My favourite chapter so far, hands down. So much freaking fun to write! :D ENJOY! Love to all who have reviewed so far, you're bloody fantastic!
Chapter Twelve
John glanced around him warily, all too conscious of the people walking by, all of whom could very easily figure out what was going on behind him. "Sherlock, if I haven't said this already I think this is a terrible idea which will probably lead to a criminal record that I genuinely don't want to have." He stamped his feet nervously, glancing back at his companion. "Can we please just give up and go home?"
A muttered 'damn' and the tiny sound of a lock being jimmied. "They've changed the locks since last time, this bloody thing won't go in -"
"I'm serious, we're going to end up getting found out and I know that you'll find some way to avoid getting caught and it'll just be me getting arrested and charged with breaking and entering." He glanced back over his shoulder at Sherlock, watching the man's face twist into frustration. "Why don't we just come back when it's open?"
"Don't be an idiot, John, that completely defeats the point of this."
John turned fully towards Sherlock, shoving his hands roughly in his pockets. "And what exactly is the point of this, if you're not too distracted breaking into a listed building to answer?"
Sherlock sighed, pausing his criminal activity for a few moments. "The point of this is to do something you wouldn't usually do. Now will you be quiet and continue to keep a lookout? Contrary to popular belief," he began fiddling with the locks again before darting off around to climb behind some shrubbery, "I don't want to add to my arrest sheet."
"Fine," John muttered, turning away only to turn back a moment later with a frown. "Hang on, add to your arrest sheet? Add to it?"
"Another story for another day," Sherlock's voice came from somewhere behind a bush. "I think I might have found a window..." The squeak of old, possibly damp wood filled the air between them. "Yes!" Sherlock hissed, suddenly popping out from behind the large bush. "Come on John, into the fray!"
Swearing under his breath, John strode over to where Sherlock had suddenly vanished again, following the sound to see a window half-open and a leg disappearing into the darkness within the old building. "Sherlock, I'm asking one more time -"
"John, quick, someone's coming!"
Eyes widening and mind unable to keep up, John shoved past the shrubbery and gripped the ledge of the windowsill, throwing his leg over into the open window and throwing his body weight into the empty space inside; he fell through gracelessly, staggering as he dragged his other leg through and finding himself quite without balance as he reached out into the dark room for something to grab onto -
A pair of hands grabbed him by the arms, dragging him further into the room and behind a large piece of equipment he could barely see. The hands kept hold of him and steadied him, pushing him against whatever he was now hiding behind and gripping him tightly as John's breathing hitched unsteadily in his throat. A familiar scent washed over him as the slightly rough material of the long coat Sherlock had been wearing scratched lightly against his cheek, the sound of someone else breathing steadily close to him settling in the whorl of his ears; he was suddenly aware of the proximity of the body close to him and the heat it was emitting, both reassuring and alarming as he attempted to calm his breathing and slow his racing heart, a seemingly impossible task.
Adrenaline pumped through him like a drug. "Sherlock, what -"
"Shh." The noise was far too close to his ear for comfort, the breath warm against his cool skin. He felt Sherlock shift, hands loosening their grip on his arms and eventually letting go despite him still remaining almost pressed against the smaller man. When Sherlock spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. "There's a security guard out in the hall."
John swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry and palms beginning to sweat. He tried to match Sherlock's volume. "If the person you saw is in here, why didn't you just come back outside?"
"And ruin all the fun?" There was a breathy laugh, still too loud in the empty darkness; the body so close to John's moved away slightly as Sherlock seemed to lean around the large equipment to check the guard's whereabouts. "Don't be silly."
They stayed still in the darkness for a few moments longer, John eventually regaining a somewhat steady heartbeat and and regulating his breathing back to normal; the buzz of the adrenaline continued though, his entire body seeming to shake from it. "Sherlock -"
The body suddenly moved away completely, stepping back and to the side. With a little distance between them John could see Sherlock's face bathed in what moonlight managed to fall through the open window, that same mania from before glittering in his icy eyes which were now turned towards him, the tiniest of grins playing on his lips. "There. He's gone."
John shook his head, head turning to glance around himself. "This is mad. You are mad."
"Oh please, you've never felt better," Sherlock said triumphantly, tilting his chin up as he raked his eyes over his friend. "Look at you, you're the epitome of 'jacked up' just from climbing through a window."
"That's fear Sherlock, not enjoyment!"
"Liar." Sherlock turned away from him, walking slowly to the edge of the room to where glass cases stood in a row, pictures and documents behind them waiting to be read. "Elevated heart-rate, dilated pupils, rapid breathing -"
"All symptoms of fear." John followed quietly behind the taller man, glancing edgily around him.
"And enjoyment," Sherlock replied in a low voice, his fingers reaching out and brushing against the glass. "Don't deny it, you feel more alive right now than you have since you started university. Possibly even before."
John rolled his eyes. "Fear."
"Enjoyment."
"Fine," John gave up, raising his hands in defeat, "I'm enjoying myself. Happy?"
Sherlock shot him sidelong glance, eyes narrowed. "Smile, then."
Forcing his signature 'I'm depressed but pretending I'm fine' smile, John held his arms open wide as he displayed himself for the demanding genius. "There, is that better?"
"Barely." Sherlock turned away from him, striding towards the other side of the room. "Come on, we've got more rooms to break into."
Exasperated, John watched his friend walk purposefully away before giving in and following him, wondering if this would be the way it would always be – Sherlock would always be right, and John would always follow.
-X-
Leaning over, breathing so laboured he could see stars and could hear only of the sound of maniacal laughter beside him, John shook his head slowly and deliberately from side to side, face hot and the cold air doing nothing to cool him down. "Fucking hell Sherlock... fucking hell!"
"Your face," Sherlock laughed, body spasming in laughter as he leaned himself against a tree and tilted his head back to rest against the solid bark. "Your face is fantastic! I wish you could've seen yourself."
"How the hell did you get away?" John was gasping for air, wondering how the idiot was still standing after their mad dash from the observatory. "He was twice your size, he had you in a headlock -"
Sherlock grinned, eyes directed to the sky above them. "Experience, far too much experience. Did you really think we were caught?"
John looked up at him, radiating disbelief. "Are you joking? We were caught, they saw our faces! They... Sherlock, one of them had you in a bloody headlock!"
"Oh, only for a bit..."
"You're a madman and a psychopath," John breathed, forcing himself to stand up straight as his entire body shook with the sheer effort of doing so. "And I am never going along with one of your plans again, never ever ever again."
Sherlock pushed himself off of the tree and glanced down at him, grin slowly getting smaller until it was a simple tilt of his lips. "Yes you will. And it's sociopath, not psychopath. There's a very pronounced difference."
"You're still a madman."
"True," Sherlock allowed, eyes glancing around them at the near-empty park. "But it was still the most fun you've had all year."
John shook his head again, pressing a hand to his chest. "No, that would be the third night I was here, back at Sally Donovan's flat. Don't underrate a night of limited conversation and sex."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, frowning as he let this information work its way through his brain. "Sally Donovan? You had sex with Sally Donovan?"
"Yeah."
"Sally Donovan as in first year physical education degree Sally Donovan?"
John rolled his eyes, resting his hands on his hips and taking in one last deep breath as his lungs finally began to adapt. "That would be her. Why, do you know her?"
Sherlock's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I know enough of her to know she's far and away from being good enough for you."
A laugh slipped from John's throat. "It's not like she was my girlfriend, Sherlock, it was just one night."
"Is that your taste, then? Girls with a superiority complex?"
The tone of Sherlock's voice was greatly amusing to John. He grinned. "Like I said, conversation was limited."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Looking properly at Sherlock, John realised that the man was genuinely asking, genuinely curious despite his obvious aversion to discussing such topics. He thought about it for a moment. "Well, it was less about personality and more about what she looked like. She had nice hair."
"Frizzy," Sherlock muttered, shifting from one foot to another. "Rough to the touch."
John couldn't help it; he looked to Sherlock's own mess of curls, raising an eyebrow. "You're one to talk. As for superiority complex, well, pot calling the -"
"Yes yes, I'm a black pot, I know," Sherlock cut across irritably, eyes flashing. "And my hair isn't rough or frizzy, thank you very much, not that it matters."
"Well, I guess that means you're not my type then," John teased with a grin; he couldn't swear to it, but there was a definite twitch to Sherlock's lips that could have almost been a smile. "Really, Sherlock, it was one night of sex and never hearing from each other again. Meaningless."
Sherlock began to walk, his pace leisurely, talking despite no longer facing John. "It surprises me."
John fell naturally into step beside him, legs still slightly weak from the insane run he'd done just minutes earlier. "What does?"
"That you would choose to have sex with someone who doesn't mean anything to you. You don't strike me as the type to indulge in one-night affairs with strange women."
John shrugged. "It wasn't like I've done it before... it just seemed like it didn't matter so much, being at university and everything. It's not something I'd usually do, it was just that the opportunity arose and I... took it."
Sherlock's head turned slightly; John could feel his eyes on him, the infamous x-ray vision setting turned on maximum. "Was she... you know."
He genuinely didn't. "Was she what? Good?"
"No!" Sherlock made a small noise of repulsion, waving the word away with his hand. "Please, don't bore me with those details."
"Then...?"
"Was she your... first?"
"My first? Oh..." The meaning sunk in; John cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "I don't really... is that really something you want to know?"
Sherlock's eyes flitted away. "I assume it's not the sort of question I'm supposed to ask, then."
"No, it's all right, it's just..." John hesitated, his shoulders rising slightly against both the cold and the topic of conversation. "It's fine. No, Sally wasn't my first."
"I see. So she was your rebound."
"Ye- hang on, how do you know that?" John stopped, realising the stupidity of the question. "Don't bother answering, I forgot that you know everything about me."
Sherlock stopped too, turning his body slightly towards him. "It was an easy deduction. Your tone upon my bringing it up was quiet, pained. You frowned, even if momentarily, and your fists clenched in your pockets despite it being a relatively innocuous question. Clearly you don't like to talk about it because the other person you've slept with most likely broke up with you, probably just before you started at university."
Fucking genius bastard. "You... are far too observant."
"A child could have worked it out."
John shook his head. "I really hope not."
Sherlock smiled slightly, starting to walk again, indicating with his head that John should follow – as if there was any doubt that he would. "So your actual type is more likely the exact opposite of Sally Donovan. Fair hair, perhaps blue but more likely green eyes, pale skin, likely to have been younger than you -"
"I wish you wouldn't do that," John mumbled, the very image of Sarah popping up behind his eyes at Sherlock's bang-on description. "You're too good at it."
Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "My apologies."
John looked up at him, face unreadable but tone genuinely sorry. "Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago."
"Not that long," Sherlock disagreed quietly. "Or not long enough that you're feeling... better about it."
"Why would you say that?"
"Because you still look like you're suffering simply from talking about her." Sherlock stopped in his tracks again, his gaze suddenly so intense and focused on John that even if Sherlock hadn't stopped walking John would have had to simply to recover. "Is she the reason you have depression?"
Staring at him, John's tongue darted out from between his lips, the soft skin suddenly dry. "No. I was fine until two months ago, you know that already."
"But it doesn't help."
The laugh that barked from John's throat was humourless, flat. "In case you haven't noticed, Sherlock, nothing helps."
Sherlock's expression flickered, momentarily torn between his usual solemn expression and something John couldn't quite define; before he had a chance to decide quite what it was, Sherlock had started walking again, eyes back on their path. "Of course. How stupid of me."
"No, wait -" John realised what he had said too late, inwardly cursing, "- I didn't mean nothing -"
"I understand perfectly well what you were saying, John, there's no need to explain."
"Yes there is," John insisted, a strange weight unfurling in his chest and weighing far too heavy for comfort; he took two quick steps towards the taller man and reached out without thinking, grabbing the edge of Sherlock's sleeve between cold fingers and curling the material into his palm. Sherlock stopped instantly, head turning and eyes darting down to where John's fingers were now grasped before flickering back up to meet John's intent gaze. "There's every reason to explain. I didn't mean it like that."
Sherlock stayed silent, his eyes boring into John's. It made him feel as if his mouth was suddenly full of cotton – dry, useless. He swallowed thickly, knowing he should drop the subject and the sleeve but unwilling to let go of either.
"You must know... you must have an inkling of... come on."
Slowly Sherlock turned his slender body completely towards John, eyes remaining fixed on his face, unreadable; as he moved, the direction he had turned altered the position of both of their hands, Sherlock's warm and curled fingers brushing lightly against John's cold wrist and dragging from the smaller man's throat a sharp intake of breath and the tiniest jerk of surprise. The ice-blue eyes travelled lower once more, taking in John's hand on his coat for a few moments before raising them back to rest levelly against the gaze that John could not break.
The intensity was alarming, out of place, yet still John did not let go of the sleeve. His hand felt frozen, the combination of Sherlock's stare and the tiny warmth resting against his wrist temporarily stealing all vocabulary though his mind continued to whirr.
Let go of him! Neither of you are comfortable touching and YOU started it!
Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly, almost as if he could hear John's thoughts; this did not stop the thoughts from continuing to shout, belligerent.
You've made your point, he's stopped walking – let... go... of... the... SLEEVE!
"John."
Sherlock's deep voice broke through his reverie like hot water; almost as if his vocal chords had unlocked, John's voice burst out into the darkness with words he had actually not been thinking at all:
"You're the only thing that isn't nothing to me right now."
Sherlock's gaze burned, silent as he let the words settle between them. "You don't need to say that."
"But it's true," John pressed, fist clenching tighter over the material briefly, the warmth of Sherlock's fingers retreating as he did so. "You were right earlier – not that I need to tell you that, you know everything that there ever was to know, but you were absolutely right. It was the most fun I've had. All year." Finally he managed to pull his hand away, almost as if the words of truth had released the impossible grip on the rough material and allowed him to break free of the awkward intensity. "Not even a naked Sally Donovan made my heart race, lungs ache or... palms sweat as much as you did earlier." A shaky grin fell across his face, incredulous, ready with a joke even now. "And I never thought I would say that, especially to a man. Especially to you!"
The air around them was quiet for a moment, the words settling around them and adding yet more substance to the foundation of their friendship – it was almost visible, stone walls and solid ground. Sherlock gave a small nod, gesturing with his hand that they should walk again; the mere action of this sent the atmosphere falling from intense to casual once again without a single beat missed, the beginning of a pattern neither of them could see coming. "I can't say I ever expected to hear you say those words either. Oranyone, for that matter."
Falling into a somewhat uneven step beside Sherlock's taller form, John took his words and decided now was the time, if any, to ask. "So you haven't...?"
"Never."
"Oh." Even though it had been the answer John had been expecting, it was still somewhat strange to have the definitive answer. "Out of choice, or...?"
Sherlock sighed, his breath coming out in a cloud of white. "If by choice you mean never having had the desire to attempt finding someone even relatively suitable for me then, yes, it's a choice."
"So..." John considered his words carefully, unsure of how to phrase something he wasn't even sure he wanted to say. "You haven't ever... wanted to?"
"It's not exactly high on my list of priorities. If I wanted to experience the symptoms of sexual excitement I'd just... well. I don't know. Break into a highly guarded building, perhaps."
John closed his eyes, fighting the grin that wanted to break out onto his cold face. "Okay, I hate to disappoint you but they really aren't the same thing, Sherlock. You can't even compare the two. Sex is... yeah, no comparison. Sex wins. Criminal activity... doesn't quite cut it."
Sherlock shot him a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow.
"Most fun you've had all year?"
"...oh, bugger."
"Precisely."
