock had finished his experiment, and had miraculously tidied some of it away, before leaving. John was uncharacteristically glad to be alone.
He dropped into his armchair with a deep sigh.
God, he was an idiot. Idiot! It was all happening again.
First, it was the meanest girl in his class in secondary school.
Then it was the married head of department on his uni course.
After that came his fucking drill sergeant.
The less said about his own sister's girlfriend the better.
Then the nurse (again married) who was in charge of him when he was convalescing
And most recently, his boss at the clinic.
Since he was fucking fifteen he had been falling for exactly the people who would get him in the most fucking trouble. And yes, it was always spectacular while it lasted, but afterwards...well, he had a scar on the right side of his chest that Sherlock had taken one look at and surmised that John had been scratched by a dog. It just went to show that Sherlock's knowledge still had holes, if he couldn't identify the marks of mean girl fingernails.
And that was among the less unpleasant results.
Every damn time he went head over heels for the person who was guaranteed to cock up his life, make a mess of his career...and hurt him.
And now, the pinnacle of this, the absolute fucking zenith, was Sherlock Holmes.
He was a god damned moron.
Out of all of them, Sherlock was the only one who could make him so damn angry with a word or a look, who could make him, in spite of his usual self-assurance, feel like a helpless child. He took John for granted, mocked him, undermined him, led him into embarrassment and ridicule...
And yet John knew, unequivocally, that any loyalty he showed to Sherlock would be returned without a thought, should he need it. That, as much as Sherlock mocked the idea of trust, he trusted John. And that, no matter how much Sherlock lied to and tricked him, John could trust him, when it counted.
He knew that Sherlock came as close as was possible, for him, to caring. Caring for John.
John wasn't sure if the man was even capable of love, but he...well, that was the issue here, wasn't it. Did he?
God, it hurt when Sherlock behaved like he had last night. The harsh cruelty he could show, when he didn't think he needed to make the effort to behave. The disdain for people, harmless, normal people, no matter if they loved or hated him.
And yet, even as John was biting back fury at the way Sherlock had brushed Molly aside, his whole self had been suffused with warmth and hope at the relief in Sherlock's face as he checked John over.
If this was love, it was unlike any other love John had ever felt. It was stranger, more brightly burning, giddying almost.
Stronger?
John realised with a start that he couldn't imagine not feeling this way about Sherlock. Whether it was romantic or merely friendly devotion, it was here to stay.
He was jerked from his musings by the ringing of his mobile, and he fished it out of his pocket and looked at the screen.
Molly.
After a moment of hunting for the right button, he pressed it and put the phone to his ear.
"Hello Molly. Everything alright?"
"Yes! Yes, thank you. Um...are you alright? You're not...um..."
"I'm fine, thanks. Though I've been at the Yard all morning giving statements. It's enough to make anyone feel a bit rough."
She chuckled a bit, and John could tell that she was working up to saying something else. He kept his mouth shut. After a moment, Molly cleared her throat and spoke again.
"Um...I wanted to say thank you for yesterday. I mean, to say properly, because I think I said it last night but last night was...um well...thank you. I mean for, you know, taking me to one side and sorting me out."
John felt his eyebrows go up.
"God! Oh, no, I didn't mean it like...I mean for...taking care of me. No! Oh no, that sounded... I meant for, for seeing to me. Oh God!"
John bit the tip of his tongue, hard, until the urge to laugh dissipated. "I know what you mean, Molly. And you don't have to thank me, I was glad to be able to help."
Molly gave a shaky sigh. "You're always so kind John. Really, I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't shown up and got me to walk around, even. Without even ev-everything else, that helped so much."
"Least I could do," John replied, feeling a bit bashful. "I take it you're home from hospital?"
"Yes, I just got back. Shock, you know, nothing serious. They set me up with an appointment with a counsellor, like you said."
"How are you feeling about going back to work?"
Molly made a sort of cringing noise, and when she spoke again it sounded like she was forcing herself to smile, talking through her teeth. "I'm, um, nervous, a bit. But I think I'll be alright, if I stay away from where...where he took me."
She broke off abruptly and John winced. "It's normal for it to be a bit daunting," he told her, as reassuringly as he could. "See if you can stay off work until you've seen the counsellor. It'll help." Like he had any room to talk after his therapy débâcle, but Molly was the sort that would probably find it useful. More receptive, perhaps.
"That's not a bad idea," she said with a sigh. "You've been so nice to me John." She paused again and seemed to be taking a deep breath. "If...um, would you let me repay your kindness?"
John smiled. "That's really not necessary Molly, but thanks. I'll see you soon, I'm sure. Give me a call if you need anything, won't you."
"Oh. Yes, um...yes. Thanks again John."
"G'bye."
"Bye," Molly replied brightly. He thought he heard her sigh before she hung up.
John put his phone on the desk and sat back down. That had been nice. Molly was a nice sort of girl, though, wasn't she. He was sort of relieved to have been broken out of his earlier reverie, but he still felt the confusion hanging over him. He'd have to get himself sorted out at some point.
He sighed and leaned his head back against the top of the chair. There was still a damp mark on the ceiling from where Sherlock had thrown saline all over the place a few days ago. Bastard.
That thing with Molly...well, it hadn't left him as upset or as shocked as he thought it should have done, which was a little worrying. He had killed a man. But, again, not a very nice man. Not at all. And, as he'd said to Sherlock, if it meant that Molly lived to tell the tale, he didn't have any regrets. And then...
Up until yesterday night, it had been over seven months since John had had carnal knowledge of anything other than his own left hand, but it hadn't felt...it was weird, but it really didn't feel, now, like he'd had sex. He supposed that it was the situation they'd been in. There had been no sense of relaxation afterwards, no alleviation of frustration.
It had been good though. Molly was more of a heavy breather than a moaner, which really did it for John. And she was a sweet girl, very pretty in her way, though not really John's type.
It was only really since he'd come home from Afghanistan that John had started to take relationships seriously. He'd been the sort of boy who dated a lot, maybe got his end away a few times, when he was a teenager. Then, in uni, sex was easy to come by (sometimes in the bed of one's department head which you really weren't supposed to do) and dating was often just a pass-time. He'd been a bit...not really better looking, but maybe fresher looking when he'd been placed in the hospital, and the stuff he and some of the other staff got up to would have seriously broken hygiene regs at times. And then, of course, the army, where sex was considered a healthy option for much needed stress relief and John had had a whole list of friends and acquaintances to whom he could go for a bunk up if he needed it, and who would often come to him in turn.
After he'd returned to London though, he had,at some point, decided it was time to make a change. He wanted a partner, somebody to be with and make plans with, somebody to tuck himself into bed with at the end of the day. If only he could work out if he wanted Sherlock to fill that role for him.
It occurred to him to feel a bit bad for having casual sex with a sort-of friend while all wound up about Sherlock, but Sherlock was oblivious to both situations anyway, so he supposed it didn't matter for the time being.
Actually...it had only just occurred to him that Sherlock's deductions of John's actions last night had skipped over a pretty significant event. He hadn't realised that Molly and John had had sex. How had he missed it, John wondered. It wasn't at all like Sherlock to leave anything unsaid, no matter what the situation, and it wasn't like there were many possible interpretations for the evidence. He knew that he has been sweating like a pig, and his clothes were all scrunched up. Molly had been flushed and the back of her hair had been scraped into a mess by the wall. She'd been walking very carefully too. Frankly, John was surprised that Greg hadn't noticed. He'd worked out from various things Mycroft and Greg had said that Sherlock didn't have a lot of sexual experience. Surely though, he must have noticed something.
Perhaps Sherlock had noticed and was waiting for the most mortifying opportunity possible to speak up about it. The very thought made John shudder.
Well, either way, he decided, he wouldn't say anything to Sherlock about it. He didn't really want to end up discussing his sex life with him, not when he was still so confused about his feelings for him. He'd sort himself out and make a decision. And then...
Then he'd most likely have to be very brave.
John sighed loudly into the silent room, then got to his feet and went into the kitchen to set his gun to rights.
::
I really like writing awkward Molly, she's so damn cute :)
I also kind of think that John may have been a bit of a goer before the series, and it's relationships that he trips up on, rather than sex. So that's how I've interpreted his constant attempts at flirting and his occasionally counter-productive behaviour with women. Well, that and the fact that he's got it bad for Sherlock, natch.
Also, it's only just occurred to me, as I've been going over my notes, that as I'm planning to have each character POV as a separate chapter, this thing is going to have about 20 chapters, eventually. So when the chapters are short, I'll post two at a time. So be careful that you read them in the right order when that happens, because I've made the mistake of going to the most recent chapter when there have been two at once and it's so damn confusing and I can't cope with it and cry (not really) so just to let you know :)
