John sat in his chair, typing quickly into his computer. He was updating his blog because Ella was following up, and noted he hadn't done so in a few weeks. John had just fallen behind with all that had been going on. He hadn't purposefully neglected what his therapist thought was a healthy pastime for him. Besides, Sherlock neglected finding another case this last week. Apparently, one night with his mum and brother could really set him off his game.
In fact, Sherlock was so much off his game that he'd asked John how he was this morning. At the same time, he was putting shopping away in the kitchen.
He tried not to look up at Sherlock now, hearing him moving about the flat, not speaking. John wondered if the silence that set in after John frowned at his "good morning" was going to be one of those weeklong silences. It might almost be better. John was still waiting for him to press more about the medal tucked in the drawer. John hadn't really thought about it until they'd returned from dinner with the Holmes' family, but it was creeping back into his conscious now and he was beginning to worry again.
Being the flatmate of a sociopath came with the unfortunate territory of becoming his learning platform regarding the normal workings of the rest of society. While most of the time, John didn't mind because he felt it important for Sherlock to have a "good" "bit not good" voice, John was starting to dislike this role. The spreading silence from Sherlock this afternoon may indicate that he was catching on to this discomforting fact.
Probably not though. For the most observant man in the world, Sherlock could be quite dense sometimes. Only when it came to deducing what to do with a person's feelings, of course, but still he had his stupid moments.
When John had shut his laptop, posting some ridiculous thing about meeting some more of the Holmes' family, he looked about the eerily quiet flat.
Sherlock was on the couch, sitting back against it almost normally, except for the fact that he'd pulled his knees up to this chest and had his arms wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. He was staring so intently at John that the ex-army doctor actually gasped.
"Oh…"
Sherlock cocked an eyebrow up at him but remained silent, ever watchful.
"What?"
The detective just shook his head. John blinked at him in response, then pursed his lips.
"Right. I'm going for a walk. You staying here?"
With a shake of his head, Sherlock unfurled himself from the couch and bounded through the kitchen and down the hall to his room. John grabbed their jackets and waited for Sherlock to come back. He slipped his own on and held Sherlock's long coat draped over an arm. The other man came back into the room newly dressed in his slacks and a purple button up. The one that opened at the neck just perfectly so that anyone could see that impossibly long neck, leading up to those razor sharp cheekbones of his.
John flushed and held out the jacket. Sherlock took it from him, slipped it on, and of course, popped the collar up.
"Need your scarf?"
Sherlock twirled around, looking for it and then turned back to John with a frown.
"Don't look at me, I haven't seen it." John started about the place, turning over piles of this and that in search of it. "Damn it, Sherlock, where'd you lose it?"
Of course, only silence answered him. John sighed and headed for the couch, turning over cushions. The blue scarf was there beneath. "Here, I have it. Come on, let's go now." He held the thing out without really looking for Sherlock and headed for the door. He felt the fabric tugged through his fingers and stepped out of the flat. He could hear Sherlock locking up behind them so he kept going. His mind was full of things today and he wasn't going to let Sherlock direct things in his silent state.
The two walked down the road, headed for the one of the nearby parks that John liked to walk through. It wasn't far, but it was a bit cold out. The wind was biting through the fabric of the patched jacket, and it helped to ground John's mind. Though he was loathe to admit out loud right now, having Sherlock walking with him also helped that.
John's thoughts were on the man, after all, and being able to glance at him and feel his presence there streamed his thoughts in one specific direction.
"John."
He nearly tripped in his walking, but gathered himself quickly and looked up at Sherlock. "Oh, you're speaking again?"
"John, I want to ask you something, but I think it falls under the category of "bit not good". Can I still ask it?"
Tugging at Sherlock's sleeve, John pulled them both over to a bench in the park and sat down. He thought for a few long, silent moments, just staring at Sherlock who had the decency to watch back. "Alright," John came to a decision against his better judgment. "Yes, ask, what is it?"
"When I said I was married to my work, you said you were ignoring that. You went in my place to my mother's. You won't speak of a time you're ashamed of to me."
After a few minutes of silence, John realized he wasn't going to ask a question. He realized that the statements, in Sherlock's mind, were enough to supply some obvious question. John wasn't quite following. "I'm sorry, what exactly are you asking me? Are we going back to the Cross, because it's not something I'm comfortable-"
"No, John I-" Sherlock cut himself off with a deep frown and shifted closer. "Come now, follow along please. I need you to understand what I'm asking here because I'm not sure how to ask it."
John stared him again, went back over what Sherlock has said. He stared into the shifting silver eyes and almost grimaced. "Yes, I do like you. I don't know why, after that stunt you pulled, and leaving me at your mum's, but I do. If that's what you want to know."
"Like…"
"Oh Sherlock, sometimes there is so much you don't see. It's a bit, erm, more than like okay?"
"I've had relationships, you know."
John thought of one woman in particular, one who had warned him that Sherlock would always let them down, and wondered if she could be one of those… "Yeah, I've figured."
Sherlock pulled back suddenly, surprise washing over his face. "You've figured? How?"
"Well, you may be a bit sociopathic, but you have a confidence about yourself that tells me you're not a virgin. I don't know, just something I've read about you."
"Ah, so now you can do what I can?"
John frowned at him with almost a growl. "Now, I didn't say that, but I see things you don't, you know."
Sherlock sighed. "Yeah, I know. So, what do you see about me right now?"
"What?"
The detective didn't grace him with a repeat of the question, and John didn't really need him too. Instead he looked Sherlock up and down, then back to his eyes and felt himself blushing. Sherlock's eyes were so focused on John's face that he could almost feel Sherlock boring into his mind. "Eh, well, I um, you…"
When John had his lips puckered with the word "you" Sherlock leaned in and cut off the sentence. He put his lips to John's, in a quick but destabilizing kiss.
"And now?"
"Um, you're planning some scandalous affair on your work?" John smiled crookedly at him.
