For merlynnllwyd. Hope you all enjoy!
CHAPTER FOUR
I Won't Let You Go ~ Snow Patrol
Pairing: Johnlock
Rating: T
Genre: Romance, with a tiny bit of angst I suppose. But mainly romance.
"Here."
John was shocked out of his reverie by a mug of tea making a sudden appearance in front of his face. Glancing up, he muttered a "thanks" at his flatmate, taking the steaming hot drink from his hands and into his own.
Sherlock settled in the armchair opposite, watching him carefully. John had barely reacted vocally to the encounters of that evening, but his body language was guarded, even from the deducing eyes of Sherlock Holmes. The silence that drowned them was uncomfortable, unusual in its intensity, and it was annoying the consulting detective.
John took a sip from the mug, then stared at it, confused. He cast his eyes across the room to the dark-haired, brooding man, and frowned slightly. "You made me tea," he stated, pursing his lips.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "My my, you're on the ball this evening, Doctor. "
"Ha bloody ha. You never make me tea. Ever."
"Well, I think you'll find you are completely incorrect in that assertion, John, since you hold in your hand a hot drink of the tea variety brewed exclusively by me," was the drawled, pointed response. John huffed, but said no more at that point, and they lapsed into silence again.
The constant ticking of the clock served only to annoy Sherlock further, meticulously counting the seconds that neither of them exchanged any form of communication. This was unheard of for them. Sherlock had become used, over the past couple of months, to the inane ramblings of John as he pottered about, or commented on something he was reading in the paper, or watching on the TV. Sherlock often didn't listen to the exact words, but had grown accustomed to the company of John's voice. And even when he wasn't talking, the silence wasn't like this. Not so ominous.
A fear suddenly engulfed him. Was John... planning on leaving? Was this last case proof of how dangerous life was with him? Would he lose his only friend?
He scoffed internally at the thought. John didn't even think of him as a friend, did he? He'd corrected that irksome Sebastian before, when Sherlock had introduced him as such. It had... it had hurt, Sherlock was surprised to admit to himself. He hadn't really considered it at the time, more interested in the case that had presented itself at the bank. John only thought of him as a colleague, and nothing more.
John shifted in his chair, his face looking troubled, and possibly a little nervous. Not surprising, considering what he and Sarah had been through - even Sherlock could see how being tied up and threatened in the way that they had been would be mildly disconcerting. But the danger had passed now, and they were safe - Sarah was back home, and John was here, drinking tea, the case solved. There was no need to be nervous now.
He could tell that John was about to say something, and sat back in his chair, trying to plaster an inviting expression on his face. John's annoying inability to be read had perplexed him, and he wanted to know what was going through his mind. He didn't allow his brain any time to question that - when had he ever cared what anyone was thinking before?
John carefully put his mug on the floor, and then locked eyes with Sherlock. His gaze was sharp, honest and open, but Sherlock did not allow himself the opportunity to try and deduce John.
"I'm sorry," John said. "For what I said to Sebastian. I don't know why I said it. I think I panicked."
Mildly surprised, knowing exactly what John meant, Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
"I do think of myself as your colleague," John said carefully. "But you are, also, my friend." He laughed hoarsely. "Possibly my closest friend, really. I've never felt so... alive, since living here, working with you. Even more than when I was in the army. And I've never, ever felt compelled to save someone's life - illegally - within 48 hours of meeting them."
There was a pause. Sherlock didn't try to interject this time, sensing there was more to be said.
"And you... you cured me," he said, the wonderment evident in his voice. "Something no doctor or therapist was able to do. Being with you, chasing around London... it cured me."
Sherlock hummed. "Well, I can see why you have such an upset, pained expression on your face then," he said sarcastically. "That all sounds just... dreadful."
John looked suddenly frantic, ignoring Sherlock's comments. He leaned forwards in his seat, hands gripping the arms of his chair. For a moment, Sherlock was suddenly struck by the set of his jaw, the edge to his whole demeanour. The way his eyes glinted with... fear? Possibly, but he sensed something else there. Something that made him feel quite... intrigued.
"You've never had this sort of... relationship... with anyone else, have you?" John said softly. "I'm the first person you've ever allowed in to your strange, exciting world."
His eyes narrowed. "John, I think this evening's happenings have made you somewhat delirious. Would you like me to find you some sort of painkiller? Maybe it'll help..." He rose to his feet and skipped past John's chair, into the kitchen, raking through his mind, trying desperately to think where the medicines were kept, genuinely concerned - another new one for him - about his friend's state of mind.
He felt, more than heard, John stand behind him. "It didn't scare me," he whispered. "Not really. The thrill of it all overrode any panic within me. Even when Sarah's life was in danger. I'm still on a high from being... there."
Thoughts of medication flew from Sherlock's mind as he turned to face John, a smile slowly spreading across his face. "A kindred spirit," he murmured, looking him up and down appraisingly. "You know, John, I always knew you needed a bit of danger in your life... but I think you crave it almost as much as I do."
John said nothing, clenching and unclenching his fists, as if unsure what to do with his hands.
Sherlock took a step towards him. "It's fine, John," he said slowly, almost coldly. "Just admit it. This is fun for you. I said it before, John... I say danger, and you come running."
He saw John gulp. He was mere inches from him now, assessing him carefully, noticing with some surprise as the pupils dilated. He knew, if he felt John's pulse, that it would be elevated. Maybe he got off on the thrill of danger just as much as he did. He could feel his own breath quicken slightly, the absolute joy of discovering there was someone who was even a little like him. Someone who didn't call him a freak, but who admired him for his quick deductions and impressive intellect - oh, now wasn't the time to be modest. Someone who tolerated him when he was at his worst. Someone who had lived with him for several weeks now without trying to murder him.
He stopped, probably a little too close for comfort, too close to be acceptable with most people, but John didn't seem to care. He blinked, suddenly struck by how delighted he was that John was so keen to stay right by his side. People annoyed him before. People still did annoy him. But not John. John was... different.
"You're right," he breathed, never looking away. "You're the first."
The date had been a disaster, obviously. No date that began with your flatmate showing up to join you, and ended with a near-death situation, could ever be classed as successful, but John had found that he simply didn't care. He'd made sure that Sarah was as settled as she possibly could be at her house, and had been glad when she hadn't asked him to stay with her, knowing full well that he would have felt obliged to after everything that had happened, had she asked. He had wanted to be with Sherlock and no one else. The date had made him realise that.
He hadn't allowed his mind to travel any further than that. The facts were solid - he had got a thrill from the whole case, essentially. The climax was breath-taking, extraordinary, and somehow he had always known that Sherlock would turn up and save the day. Of course he would. And he did, leaving it til the very last minute. So dramatic. So Sherlock. And John had loved it.
No one else could give him that thrill. That was the second fact. He knew deep down that he was happiest when he was at Baker Street, or on a case, but either way, Sherlock was always there. He had to be. It wasn't the same without him.
The third fact was that dating was out of the question. It had to be. Why on earth would he date when he could be at home, or out solving mysteries. Yes, his date that evening had been part of the thrill, but only because Sherlock had been there. So what on earth did it all mean?
What indeed.
"I finally feel at home," John said simply, too aware of the close proximity between himself and Sherlock, feeling suddenly breathless. "I've bounced from place to place over the years, but here I feel... right, I guess. And I know you don't go in for all that sentimental bollocks," he continued, chancing a grin but receiving none in return. "But... that's it, Sherlock, really."
Once again, Sherlock said nothing. His eyes flickered from John's eyes, to his mouth, to his shoulders, back up to his face, calculating, taking everything in. Despite how close they were standing, John didn't look nervous. Everything about him screamed "determined". His stance, the set of his mouth, the steely look in his eyes that somehow still conveyed a warmth that Sherlock had never experienced. He felt totally lost, in an entirely alien (to him) situation.
Before he could say anything, John grabbed suddenly at his wrist, feeling his pulse. Sherlock, a little startled, could only stare down at his fingers pressing onto his skin, and he could feel, he knew, that it was far higher than normal.
"Hmm. So maybe not just me, then," John murmured, releasing Sherlock's arm and moving his hands back to his sides. Sherlock lifted his head slowly back to John, and inhaled deeply, forgetting where they were, what time it was, even what day it was. All he could see, all he could concentrate on, was John.
"What's happening?" he whispered. John smiled suddenly, and Sherlock felt him lace his fingers into his own, clutching gently but reassuringly. He didn't pull away. Despite not liking any sort of physical contact from anyone... this felt right. When it was John, everything felt right, he realised with a jolt.
"I've never seen you look so terrified in your life," John said, still smiling gently. "When you said I was the first..."
"You're the first person I've ever let into my life," Sherlock clarified, still focussed on the warm touch of John's hand against his cool palm. When was the last time anyone had touched him with such tenderness? He sighed as he realised he couldn't remember, aside from his mother, anyone ever showing him any affection at all. This wasn't something that had ever previously bothered him, as far as he could remember. Physical attraction was something that he had never had to deal with, and he had never felt the need to pursue any sort of relationship, for he had never felt the need to have someone in any way. Yet now, he could feel his entire being yearning for something, anything, from John. The thought made him feel slightly...completely... terrified.
John quirked an eyebrow. "In what way?"
Sherlock swallowed. "In any way," he whispered. "If you let people in, eventually they'll let you down."
The look that passed over John's face was one of such sorrow that Sherlock immediately felt guilty, though he wasn't entirely sure why. He had said nothing to offend John, nothing that he could think of anyway. He had let John in, that was the point. He was as sure as he could be that John would not let him down. In a friendship capacity, anyway.
He withdrew his hand from John's clasp and took a step back, turning and moving to the sink. He needed time to think, he needed to get all these new thoughts that were swimming through his mind in some sort of order. John was such a anomaly, he didn't fit in with all his previous careful categories. He leant forwards onto the worktop... and suddenly felt John stood behind him, hands either side of his, blocking him in. His chest pressed against his back, his mouth breathing against his neck. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried hard not to panic and break away.
"I can't explain this," John said quietly, softly, and Sherlock opened his eyes again. Hearing John's calm voice suddenly soothed him. "I have no idea what's going on either, Sherlock. All I know is that I suddenly find myself attracted to you... in so many ways. Maybe it wasn't even that sudden a realisation. I think I may have suppressed... some feelings."
The detective exhaled.
"But I will never, willingly, leave you," John promised, and Sherlock knew, immediately, that he meant it. "I really have no intention of ever leaving you, Sherlock. I have no idea how I can know that within a few weeks, but somehow, I do. And that is why I felt so scared, earlier." Sherlock, sensing John backing away, turned to face him again, and could immediately read the honesty in his eyes, the truth in his voice. "I was scared because I had to admit to myself that this life, with you... that's what I want. Not women, or dates, or even kids." He narrowed his eyes. "Just you. And whatever you're willing to give me."
Sherlock licked his lips. John's cards had been shown. He had been the brave one, he had vocalised his innermost thoughts and hopes. Sherlock knew he had to do the same, it was only fair. He allowed himself to examine how he felt about John - yes, attraction was definitely there, an emotional bond that he had had with no one else, ever. John was his only friend, the only person who had ever even begun to understand him. He didn't like it when John met Sarah, he had been terrified that she would drag him away. And now, he knew, that the opposite had happened, that Sarah had made John realise what it was he would be giving up.
Thank goodness for Sarah.
"I am possessive," Sherlock stated. "I don't like to share. If... if we tried this, if we... you know." He was stumbling over his words and he felt incredibly awkward, but he knew he had to push on. "I would try to consume you. We would fight, we would storm off, you'd probably get really mad at me..."
"But think of the make-up sex," John joked. Sherlock looked suddenly startled, he knew he did, but tried to cover it up. Unsuccessfully.
"Sorry," John said, but he couldn't stop the grin forming on his face.
"Does that not concern you?" Sherlock asked, surprised.
John took a step to Sherlock now, pressing him up against the worktop, and Sherlock hissed at the sudden closeness between them - legs against legs, John's hips sitting just below Sherlock's, and John's hands resting on top of his, the thumb of his right hand slowly stroking one of his fingers.
"No, not really," John said, his eyes burning with... desire. That was it. That's what it had been all along, Sherlock realised, but his thoughts were shot down as John continued: "I can be quite possessive, too."
He wasn't really aware how it happened. He was pretty sure that John's hand had cupped his face, pretty sure that happened before his lips descended onto John's, instinctively pressed against each other, fighting for dominance in this rather nervous game they appeared to be playing. If John had been listening, Sherlock thought, he would have figured out that this was his first kiss. Ever. Not just with a man - Sherlock had had many propositions over the years, but had never found any of them, from either gender, even remotely appealing. So why, he thought, as John's hands found their way to his hips, as he felt his friend pressing against him, clamouring for a closeness that Sherlock was desperately trying to give him, was John any different? Was it just because he had found someone who got him as magnificently as John did? Was he mistaking friendship for attraction?
He didn't think so, as he felt the pressing of John's erection against his own, even that being something he was not all too used to experiencing, having successfully managed to suppress most unwanted thoughts in that department to concentrate more fully on The Work. But with John, it seemed nothing could be suppressed. Everything was fair game, and he set about attempting valiantly to return the kisses being rained upon him, feeling very much like an amateur.
Not that John seemed to mind. Sherlock picked things up pretty quickly in general, and, gently turning so that it was now John pressed against the counter, he lowered his hands down to John's thighs and, in one swift movement, still kissing him hard, he lifted John so he was sat, Sherlock stook in between his legs. John groaned at the seemingly closer contact between them, their groins far more easily pressed together, and ran his tongue across Sherlock's bottom lip before biting down, causing Sherlock to return the moan and open his mouth, allowing John's tongue to start an extensive exploration. Sherlock pulled John closer to him without making him fall from the worktop, and he felt John move his hands into his hair, tugging gently at the locks, trailing his fingers along his scalp.
They pulled away, breathless and shaking slightly, and John started giggling. Sherlock was rather surprised at first, but, after a few seconds, found the laughter somewhat contagious, and soon he was joining in, arms still loosely wrapped around his friend. After a few minutes, their breathing slowed, and Sherlock bent his neck slightly, resting his forehead against John's and staring at him.
"Bedroom?" John asked.
Sherlock nodded. "Bedroom," he agreed. It was okay. It was better than okay, really. It was John.
Thank you to TheVenturer and merlynnllwyd for the reviews so far. Please review, and leave requests if you'd like - I'll attempt anything (So long as it's not completely irrelevant to the pairing!). Hope you've enjoyed them so far :) x
