A/N: Wow, these two have some of the worst communication issues of any characters I've ever played with. Part of me wishes they'd just talk about things, and lay it all out up front, but that's not really true to character for either of them. So since they haven't really discussed doing "couple things" in public, this chapter will explain how they get around to it (putting the cart before the horse as always) to the tune of "In The Next Room," by Neon Trees. (Also, more than one of their songs is really perfect for this story, so you will be seeing them again.) I hope you enjoy, and if you find time, do let me know how you feel about it! Questions, comments, concerns, it's just really lovely to hear from you!
It drove John a little crazy, if he was to be perfectly honest. Things at Baker Street had been great, since Sherlock had agreed to come back from Greg and Mycroft's place, and the consulting detective had not once brought up the incident when they argued over things like the milk or the bills. They were pretty much back to the way they'd been before the Fall, now, and he supposed life couldn't be better, all except for one thing.
John was used to claiming those he considered his, and he and Sherlock hadn't talked, at all, about how they were to behave in public. In fact, they hadn't actually kissed since the rooftop, considering by the time they both got home, and got some sleep, another case had summoned them to the streets of London. Two days had passed, and the body, which had been found when a snowdrift had melted in a little heat snap, had officially consumed all of Sherlock's attention.
The doctor would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous, though it did feel strange, and wrong, to be jealous of a corpse. But when he'd watched those graceful fingers dance over the frozen skin, he'd wished that they were on him instead, playing him like that damnably sexy violin that had always been something of a torment to John, no matter how nice the sound of it was.
It messed with his mind, how Sherlock could be so incredibly hot just doing things other people would have considered repulsive. John knew that it was exclusively transport to Sherlock during the case, and that he couldn't possibly know the effect he had when he bent low to investigate what appeared to be a bruise on the victim's rib, leaving his arse sticking up in the air. Even his impatience was somehow alluring, because it made those sharp eyes sparkle before he darted off to catch a cab or chase down a lead without so much as an explanation.
Sherlock, of course, had forgotten about anything even remotely resembling romance as soon as the case had come up. It was an interesting one, though he was coming close to solving it. The two of them were currently in the morgue, John sipping at his third cup of coffee while Sherlock's first cup sat untouched on the desk, having long since gone cold.
"Everything okay in here, boys?" Mousy little Molly Hooper pitched her question more toward John than Sherlock, her normal friendliness putting a smile on her face even though she was always nervous around Sherlock. John had to fight back the urge to put a possessive hand on the consulting detective's shoulder when she glanced over at him longingly and fought back a sigh—no matter how sharp his tongue was when directed toward her normally, she couldn't seem to kill her crush—but he refrained because she was a nice girl.
"Everything's fine, Molly." John knew his own voice sounded a little strained, but it was better to lie, instead of admitting to the girl that while she had no chance, he was frustrated because his own chances were apparently secondary to those of the corpse his partner was currently investigating. He was only on the other side of the room, but he might as well have been on the moon for how much attention he'd paid to John during the case.
"Are you sure? Sherlock looks… crankier than usual." John had to bite back a scathing comment about how Molly wasn't really an expert on the moods of Sherlock Holmes, but he knew that the girl had been a good friend to his flat mate during his absence, and had to refrain. She was very nice, and he knew his issue really wasn't with her or her unrequited crush, no matter how annoying said crush was.
"He's just dying to solve the puzzle." And I, John thought, am dying to break through his absolute focus on that body and get him to remember I exist. It was a pipe dream at best, and he knew that. He had to assume that Sherlock didn't want anyone outside the walls of Baker Street to know about them, with the exception of his brother and Greg, considering they'd already rowed once about John treating him differently.
Still, he wanted badly to let loose his control and go over and claim a kiss, if only to prove to Molly that that incredible man belonged to him, and no one else.
Realizing he'd finished his coffee, John asked Molly to accompany him while he went into the little office to make some more. She did, a little reluctantly, and John was relieved because he did not want to leave those two alone together. He could only imagine Molly would take the opportunity to try and flirt with Sherlock again, which might result in John losing his temper.
Sherlock heard the two of them talking in the next room as John prepared his coffee, and found himself suppressing a sigh. He knew he wasn't nearly as focused on the case as he should be, but if he was honest with himself, that didn't bother him half so much as the fact that John hadn't even kissed him since the case had started. He knew he'd been a little distracted, but surely John couldn't be that irritated with him, that he would withhold those lovely kisses and moments of closeness.
But Sherlock had heard the annoyance in his voice as he'd talked with Molly, and could even hear it now, and it was killing him. The urge to just go in there and kiss John silly was hard to handle, but he doubted the shorter man would be up for it.
Even walking down the street together had been something of a torment to Sherlock the past couple of days. He imagined there would be a fairly decent scandal if he simply grabbed John and started snogging him right out there on the sidewalk for everyone to see, but John had been extremely reserved since the start of the case. Sherlock knew he'd lied about everything being "fine, just fine" more than once, and every time, it made Sherlock retreat a little further into his shell.
Did John not want to make them public? Was he just upset with Sherlock for being Sherlock? The genius really didn't understand emotions, and he knew that was why he was having such a hard time reading his partner, but he had to figure that John didn't want him knowing what was up with him, if he wasn't volunteering it like he usually did. And why wouldn't he want Sherlock to know how he was feeling?
Sherlock had to work hard to force his thoughts back to the case at hand. He was incredibly close to figuring it out, and after the case, he promised himself he'd make John sit down and talk about the frankly chilly distance between them.
John and Molly walked back into the room then, and it was a natural reaction for Sherlock to turn to look at his blogger, something he couldn't quite help. He forced his attention immediately back to his work, but he knew, from the stillness that suddenly surrounded John, that he'd caught the little lapse.
When Sherlock had glanced over, he'd looked a little anxious, and confused, and beneath that there had been a little bit of fear, all of which John had caught and processed in the split second, though he himself was confused as to the reasoning for it. Did he think John was going to cheat on him with Molly or something?
No, he knew that wasn't right. He started thinking back over the past couple of days, and realized that there had been several of these small glances, all of which he'd only kind of noticed. Had Sherlock asked him a question he'd never answered or something? That didn't fit, since Sherlock would simply have kept asking until John had answered, so he cast around for another explanation… and the one he came up with actually startled a gasp out of him.
Fortunately, Molly and Sherlock didn't notice the small sound, because it happened at the split second that Sherlock let out a cry of triumph, spinning around and clapping his hands together with joy so transparent on his face that it made John's heart twist.
"I've got it! The murder weapon was an icicle! That's why the victim drowned, despite the stab wound in her neck. And I know just who would have thought to use such a weapon. He wrote a book involving the exact same weapon, after all!" Sherlock was extremely happy to have solved the case. Now, he could get to the bottom of far more important matters. Of course, they did still have to make sure the Yard got the killer…
Moving at his usual fast pace, Sherlock left the morgue and went to get a taxi. John, a little red-faced, only caught up with him when the taxi was screeching to the curb, and Sherlock felt a pang of uncertainty. Should he have waited for John?
"I told Molly we were done with that corpse now, so she can have the family make all the arrangements. We were done with it, right?"
"Yes. Nothing more to be learned there. Now it's just the chase left!" Sherlock spoke as briskly as ever, trying to cover up his nervousness. Sitting in the back of the cab, they were closer than they'd been for hours, and the blatantly sexual attraction he felt toward John made it difficult to focus on what remained of the case, when he would have much rather focused his attention on the doctor who always stood steadfastly at his side.
"Right. Are we hunting this one down ourselves, then, or are we at least going to let Greg know so he can make it a legal arrest?" John's tone was dry, but amused enough that Sherlock felt relief. He wasn't irritated here, away from the morgue. Maybe the bodies had been irritating him? No, that was stupid; he was a doctor. He'd seen a number of dead bodies without flinching, even before he'd met Sherlock, and never been annoyed with them before. The only logical explanation left, then, was Molly… Oh.
Sherlock had to resist the urge to smile when the answer finally came to him. John had been jealous of Molly, and his agitation had only increased when he'd reminded himself that there was no reason to be jealous. But he was a territorial man, and Sherlock had seen how he'd reacted when other men had paid more than decent attention toward even his casual girlfriends. How much more intense would those feelings be, he asked himself, if John had more of an investment in the person he was with?
It was such an obvious answer that Sherlock was kicking himself for not having figured it out sooner. John had been jealous, and felt like he couldn't express it because the last time the personal side of their relationship had come into the Work, it had caused a fight. He'd probably been afraid of rocking the boat by explaining things to Molly. Well, Sherlock thought, he would have to change that.
Reaching over casually, he took John's hand, ignoring the incredulous look he earned from the older man. When they reached the Yard, he didn't let go, even when John tried to tug his hand away. He could feel confusion and hope in the slightly too fast pulse that beat against his wrist when John's brushed up against it, and squeezed his hand in what he hoped was a comforting manner as he led John all the way to Greg's office, listening to the small, shocked murmurs that rose from the more observant police officers that they left in their wake.
News of their relationship would be all over London by morning, Sherlock thought gleefully. And then no one would try to take John from him, or him from John. Of course, it might simply be dismissed as another rumor, but a few more times doing this and it would soon be accepted as fact. Sherlock couldn't wait.
All of this ran through the back of his mind while he explained to Greg that it had been the brother-in-law, with whom the victim had also been having an affair, who'd murdered her, when she'd threatened to tell her sister about the affair. The proof was in one of his novels, which had funnily enough come out last month. John had had it in the flat, and one night when Sherlock had been really bored, he'd gone ahead and read through John's entire collection of books.
Greg's gaze flickered to their joined hands the moment they entered his office, but his only reaction was a grin. When they left, trusting Greg to go catch the man, he shot off a quick text to his husband, before heading out to do his job.
Sherlock, meanwhile, tugged John into the back of another cab, leaning forward to give an address that John didn't quite catch. He watched his partner suspiciously from the corner of his eye until they pulled up in front of Angelo's, and then he found himself smiling a little, incredibly touched, when the genius held the door for him and then headed for their usual table.
Angelo brought out a candle for them, before doing anything else, and then brought their meals, earning a small chuckle from John.
"So what's all this about, then? Holding hands at the Yard and going out on a date doesn't seem like you, Sherlock."
"No? Well, John, I figured you deserved a date, and since we're done with the case, I don't have to worry about my transport being slowed down. If we repeat this process a few times, you should have no more reason to feel jealous when we are around Molly."
John blinked.
"Is that the reason you did all this, then? So I wouldn't feel jealous of Molly?" It was an incredibly sweet thing to do, and not like Sherlock at all. Instead of answering in the affirmative instantly, however, Sherlock glanced out the window, blushing a bit. It took him a couple of swallows to make himself answer.
"No. I also did it because I've missed you over the past two days, and because I want everyone to know you're mine and I'm yours, and because while I don't need or want a protector, I do both need and want you. And I don't have a problem doing "couple things" with you, as they really don't interfere with our Work. I actually enjoy them, truthfully."
"I… so you don't mind if people know we're together?" It was, John though, almost definitely too good to be true. Except he'd already pinched himself, and knew it wasn't a dream.
"Of course not. How else would I get rid of the parade of harlots that follow you around? I suppose it might make you a target more frequently, however…" Sherlock frowned, already calculating how much more danger John would be in if their relationship became more than just popular rumor, and John realized he had to stop him before he decided the risk was too high. He didn't want to have to control himself in public, never reach for the taller man or get the chance to hold his hand.
"Sod that. I'm the target often enough already. You shine even more brilliantly than normal when you think I'm in danger, which just means you'll be even more dangerous to anyone who tries anything. I'm not worried."
There were so many things Sherlock wanted to say in that moment. He wanted to explain how John was his world, and how he wouldn't survive without him, but eventually he settled for quietly thanking him and taking his hand, on top of the table, where anyone passing by would be able to see it.
The small gesture set both men a little more at ease, and when they went home and John eventually went to sleep, he took comfort in the knowledge that Sherlock wanted them to be a couple, not just flat mates who made out and hid it from the world. Not long after he closed his eyes, he began to dream, and the sight that danced beneath his eyelids was Sherlock, those long, graceful fingers making love to his violin. He thought he could even hear music, but it only served to soothe him deeper into sleep, never knowing that Sherlock was playing one of his favorite melodies to express his love, devotion, and need in the only way he was, thus far, completely comfortable with.