Mary woke up in the middle of the night, her eyes burning from fatigue but her stomach was rumbling. As soon as she'd gotten rid of her pregnancy sickness, she had gotten to the point where she wanted to eat everything, especially in the middle of the night. Mary rolled over toward John who was fast asleep and tried to go back to sleep but her stomach growled too persistently; she had to get a snack first.
Mary wandered downstairs and found Sherlock sitting on the couch, staring at the telly. He didn't seem to notice her so Mary walked into the kitchen. As she riffled through the cupboards and refrigerator but there wasn't much; Mary found a tub of ice cream at the back of the freezer that was mostly good except for a layer of freezer burn. She chipped it away with her spoon and walked back into the living room.
When Mary sat down on the opposite side of the couch from Sherlock and began to eat her ice cream, she could see how zoned out Sherlock was. Not only did he not speak or look up at her but he was staring at a program about space, a subject that she knew he didn't know or care anything about; John had once said that Sherlock didn't even know the earth went around the sun because it was 'non-essential' information. He had a blanket draped over his head, knees pulled up towards his chest as he stared off into nothingness; he looked like a scared little boy in that moment and Mary felt a twinge of sympathy for him.
"Sherlock…you alright?" Mary asked gently, watching him for a response. She'd heard John's side of the story but she suspected that there was more to it than John had suspected. Despite Sherlock's obvious desire, to her at least, to make more of their relationship, old habits died hard and Sherlock was still guarded.
When Sherlock didn't speak, Mary went on. "John told me what happened earlier" she said. "Want to talk about it too?"
"No" Sherlock said simply, shutting down.
Mary smiled, putting down the ice cream; she knew how to fix that. Sherlock put on a good face but he was eager for attention. "Come here" Mary said, patting her lap.
Sherlock glanced at Mary as if he wanted to deny her but she could see already he'd made up his mind. "I'll pet your hair" she said, tantalizingly.
"You don't pet me; I'm not a dog" Sherlock said worriedly but he was already laying back on Mary's lap, looking up at her.
Mary ran her fingers through Sherlock's curls; they weren't as smooth as normal and they were filled with tangles. He'd obviously neglected it a bit with the case. "John said you went a bit scary out there; he thought you might kill that guy" Mary said. She kept her tone light but there was a question there too.
"I wanted to…for a moment. I would have if he had seriously hurt John" Sherlock said. There was a note of fear in his voice.
"That scared you didn't it? You didn't expect to feel that way did you?" Mary said understandingly.
"I've always been concerned about John's safety; it's hard to see him hurt" Sherlock said, "But today…it was like I was out of control. For a minuet all I saw was John laying on the ground with blood on him…I thought it was more serious. I went a bit insane…just the thought that I might lose him…" Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. "Why is this happening? I can't overreact like that every time he gets hurt."
"Sure you can. You love him, Sherlock" Mary said, "That's what happens when you really love someone; it makes you a bit vulnerable in the sense that you worry more about them. They make their selves essential to you."
"I want it to go away" Sherlock said, "I want to not care."
"No you don't, not really" Mary said, giving Sherlock's hair a long stroke, earning a purr out of Sherlock.
Sherlock was quiet for several long minuets so that Mary almost wondered if he had fallen asleep in her lap. Then his eyes suddenly popped open and he looked up at Mary.
"I almost kissed John today. Thought you should know"
He said it almost offhand, unembarrassed so that Mary had to smile. "Thanks for your honesty" Mary said, "What prevented you from actually doing it?"
"We were practically arguing; in the bathroom right before you came home" Sherlock said, "I didn't think it would be appreciated. Honestly, I got scared. Scared he would reject me. Damn emotions…"
"Oh…it's so much to get used to isn't it?" Mary asked sympathetically.
"You're not mad? That I almost did?" Sherlock asked in surprise.
Mary laughed. "Did you forget the conversation where I suggested we basically all shag each other?" she asked. She was delighted at the blush and schoolboy like grin on his face.
"No…I definitely didn't forget that" he said. He closed his eyes, nestling his face closer to Mary, into her slightly bigger stomach. Mary played with his hair until she heard the sound of his gentle sleep-breathing, wondering how she had gotten so lucky.
….
After the stabbing incident, John worried that Sherlock might have been put off on taking him on any more cases. Sherlock, while John knew he deep down worried about John's safety, never really paid it that much attention. Sherlock had gotten concerned when John had been shot before but he'd never seen that look of pure terror in Sherlock's eyes as he had when he'd been lying there bleeding. Had it been something to do with his being away? John had seen something akin to it the night that Sherlock and Mary had pulled him out of the bonfire. John wondered if something that happened to him while he'd been away for those two years. Maybe something had happened that made Sherlock lose his nerve. John really hoped that wasn't the case; he wanted the old Sherlock back and he wanted to go back on cases with him. If Sherlock stopped taking him on cases now because of a stupid little stab wound then John was going to be extremely disappointed.
John was glad to eventually see this wasn't the case. The week after the stabbing was a quiet one; Sherlock didn't have a case and was his usual whiny self. He complained about everything, blew up things in the kitchen and was generally horrible but it was his normal horrible self and John was glad for at least that. They went out a few nights to nice dinners and John was surprised to see how much Mary could actually get Sherlock to eat. They came home afterwards and a few times Sherlock played his violin so John and Mary could dance; once they watched a movie together and all fell asleep together on the couch again. Like the first time, they still didn't mention it. Despite John's misgivings about staying here, things had settled into a somewhat normal pattern and John had to admit he was happy.
After a week with no case Lestrade finally called Sherlock on a case about a drug lord who had been evading the police for years. It wasn't up to Sherlock's usual caliber but he wanted a case and so he took it. Sherlock was always a bit disappointed when the cases didn't involve corpses but at least he had a problem to solve. John was thrilled when Sherlock asked him to come with him. He hadn't been expecting it, really. All this case had been so far was going on a few stake outs with Sherlock, trying to find where this drug lord had his major stash which was boring even for John but even so it was nice. It was nice to be along with Sherlock even if it meant they were silently sitting in a car while Sherlock 'was thinking'.
In the years John had known Sherlock, he'd gotten quite used to Sherlock's odd requests. He hated to admit how willingly he went along with some of Sherlock's antics but it was a truth, a truth he wouldn't acknowledge, that Sherlock could say jump and John would say how high. He always did what he wanted him to. But that didn't mean that there was occasionally the moments that even he gave pause to Sherlock's strange behavior.
John was sitting in his chair reading a book one afternoon when Sherlock burst into the flat. "Ah, John, there you are…here put this on" Sherlock said in a rush, thrusting a shopping bag at John. When John looked up and took the bag, seeing Sherlock he couldn't help bursting into laughter.
John was used to Sherlock's disguises but this was something else. Sherlock had on a pair of black leather pants and was wearing a tight, red sleeveless top that showed his (surprisingly fit) arms, complete with several fake tattoos. Sherlock had taken the look all of the way, his curls whipped into shape by what looked like huge amounts of hair gel, several clip on earrings and what looked suspiciously like make-up. John hadn't laughed this hard in weeks.
"What is your problem?" Sherlock asked, frowning with that glazed look he got any time someone tried to talk about something emotional.
John could barely talk for laughing. "You look like a rock star" he finally managed to squeak out between laughs. God, he wished Mary were here; he should take a picture so she'd be able to see this hilarious sight.
Sherlock rolled his eyes as if he found John tedious. "Oh, so you're going to make fun of the clothes" he said tiredly "Honestly, John are you twelve?"
"Not just the clothes…..are you wearing eyeliner?" John said, whipping tears out of his own eyes.
Sherlock's cheeks blushed even though it was hard to tell under the makeup. "Mary assisted me earlier" he said tightly. He was obviously starting to feel embarrassed which was rewarding.
"She did this to you?" John asked, his respect for Mary increasing exponentially. He dissolved into laughter again.
"Well, you have fun laughing" Sherlock said, "You've got something in that bag to wear as well so we will see who will be laughing then."
John was suddenly afraid to look in the bag; Sherlock seemed too pleased about it. "You going to tell me what this all about?" he asked curiously.
"I believe that I have located Werner's secret drug stores….no thanks to you" Sherlock said resentfully even though he hadn't asked for John's help in two days. "It's in a high end nightclub that he manages. These are our disguises to get in"
"Honestly? This is what is considered high end fashion?" John said, gesturing toward Sherlock.
Sherlock looked pouty. "Just put your clothes on" he said.
John took the bag of clothes to his bedroom, afraid to look inside. They weren't as bad as Sherlock's; at least there was no leather. There were jeans that looked way too small, ripped and bedazzled in a style that John wouldn't be caught dead in except that he was already putting them on. It took forever to wiggle them on and they were the most uncomfortable trousers John had ever had on; he couldn't even keep his pants on with them on. The shirt was no better; he didn't care so much that it was pink but it looked exactly like a woman's shirt and was completely see through. Was this an insult to John's dignity? John certainly felt a bit emasculated as he walked back into the sitting room where Sherlock was and he was surprised when Sherlock didn't laugh at him.
"You've never looked less like an army man before" Sherlock said with a smirk, looking him over.
"Yeah, that's great" John said sarcastically, "You know I'm flattered that you think this is my jeans size but these trousers are horrible" John shifted trying to adjust…..things…..without being noticed. Sherlock grinned; he had noticed.
"Oh please, John. I know your real size; they are supposed to be tight" Sherlock said, rolling his eyes.
Well, there went what was left of his dignity. "Okay, so…tell me again. Why is this necessary?" he asked, feeling more and more irritated by the moment.
"I said we are going to a club; this is a disguise" Sherlock said. 'Duh' was implied.
"I suppose I probably don't want to know what kind of club?" John asked, feeling more awkward.
"No….I doubt you do" Sherlock said honestly.
John was thrown off when Sherlock grabbed him and pulled him into the bathroom. He barely had a moment to protest before Sherlock was rubbing huge amount of hair gel into his short hair and spraying enough hairspray on him to suffocate an elephant. "Oh, come on, Sherlock" he complained. "I'm 44 years old…." John felt like he looked like a teenager now, or worse…a middle aged man trying to look young.
"And I'm 39…..big deal" Sherlock huffed, obviously completely missing the point as he continued to fuss over John's hair. He had a feeling, even for them, this was going to be a weird night.
….
John stepped out of the cab feeling completely ridiculous. They hadn't even done anything yet and John already felt like this was one of the most insane nights they had had. Maybe it was the makeup; that was obviously going to be left out of this night's blog entry. Letting Sherlock put makeup on him was one of the single weirdest things ever and he wished Mary would have still been there to do for him like Sherlock. On second thought….he didn't want Mary to see him like this.
The second that the bouncer at the door let them in after Sherlock had flashed them some sort of card he had, he took John's hand. It was cold and sweaty at the same time and it felt alien in John's hand; oddly though, there was something comforting about it as well in this awkward place.
"We are going to pretend to be boyfriends, obviously. Let me do the talking" Sherlock said in a take control, assertive voice.
Obviously…Leave it to Sherlock to take something that was already weird and make it flat out mortifying and then act as if it was normal. "Why does that not make me feel better?" John asked, sarcastically. His own hand was already sweating in Sherlock's.
As they walked into the club, John's senses were assaulted by lights and music and so many people crowded into a small area. There was a huge bar and dance floor that was occupied by dozens of happy club goers dancing in what John could only describe as what looked to him like a fit; a sign he was too old to be here though he saw plenty of people who did seem to be his age. There were plush booths dotted around the perimeter where couples and groups of all fashions seemed to be getting very cozy and intimate with each other; John could only hazard a guess what happened behind the red and black doors at the far end of the room that was guarded by more bouncers.
John followed as Sherlock led him to the bar. He was looking for some sign of emotion on Sherlock's face as to how this all affected him; John knew he hated places like this. But he was impassive and controlled; he was in case mode.
John was still scanning the club as Sherlock sat beside him at the bar and order a beer and vodka for himself. John took the beer and drank it more enthusiastically than he normally would have and gestured toward Sherlock's untouched shot of vodka. "Drinking on a case?" he asked, surprised. Sherlock normally didn't even eat on a case, saying that the digestion alone slowed him down.
"Of course not" Sherlock said, his eyes scanning the club, barely paying attention to John. "I'm looking for Warner. Those doors at the back lead to the private rooms and that's where I'm 99% sure his drug stores are. We need to find him and convince him to let us back there."
John looked at the doors and the giddy people being let in; sex was a given behind those doors and who knew what else. "Sherlock, we aren't going to have to do anything weird, are we?" he asked cautiously, finishing off the beer in record time.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Do you even want me to take you places?" he asked. His voice to anyone else would have sounded like he was merely annoyed his boyfriend wasn't more creative.
"Yes, of course I do" John said too eagerly. "But…what's behind the doors?"
Sherlock huffed. "I assure you your heterosexuality will remain intact" he was clearly annoyed. John still thought it had been a valid question.
Sherlock scanned for a few more minutes before he said, "There he is. Third booth to the left of the dance floor" Sherlock pointed out.
John looked to see a surprisingly young blonde man sitting in the middle of the booth surrounded by a group of men and women, talking and drinking. "That's Warner?" John asked. He looked barely 25.
"Yes" Sherlock said, his eyes intent, the wheels rolling inside his head. "He's quite ambitious; well, as ambitious as a drug lord can be"
Sherlock turned toward John, his face just as controlled and emotionless as ever. "Alright, John; you're up" he said, giving John a bracing smile.
"What do you mean I' m up?" John asked. He had that tinge of nerves he felt when he could sense Sherlock about to do something especially crazy.
"Go talk to him; chat him up" Sherlock said encouragingly. "You have to convince him to let us behind the doors"
"What?" John asked. This wasn't his normal area of 'help' in a case. "What happened to 'let me do the talking'?"
"That was the plan" Sherlock said, "However, I've been watching him for five minutes and he's been watching you this entire time. You'll get further with him."
John felt a blush color his cheeks; he tried not to feel pleased that he had been essentially checked out by this guy for last five minutes. "Further?" John asked question, seeing where this was going.
"I expect you'll have to snog him a bit but that should do enough to get us behind the doors" Sherlock said it as if it was the most natural thing, as if he knew anything about it in the first place.
"What!? No!" John said, his face fully red and flustered now. "What happened to 'keeping my heterosexuality in place'?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's an act, John. Don't be a baby" he said.
John never put up a fight and he never told Sherlock no; he always just went along with it. But this was where John drew the line. "No, I'm not doing it" John said, "You do it"
Sherlock scowled at him but John didn't care. "Fine, just sit here and do nothing. Don't follow me." he said.
To John's utter shock, Sherlock downed his shot and sauntered over to Warner's booth, leather trousers squeaking all the while. John turned around on his stool so he could fully appreciate the sight of Sherlock failing miserably. It wasn't that he wanted Sherlock to fail exactly; he just couldn't wait to watch him try and chat up a drug lord.
John watched Sherlock approach the table and what he would have given to be a fly on the wall. Sherlock said not to follow him and he seemed pretty serious about it so John thought it best not to try him. Besides, he guessed he really didn't have any area to complain since he'd refused what Sherlock had told him to do. Sherlock was really quick to suggest that John snog the guy; he'd like to see Sherlock try that.
As John watched Sherlock talk to the group at the table he could see a great many changes. Sherlock's back was to John but he could tell a difference in the way Sherlock stood, and the gestures he used as he talked. Sherlock was flirting and the people at the table were responding. Sherlock was an attractive man; John wasn't blind enough not to notice. He could imagine the power he'd have over people if he had charm. Which…it appeared that he might…..Warner might have been checking him out before but his eyes were firmly on Sherlock now.
John watched in amazement as the people in the booth made room for Sherlock. Sherlock slid into the booth, taking a spot next to Warner. Now that John could see Sherlock's face he was even more surprised. John knew it was all an act but it was bloody good act; John had never seen that expression on Sherlock's face and if he didn't know better, he'd have been fooled. His eyes were sparkling with interest, smiling so warmly John nearly felt it even though it wasn't directed at him. John had seen Sherlock flirt occasionally with a woman for a case but this…this was impressive. His eyes were locked on Warner's, looking engaged and actually interested in what he was saying. It was like Sherlock had untapped special potential; it was like he was a different person.
John had been watching the spectacle with a laugh for several minutes when he nearly fell off his stool. Resting a hand on Warner's cheek, Sherlock leaned in and kissed him. John hoped that no one was watching him because he knew he was blowing whatever composure he was supposed to have; his mouth was hanging open no matter how much he tried to gain composure.
Kiss wasn't even the right word for it; snog had been appropriate when Sherlock said it. His hand was on Warner's cheek still, thumb gently stroking it as his mouth opened further, tongue probing. Warner's hands were rifling through Sherlock's hair, unsurprisingly everyone loved that hair. Every woman he'd ever heard mention anything about it seemed to want nothing more than to run their fingers through it; even Mary said it was gorgeous. Unbidden, he thought about Mary and her dirty mouth, the things she had insinuated; "you close your eyes and imagine he's between your legs, that run your fingers through those gorgeous curls while he sucks you off. Admit it…admit it, John". Maybe he had admitted it but he had never actually touched it and certainly not the way Warner was now; both hands in while his mouth practically devoured Sherlock's. John felt a wave of anger come over him.
He felt hot, flustered and absolutely furious. Why? It was like an open wound he didn't want to press for fear of making it bleed. If he tried to analyze this he already knew he wouldn't like the answer. He had no real reason to be angry. It was all fake and not real and even if it was what did it matter to John? It shouldn't have any effect on him. He'd seen Sherlock kiss people before, right? No, wrong, very wrong….Sherlock had seen John kiss multiple women but John had never seen Sherlock kiss not one single person. Sherlock had always shown exactly zero interest in anyone ever unless you counted the Woman which he'd only ever texted as far as John knew. He'd meant what he had told her; who the hell knows about Sherlock…Women, men, who knew what Sherlock liked? John had kind of always assumed he was asexual or something akin to it. John knew this kiss was an act but Sherlock had had to learn how to kiss like THAT from somewhere. A rush of anger flooded through John.
John turned back to the bartender and ordered another beer, tearing his eyes off Sherlock. He'd be damned if he was going to sit and watch and open a can of worms that could just stay buried if he had anything to say about it. Maybe there was a time he would have…but no. John drank his beer with gusto; Sherlock would no doubt have objections to John drinking this much on a case but Sherlock was too busy at the moment to notice. He was sitting in the lap of a kid fifteen years his junior who looked like a model, being thoroughly snogged. Sherlock would be able to tell the second that he saw him that he'd drunk more and John hoped he called him on it. God, he hoped he did and then he could yell at him.
John was feeling a lot calmer by the time he finished his third beer; he had to remain calm. He was on a case; this was all for a case. His head was getting a slight buzz and everything didn't seem so bad as long as he stayed here and stared into his glass.
John was staring at the dregs at the bottom of the glass when a hand roughly pulled on his shoulder.
"Come on, John; we're in" Sherlock said brightly, pulling him again. "If anyone asks, your name is Matt and I'm Peter."
John turned toward Sherlock who looked thoroughly snogged, his lips swollen and his hair sticking out in odd places. John made a joke because what else could he do? "Have a nice time, Romeo?" he asked with a sort.
Sherlock flipped him off; John was actually impressed he'd made such an impression. "That was horrible; I blame you and I won't let you forget it" he said, touching his lips worriedly.
"I'm sure you won't" John said, jumping off the stool with a grin. He felt immensely better knowing Sherlock had not enjoyed that as much as it had appeared he had.
Sherlock took John's hand again and John was sure they both felt better for it; this was one of the oddest nights John could recall in a long time and it was nice to feel a little grounded to Sherlock. Sherlock pulled them toward the door, where the bouncer was already expecting them and opened it for them to pass.