If you Chose Romance continue onward... If not Bromance is CH.8
Once we were safely in the cab, Sherlock resumed his post of leaning against me, his head upon my shoulder.
"Maybe I should run away, John. Join the circus or something, do people still do that? Join the circus, I mean." He mumbled idly, not bothering to wait for my responses.
"Hmm," I said, gazing out the window and ignoring the subtle soap smell coming off Sherlock's head.
"That'll show them that I'm need, all the this waiting for another case nonsense. It's no good, John," He looked up at me his eyes imploring. "Save me from this ennui, I need to escapeā¦" He trailed off, I audibly gulped, before clearing my throat.
"Perhaps a nice holiday, is what you need." I offered.
"Psh, a holiday. That's just what this week has been, don't you see." He scoffed. "A holiday, really John, how terribly common you are." He sat up at that leaning on the other side of the cab closing his eyes, and I admit I felt the loss of his weight upon me. We arrived at the flat, before I knew it and without a word Sherlock awakened from his light doze and staggered out of the cab towards the front. It was as if the motion of the stopping vehicle roused him, and he waited as impatient as ever.
"Pay the bloody man all ready, Johhhnnn." He shouted from the steps. "You have the keyyysss." I shook my head, as smart as he was I'm quite sure he'd forget his head if it weren't so important to his work. I quickly paid the cabby who glared at me, and drove off without a word.
"Steady on," I said, receiving an uninterested glare as he swayed switching from foot to foot, his hands thrust in his coat pockets, as if stamping off the cold. I pulled out the keys and he swayed into me, nearly knocking me over, I somehow managed to steady the both of us with an arm around his waist. Once I was sure he was stable, I quickly unlocked the door, "There you go, now get inside before you wake the neighbors."
"Dull." He huffed as he made is way up the stairs. It was rather quite comical, watching as his usually fluid movements where clumsy and stiff due to the liquor. I took my time hanging up my jacket in the hall closet, Mrs. Hudson was either thankfully a sleep or out. When I turned back around Sherlock was sitting on the steps, his eyes shut tight.
"Everything all right there, Sherlock?" I asked.
"This was a mistake." He stated simply. I moved to sit next to him, our shoulders brushing.
"What?" I questioned looking down at him. "The date? I dare say there have been worse, she left with her life what more could she want?" I jested.
"No not the date," He huffed, showing no glimpse of humor. "That went exactly as I intended." He shook his head rubbing the heal of his hands against his eyes. "The amount of alcohol, on the other hand."
"Oh, the drinking is it. I don't think it's a big deal if you get pissed ever now and again, Sherlock."
"Indeed," was his only reply as he stared off into space, his shoulders slumped and I realized I had been rubbing soothing circles against his back. I cleared my throat.
"Come on, than let's get you to bed. You'll feel better in the morning." I stood grabbing his arm to help him along. He simply just pulled back down bringing me back onto the step beside him. I looked at him questioning, turning his face to look at me. "What's the matter?" I whispered. It took me a moment to realize that the depression this man fall into when he has no current case would not be conducive to drinking.
"The work, John is all that matters." He breathed. "What am I without it, what is the point if there is nothingā¦" He trailed off, but I knew he was implying that then he is nothing, and it was breaking my heart.
"Hey, none of that now." I said my hand still on his chin, trying to get him to meet my eyes. "There will be a new case in no time and you'll be back afoot." I smiled gently. "You are worth a lot more than anyone realizes." I breathed, my thumb gently stroking the side of his face as his eyes came up to meet mine. He studied me a moment the softness of his gaze being replaced with his usual calculating glint. I'm not sure who moved first, but before I knew it our lips brushed. It was a quick chaste kiss, and it was over way too soon.
"Good night, John." Sherlock said hopping up and trudging up the stairs. It took a good minute for my brain to catch up and Sherlock was all ready up the stairs and in one of the rooms.
"Night," I said dazed my hand touching my mouth, unsure if that actually happened. I sat for a moment more before I heard a thud from up above. I rolled my eyes, either a criminal had picked the worst (or best from the criminals stand point) night to strike the detective or he had passed out. I hoped for the latter, but when Sherlock is involved nothing is ever predictable the kiss alone was proof of that. Cautiously I went up the stairs only to find that it was indeed the latter of the two options. Sherlock, was sprawled out on the floor his feet up on the couch and his arms lying straight, like a cross.
"Sherlock," I tried softly, unsure if he was in fact asleep or just had his eyes closed. "Wouldn't your bed be a bit more comfy?"
"Hmm, Details." he replied.
"How 'bout a cuppa?" I asked turning toward the kitchen and receiving a noncommittal grunt in reply. I busied myself with the tea preparation trying to not think about the kiss, I had finally got it down to an art considering all the biological and chemical obstacles that stood in my way. I returned to the next room a cup in each hand to find that Sherlock hadn't moved an inch. "Oi, Sherlock." I nudged his side with my foot, receiving another groan. "Tea." I stated bending down and placing the cup on his chest before sitting on the couch that contained his bare feet.
He remained motionless, however, save for the rise and fall of the mug perched upon him. I sipped my tea thoughtfully wondering if perhaps this little venture into inebriation was actually a blessing in disguise. He kissed me, or did I kiss him, we kissed. My mind finally stated, the schematics where irrelevant. I know it happened, but will he remember come morning, and if not should I tell him. Was it good, it was good, I think it was good. It was short, but I liked it, I knew that much. I decided to worry about it later, as see what morning would bring. Sherlock was want for a case as of late, but while this usually saw a bit of healthier behavior in sleeping and eating patterns (mixed with horrible depression type behavior) the last few weeks I cannot recall him getting any rest. There was always some experiment or he got sucked into a crap show on the telly. As a doctor and friend (and more?) I have tried to persuade him of certain things, but where he is concerned my medical expertise holds little to no value.
I finished the last dregs of my tea, and felt satisfied that it was best to let sleeping dogs lay. Plus if he moved at all the scalding liquid would be revenge enough for the night's events, concerning the date anyway. I returned my cup to the kitchen sink and turned out the lights. "'Night, Sherlock." I said before heading off to bed.
The next morning I was awoken by clattering and beeping coming from the main room of the flat. I smiled to myself, knowing that the great Sherlock Holmes was probably nursing a painful hangover and searching for something to end it. It was the method in which he was fixing the problem that wafted over me with worry, along with the smell of something burning. I dashed out of my bed and made my way to the common room to find Sherlock perched in his chair by the fireplace, mug in hand and a distant look in his eyes and a slight smile upon his lips.
"Wha, What's burning, what's that smell?" I asked not fully awake.
"I made coffee," He replied sidestepping my question. "That tea you made was quite horrible, John. Really, you couldn't be bothered to heat it up."He tentatively sipped his coffee.
I knew he was purposefully ignoring my question, because there was no way he didn't deduce that the mug was from last night. "I know the kiss was short, but I'd never suspect you'd be so vengeful about it." He smirked as I stood frozen, the incident last night coming back to me full force. I was shocked at how cavalier he was being about it all.
"Oh and there's a letter for you." He indicated to the envelope upon the other chair with his head as he rose from his seat and made off down the hall for the shower. I stared after him, shaking my head as I opened the simple white envelope, glad for a distraction, that simply read John in precise print. I unfolded the letter and read it carefully:
It should come as no surprise, but perhaps in your case it is still a surprise. I really couldn't say. Anyway, I have been made aware of the silly little excursion of drinking and, I dare say, dating that my brother was a part of last night. Firstly, bravo for convincing him to go along, needless to say mummy has quite given up on that area of my little brother's life. You do have quite the influence over him; he wouldn't do that for just anyone, you know. Secondly, thank you for making sure that Sherlock behaved himself, while my brother has had some nasty vices in the past drinking was never really his area and therefore he can really be quite the handful whilst inebriated. Welcome to the family.
Regards,
M.H.
"Bloody hell," I whispered under my breath, only the Holmes' I shook my head. "You couldn't have just texted?" I asked the air, before noticing the final lines of the letter:
P.S. I know what you're thinking, I could have just texted this, but where is the fun in that? Enjoy the fruit basket.
"Christ!" I swore, crumpling up the letter. It's not big brother that's watching us it Mycroft. I shook my head before realizing that he had mentioned a fruit basket. I glanced around the room but found nothing of the sort, before a thought crossed my mind and I moved cautiously into the kitchen. I still had yet to see the afore mentioned fruit basket, but then I went to the microwave and gently opened the door of it. I was met with a big gust of smoke and the site of horrible molted fruit carnage. "SHERLOCK!" I yelled, clenching my fists in disbelief. I could only imagine what those brothers were like as children.
As if on cue Sherlock sauntered back into the room, fresh from the shower. Without even pausing he reached past me for the coffee pot trailing his hand up my arm and nonchalantly poured himself more coffee.
"It was probably poisoned." He stated taking a sip from his coffee a small smirk gracing the corner of his mouth, before turning to go back to the next room. "No need to thank me," He waved.
I just stared after him in disbelief.
THE END!
