**I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters within it. Okay, so I AM SO SORRY for posting and then deleting this chapter last night, but I promise it was for a good reason! The reason was: I hated it. I wasn't happy with it at all and tried to leave it alone but I couldn't do it so I deleted it and I'm SORRY! But I promise it's way better now! Thank you for your patience and enjoy!**
"So, where is he taking you tonight?" Mike was leaning against the frame of John's door, arms crossed, smirking as he watched John pick out his clothes from his dresser. "Another crime scene? Maybe one with an actual dead body this time?"
"I have no idea", John laughed, tugging out an undershirt and tossing it on the bed. "What are you and your beloved Link doing this evening?"
Mike's face drained of color. "It's not like that," he spat. "We're just… friends. Who are sleeping together."
John turned and eyed his friend, hearing the hurt underlying his words. "Okay…Why are you getting upset?"
"I'm not," Mike replied, a bit too harshly to be believed.
"Mike," John said softly. "What's going on?"
Mike stood in the doorway, attempting to keep up the façade of not being upset for a moment longer, until he finally sighed and sauntered over the John's bed, dropping down heavily. "This is stupid," he said, scrubbing a hand down his face.
John came to sit beside him. "What is stupid?"
Mike sighed again and huffed a laugh. "We're not dating or anything, Link and I. We're just fucking. Which seemed so brilliant at the time we decided it. But he's…great. Fantastic, really. And I see you getting all dolled up to go out with Sherlock, on a real date and I just feel like…I dunno, like I want that I guess."
John nodded, although he really didn't understand at all. The friends with benefits thing did not sound appealing in the least to him now. Not after experiencing what sex with someone you care about was like. He and Sherlock had repeated their kitchen table episode several times in the past few weeks and it only got better. Why anyone would want to take out the feelings and just have straight sex with someone was beyond John's comprehension.
"Why don't you talk to him about it?"
Mike smirked. "Is that what you do with Sherlock?" he teased. "Just talk about all your thoughts and feelings and how much you loooove each other?"
John laughed. "Actually, yeah, that's exactly what we do. It works for us. Although, the love thing...we haven't-I mean he hasn't…and neither have I, but-"
"Okay, okay, slow you're roll there, mate, you're gunna hurt yourself!" Mike laughed, slapping John on the back. "I get it. You haven't said the forbidden L word yet?"
John shook his head, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment.
"But you do, don't you? Love him, I mean?" Mike asked, his tone softening.
John's cheeks must be on fire by now as he looked down at his hands. He couldn't keep a stupid smile from spreading across his face and he felt himself nod. "I-yeah. Yeah I do," he all but whispered.
Mike laughed. "Well then, tell him! Can't be that hard, right?"
"If you will, I will," John teased and Mike laughed again.
"Yeah, yeah alright. I'm actually headed over there now, so I better get going." Mike stood up and walked to the door.
"Have fun. And seriously, think about talking to him, alright?"
Mike nodded. "Yeah, for sure. Listen, um," Mike ran a hand through his hair. "I'm, uh…I'm really glad your happy. I know back home things were tough and I'm just, uh, really glad you're doing well."
John beamed at his best friend. "Thanks, mate," he said softly. "Now quit giving me that doe-eyed look and go get your man."
Mike grinned. "Whatever," he grumbled good-naturedly. "See you later."
"Don't have too much fun!" John called as the front door closed. He laughed and looked back to his clothes on the bed.
He was so bloody happy, he could barely stand it. The fact that his best friend just pointed it out to him proved it all the more. John Watson was in love. And he was happy. Who would ever have thought? John turned to his mirror and looked at his reflection.
And grinned.
Even he could see it. The healthy colors in his face, the brightness of his eyes, the way his shoulders sat back and tall, the way he carried himself. Sherlock Holmes had done a number on him and god, was he glad he did.
Sherlock Holmes.
How he loved that name.
And everything that came with it.
When he was near, John's heart pounded harder. When they touched, John's heart all but exploded. Hell, when Sherlock looked at him, John could just… he didn't even have a good explanation.
There were no words.
Except the one.
Love.
He loved Sherlock.
He smiled at his reflection again, feeling oddly giddy and slightly stupid and almost drunk on the happiness that warmed him all over. He turned back to his clothes and pulled them on with care, then grabbed his hair product and turned back to the mirror.
John was dragging his fingers through his hair for the umpteenth time, trying to get it to at least lay down and look presentable for his date with Sherlock, when a loud and insistent pounding on the door of his flat startled him out of his task. He glanced at the clock and frowned. Sherlock wasn't due to pick him up for another twenty minutes and that man was never early or late for their dates, always annoyingly, perfectly on time.
He smirked, considering maybe he'd come early for a quick wank exchange before dinner, seeing as they'd been doing a lot of that lately.
The pounding continued. Sherlock never knocked like that. But who the hell else could it be? Mike had a key, and he was with Link.
He scraped his hand through his unruly fringe one more time in case it was Sherlock, before heading toward the door. The pounding hadn't stopped and John cursed under his breath as he pulled open the door open.
A blonde blur fell passed him and onto the floor, clearly having been leaning against the door before it was pulled out from under them. The body, very obviously belonging to a female, cackled and rolled over rather ungracefully, grinning wetly up at John. "Helloooo baby brother!"
John's eyes widened in shock. "Harry?!"
Harry threw her arms out above her. "O'course! Who else could I be, hmm?" She rolled to her side and staggered to stand properly, John catching her by the elbow and steading her as he closed the door.
"Harry, what in God's name are you doing here?" John asked, slightly panicked. Harry laughed again, flipping her hair and swaying ever so slightly on her feet. She smiled dazedly and an acidic gust of air hit John square in the face. "Oh fuck. How drunk are you?"
Harry scoffed. "I am-n-not drunk, Johnny," she slurred. "I wanted to come seeeee yoooou!" She poked him in the nose and laughed manically when he swatted her hand away, then swayed toward the main room and looked around like she'd never seen the inside of a flat before, squinting her eyes and catching herself when she drifted her weight too far to one side and almost tipped over.
"How did you even get here?" John demanded. He hadn't seen or spoke to any of his family members in months. He hadn't seen Harry in years. She barely ever called or texted and she never came home again after moving out. Harry stumbled to the couch and flopped down.
"Johnny, why you so cranky? I missed ya! I got on a damn train! London isn't that hard to get to ya know!" She turned to smile insincerely at John. "Even though you obviously tried to get as far away from the fucked up Watson clan as you could," she sneered.
"Harry-"
"Hey, I'm not judging," she said, throwing up her hands in a mock surrender. "I did the same thing. But take it from me; you can move all you want, but you can't stop being a Watson!" She grimaced.
John stared at her for a long moment. "Are you ok?"
Harry cackled again. "I'm fine, Johnny! So fine! Happier then anyone has ever been. Great life I got. Far away from those fucking parents of ours and living the good life." She spread her arms out and raised her eyebrows. "Can't you tell?"
John had no idea how to respond to that. He didn't even know Harry. Not really. Five years his senior, moving out when he was fourteen, it wasn't like they were close. He hadn't seen her in the four years since she'd left.
"Look, Harry, I-"
"Mum and dad are getting a divorce," she announced, rolling to her back to stare up at the ceiling.
John froze. "What?"
"'Bout fuckin' time if you ask me," she continued. "They're better off on their own, don't ya think?"
"They're... divorcing?" John asked hoarsely. He had no idea why that fact was hitting him in the gut so hard. It wasn't like his parents gave a shit about him or Harry but it hurt all the same.
Harry rolled her water eyes. "Don't get all emotional about it, Johnny. They hate each other." She grinned a sickly grin. "But not as much as they hate us."
John tried to avoid the way his skin prickled. "They don't hate us, Harry," he attempted half-heartedly. He didn't really think his parents hated them. He always thought they just didn't particularly care. It wasn't a like or dislike. Just a noninterest.
"Oh, right," Harry bobbed her head as though in understanding. "They didn't hate you when you still lived there. But then again... they didn't know they have two gay kids then, did they?"
John stared for a long moment, then swallowed hard. "W-what?"
"Oh please, you think everyone back home didn't hear about your little confession to Jake Bailey at the end of the summer? Everyone knows, Johnny. Everyone. Including mummy and daddy dearest. And I'm sure you haven't forgotten what happened when they found out about me."
It was like the air had been sucked from the room and John was slowly suffocating. He did his best to get himself together but the on slot of new things he'd just learned was jarring. He forced himself to focus on the last question. What happened with Harry. What had happened to Harry?
He didn't know what had happened to Harry. He knew she left. He knew she hadn't come back. But the reasons were vague at best. John had been hiding in his room when that final discussion had taken place. He couldn't make out any actual words. All there had been was yelling, a horrible resounding slap, and a door slamming. The next day, Harry was gone. When John asked his mother if she was coming back, the answer he got was a screaming match between his parents and an order to go to his room. He'd tried to call her and text her over and over, scared and confused as to where she'd gone. The only response he received was a text message that read: "Leave me alone, John. I'm safe. But I'm not coming back."
Months later, Harry had called him in the middle of the night drunkenly sobbing about how she was so sorry. For what, he had no idea. She said she was better off away from them. It had been the most disturbing phone call he had received.
Those calls continued over the next four years, although few and far between.
"Harry are you-"
"Oh, stop it, Johnny," Harry said, propping herself up on her elbow. "Yes, I'm a lesbian. Surprise! And oh, weren't our parents so proud when they found out!"
John gaped at her, filling with so many emotions his body started to shake.
"It's not that big of a deal anymore so can you stop looking at me like a shocked guppy? I'm gay. So are you. Our parents are awful human beings who are finally getting out of each other's lives. Big fuckin' deal." Harry flopped back onto the couch and threw an arm over her eyes.
John couldn't move. He'd really never considered how his parents would react when they found out he was gay. Truthfully he hadn't given it much thought. They hadn't cared when he made the rugby team, barely batted an eye when he made captain. They had hardly even registered that he was going to uni, leaving him to get himself moved and paid for. Never had they been concerned about anything in his life before. Why would this affect them? His parents had done a remarkable job of being absent while present. Why would things change now when he was no longer around? And why did they care if he was gay?
"Look," Harry continued, as though she hadn't just dropped those bombs on John's life. "My advice? Don't go back there. They've been pretending they don't have children anymore anyway, so don't worry about it."
"What do you mean their pretending they don't have kids?"
Harry rolled her eyes. "Not speaking about us, not thinking about us. The usual really only now when people bring us up, they say they don't have children. I heard they're both moving away, to separate places of course, although to where I have no idea. Start a fresh, new, childless and spouseless life I s'pose. Who cares? I'm not worried about it and neither should you be."
John's vision blurred. Don't worry about it? Don't worry about your own parents pretending they don't have you? Pretending you don't exist? Don't worry that your sister is a lesbian and was kicked out of your home so long ago for it? And you didn't even know? John's world was suddenly on its head. "Oh right," he muttered. "I won't worry that I don't have parents anymore, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "Been workin' for me for the past few years. And like I said. I've never been happier." She closed her eyes, sighing deeply.
John stared. And stared. And couldn't stop staring as his mind turned over and over. His sister was lying drunk on his couch. His parents, who apparently hated him, were getting divorced. He frowned. "Wait a damn minute," he said suddenly. "Why are you here? You could have called and told me all this, you know. Not that you call anyway but if you felt it vital information for my life, why didn't you pick up the phone?"
He watched as Harry inhaled deeply and then exhaled a broken, shaky breath, her lip trembling slightly. When she opened her eyes, they were damp, but she pressed on like nothing was amiss. "Like I said. I missed ya!" she attempted to keep her overly excited tone but was undercut by the surge of emotion in her voice. She blinked hard and tried to grin again but the look that crossed her face was a grimace mixed with sadness.
John stared at his sister for a long moment. "Harry," he said softly. "Tell me."
She stared up at the ceiling and bit her lip, then rolled toward the wall, turning her back on John. "I need to sleep."
John nodded. "Alright," he said softly. "Sleep and then maybe we can talk later after my-"
Harry suddenly turned back and grabbed John's arm. "Why are you all dressed up?"
John looked down at the hand on him then back at his sister. "Uh… I have a date."
Harry's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, then her grip tightened and her face fell into a sneer. "Oh really? With who? Obviously not with Jake, seeing as you royally mucked that up."
John frowned and tugged on his arm, but Harry didn't let go. "Um, no, not Jake, his name is-"
He was cut off by Harry cackling. "Oh Johnny, you poor sod!" She laughed maniacally, as though he was the stupidest person she'd ever met. "You haven't learned yet, have you?" She continued to laugh, the sound sending cold shivers up John's spine.
"Figured out what?"
"You're a Watson!" Harry cheered, as though this information weren't obvious and continued to cackle. "Johnny! I thought you were supposed to be the smart one in our family? The doctor? Boy, you're dumber then a box a rocks!" She let go of him as he stumbled back as though he'd just been slapped and she laughed harder, rolling around on the couch like someone possessed.
A knock on the front door made both John and Harry jump in surprise, the sound putting a halt to Harry's laughter. John looked toward the door in panic, then back at Harry and swallowed thickly.
Harry raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing on her lips. "That'll be him then, yeah?"
John tried to bite back the cold dread of letting Sherlock in, letting him actually see for himself how unstable the Watson family was.
He tossed a glare at Harry and then stormed to the door, yanking it open.
John could have cried with relief as he took in the tall, familiar figure in the doorway, coat billowing out around his slender frame, curls perfectly coiffed, gray eyes bright with anticipation. John didn't realize he'd been aching to see Sherlock since the start of this conversation with Harry and wanted to go to him so badly, only hesitating due to his sister being in the room.
Sherlock had a soft expression on until he took in John's demeanor, and his face promptly fell with concern.
"John," Sherlock breathed, stepping inside. "Are you alright?"
John bit back tears. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you," he murmured, wanting nothing more then to burry his face in Sherlock's neck.
"And who in the bloody fuck might you be?"
John squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe if he didn't look up, Harry would simply disappear, along with the awful things she'd said.
Sherlock, ever observant, seemed to deduce exactly what had been going on before he arrived. John opened his eyes to see Sherlock staring indifferently at his sister.
"Ah, of course," Sherlock responded coolly, as though John weren't currently shaking in front of him. "The alcoholic sister I presume? So nice to finally make your acquaintance, Harriet."
A dry laugh came from the couch and John shivered at the unwelcome sound, unwillingly turning toward the sound. "Mm, I get it. You're the boyfriend that protects John from his big bad family, aren't ya? So sweet." She turned to John. "He'll leave you, ya know. Just like dad is leaving mom. Just like Clara left me. We're too messed up for relationships, Johnny. Things never work out for people like us." She leaned back on the couch. "Like I said: you're a Watson."
And that's when John finally found his voice. Just as Sherlock was stepping around him, posed to strike with a few words of his own, John turned on his sibling. "Oh fuck you, Harry," he spat, unsure where the boiling anger was coming from but using it anyway.
"John," Sherlock murmured but John threw up a hand, still seething in Harry's direction.
"Leave it Sherlock." He balled his fists, trying to control himself as he glared at his older sister. "Thank you for dropping in on my life and throwing all this shit at me, I really do appreciate it. But don't you dare speak to Sherlock like that. Yes, he cares for me and supports me, unlike my family members. I'm sorry you have such a fucked up view of the world, and I get it Harry, I really do. We're both bred from the same pair of miserable people, so I get that you went that way but I didn't. I chose to grow the fuck up and try to find something worthwhile in my life and become something of myself, and I got lucky enough to have found someone that I love in the process. So don't you come here and try to fuck all that up just because life dealt you a shitty deck of cards. I got the same hand, and I'm going to do my damndest to make the best of them."
He'd stalked over to her during his speech, towering over her in anger. "And I don't know who the hell Clara is, but I am certain she's no Sherlock Holmes."
Harry glared up from the couch, propping herself up on her elbows and sneering viciously at him. "Oh, I'm sure Sherlock is wonderful, John. One of a kind, I bet. Does he tell you cares for you? Tell you he loves you? Does he hold your hand and treat you like you're something special? That's exactly how mum and dad started you know. And me and Clara. It didn't last. Just like you won't. He will leave you. It'll never work out. Ever. And I'm not telling you this to hurt your, Johnny, I'm telling you this because you need to know. I'm sorry I have to be the one to give you the cold hard facts but I wasn't aware that you were living in a fantasy world. You and me aren't meant for happiness, John. The sooner you realize that, the easier it'll be for you. If not, then soon you'll be the one on my doorstep, broken and pathetic, simply because you didn't listen to your big sister."
John was seeing red and in very real danger of hitting his sibling for shattering his happy bubble when a calm hand settled on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, focusing in on the touch and not on his pending rage, breathing deeply in through his nose.
"Our reservation will be canceled if we don't get on our way," Sherlock said softly, as though John hadn't almost just come to blows with his sister.
He nodded sharply, hearing Sherlock's words for what they really were, and pointed a finger at Harry. "Stay here and get some sleep."
Harry laced her fingers behind her head and laid back on the couch, looking pleased as punch with her sadistic self. "Where else would I go Johnny? Have fun on your date." She spat the last word like it was vile in her mouth. John resisted another urge to scream.
Sherlock tugged on his arm and led him from the room.
As the door slammed behind them and London's cool air hit John, he turned to Sherlock.
"What-" John started to say, but he was silenced by Sherlock grabbing his wrist.
"Not here," he whispered, and pulled John to the waiting taxi. John went along, still caught up the whirlwind of anger and hurt his sister had just dropped into his life.
He settled into the back of the taxi, took a shuddering breath and tried to focus on Sherlock and not all the emotions reeling within him. He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to live in the Watson household. He'd almost forgotten what the constant tension felt like, what being alone surrounded by family felt like, what feeling battered and broken every day felt like. He'd almost forgotten entirely. So it would only make sense for Harry to show up now. Give him a swift kick in the arse and remind him he couldn't get away that easily. Remind him that he could run away to London, or run away to France or hell, run away to fucking Antarctica and he would still be a Watson, born from parents that didn't love him, didn't care about him, and now apparently actively hated him. No one had ever loved John Watson. Not even his own family. How foolish had he been to think that would all change now?
Harry's words shook him to his core because she was living and breathing proof that even if you got out of that household that he grew up in, you never really got away. She'd been four years gone and just look at her. Look at her obviously broken life. Was that who he was destined to be? In four years time, would he become her?
"I'm sorry," John murmured. "You shouldn't have had to see all that. That wasn't- I don't even know what that was but I'm sorry you had to witness it." He stared down in his lap, trying to bite back the humiliation.
A pale hand came into view and warm fingers laced with his. He glanced up to see Sherlock staring intently at him.
"Do not apologize for someone else's behavior, John. It wasn't your fault. If anyone should be doling out apologies, it should be your sister."
"I haven't seen her in years," John said, still in disbelief that all of that had even happened. "We barely speak."
Sherlock stroked the back of his hand with his thumb. "She clearly just broke up with someone, that Clara person I presume," he murmured. "She's just lost someone important to her, probably due to something she did. My guess would be the drinking was what ended it. She's now under the impression that you are the only one that would understand since you were also rejected a few months ago, and she believes her misfortune is due to in most part to her upbringing, something she believes you also relate to. She thought she would find your life in a similar state as hers. And like they say; misery loves company." Sherlock looked back toward the front of the cab. "I'm afraid I may have been the one to set off the harsher comments. She wasn't expecting you to be with someone, nor was she expecting to see that you make that someone very happy. She was unable to do that with Clara."
John bit his lip, a smile playing on his lips as everything from the last half hour paused and his thoughts zeroed in on Sherlock's words. "I make you happy?"
Sherlock turned back to him quickly, his brow wrinkling in confusion. "Of course you do. I thought that were fairly obvious."
John preened feeling like he'd just won the lottery. He made Sherlock happy. He, plain old John Watson made amazing Sherlock Holmes happy.
God, he loved this man.
He bit back those words about to tumble out of his mouth, deciding now was not the time to blurt that out, and brought the conversation back to the original topic. "Okay," he said, running his hand through his hair. "She just had her heart broken. I suppose I can understand the outburst then."
Sherlock's hand tightened slightly on John's. "That isn't an excuse for her to come here and treat her younger brother in such a way."
"Maybe not, but I can still appreciate that she wasn't in her right mind."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him, but said nothing. Then suddenly turned to the driver and announced their destination had changed and gave him a different address. John frowned.
"Where are we going?"
Sherlock held tight to his hand but seemed to mentally retreat. "You'll see." Then he sat back, pulled out his phone and leaned back against the seat.
He didn't say a word to John the rest of the way, and after 20 minutes of silence and the dull roar of the engine, the myriad of emotions he'd experienced in a short time finally took a toll on him and John dozed off into a comfortable sleep.
"What happened?" Victoria Holmes demanded in a sharp whisper as Sherlock stared up at her from inside the car, a blonde head snuggled in his lap snoring softly.
Sherlock raised a finger to his lips. "Help me get him inside and I'll explain," he murmured.
Victoria nodded and supported John's head as Sherlock slipped out of the car. He then reached back in and slid his arm under John's shoulder and behind his knees, lifted and swept him out of the car bridal-style. He jerked his head toward the house and his mother hurried ahead of him, opening the front door for the pair. Sherlock carried John swiftly inside, and to his room, Victoria following close behind.
Sherlock laid John down in his bed, slipping off his shoes and tugging his coat down his shoulders. Surprisingly, this is where John stirred.
"Sh'lock?" He slurred, trying to open his eyes.
Sherlock pulled his jacket free, then swept a hand through John's hair. "It's alright John, go back to sleep. I'm right here."
John only nodded and rolled over, snuggling into the blankets as Sherlock pulled the comforter over him. He kissed his temple then went back to his mother, who was hovering in the doorway. They closed the door silently and Sherlock blew out a breath.
"Kitchen," Victoria mouthed, nodding her head back down the hallway. He followed behind her silently.
"Alright," Victoria said in a normal tone of voice as Sherlock slumped into one of the barstools at the counter in the large kitchen. "First of all, is he alright?"
Sherlock huffed a humorless laugh. "I have no idea. Truthfully. His sister showed up intoxicated at his flat, barged in, had about twenty minutes alone with him before I arrived, so who knows what was said. It was horrible enough when I was in the room. My presence didn't deter her one bit."
Victoria flicked on the kettle then leaned over the table, resting her weight on her elbows. "Was she awful?"
"Awful," Sherlock emphasized, leaning his forehead into his hand. "How did she and John come from the same people? He's kind and funny and she's miserable and mean."
"You and Mycroft came from your dad and I, and you both couldn't be more different then us if you tried," Victoria offered a small smile as she spoke.
Sherlock nodded. "I suppose that's true. I mean, don't misunderstand me, Mycroft is insufferable. But the sheer viciousness of Harriet's words was enough for me to feel somewhat tolerant of my older brother."
Victoria looked positively shocked and Sherlock chuckled at the reaction.
"My word, what has this boy done to my serious son?" she murmured, beaming at her youngest child.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, hiding his smile as he looked down. This was the only thing he could think to do for John. The only thing he thought would help.
He wanted to share his family with John. He wanted John to be a part of his family. Know that there was a mother and father out there that loved him. Know that there was a family out there for him. He wanted that for John so much it hurt.
He'd known this would all come out soon. After their month of Friday night meetings, he knew at some point, something would happen. John was obviously from an abusive home. Of course, John was under the impression that abuse was a relative term, if the night of the club was any indication so of course he wouldn't consider himself maltreated. Which made things much more difficult. But Sherlock knew at some point, they would need to discuss it. At some point, John would realize just what exactly had gone on in his home and he may have a bit of a breakdown.
What Sherlock hadn't anticipated was a bitter, drunk sister showing up out of nowhere to throw all of her problems in John's face. By all accounts, they hardly ever spoke, not keeping in touch in the slightest. He'd had Mycroft keep eyes on her just in case after John told him he suspected Harry had a drinking problem, seeing as the only time he heard from her was late at night when she'd clearly been hitting the bottle. But Sherlock hadn't considered her a dangerous person. A sad person maybe but not a trigger for John.
He had sorely miscalculated.
"So why is he fast asleep in your bedroom right now then?" Victoria pressed.
"I didn't know what else to do," Sherlock said. "I don't think I'm… enough to help with this. I think… I just thought that maybe he needed to see a family. A real, working, functioning family. One he could be a part of if he wished. I mean we're not perfect but we're better then the Watson's. I just wanted him to know that he wasn't alone."
Victoria reached over and took Sherlock's hand. "He's not alone, Sherlock. He has you. And of course, we will welcome him into our home. But that didn't answer my question; why is he asleep?"
Sherlock frowned. "Oh. Apparently if he's in a car for too long, he falls asleep easily. I didn't want to wake him. He had a horrific day of family problems and truthfully I sort of liked the idea of him waking up in a house surrounded by family who will actually acknowledge his existence."
Victoria gave Sherlock's hand another squeeze. "Well then. I'd better get out the house ready for company and let your father know. You boys are welcome to stay here for the weekend of course."
Sherlock nodded his thanks, never feeling more grateful for his mother then right at this moment. "I should go sit with John. So he doesn't wake up alone in a strange house."
Victoria smiled. "Good idea. I'll have the maids bring him some clean clothes and set them outside your door."
"Thank you mummy."
"Of course dear." Victoria went to leave, but stopped short at the doorway and turned back. "I can't wait to officially meet the man that has captured my son's heart, Sherlock," she smiled brightly, then took off down the hall.
Sherlock smiled down into his hands, then headed back to his room.
He silently opened the door and slipped inside, closing it soundlessly behind him. He divested his coat and shoes, and slid into bed, next to John.
The boy was sound asleep, laid out on his back mouth hanging open ever so slightly, inhaling deeply, huffing little breaths as he exhaled. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his fingers twitching slightly.
Sherlock was completely and utterly besotted. Positively and irrevocably in love with John Watson, yes he was. He'd suspected of course, so many times before, wondering if what he was feeling was true love or simply infatuation. But now, watching John peacefully sleep, forgetting for a few hours about his horrible family and his horrible sister, Sherlock knew, without a shadow of a doubt.
John Watson was his everything.
He wanted to touch him. To reach out and touch his fidgeting fingers, run his hand over his chest, brush his fingers through his hair. He hesitated, afraid of waking him and stealing these few blissful hours of peace from him.
Turns out, he didn't have to make that decision.
John sniffed, murmured something intelligible, then rolled over toward Sherlock, half his body landing on top of Sherlock's.
Sherlock froze, terrified that John had just woken up. But to his surprise, John readjusted himself, laying his cheek on Sherlock's chest, one arm slung over his waist, and he settled his weight against Sherlock, snuggling in and practically burrowing, humming with contentment, then going silent.
Sherlock smiled as John's sleeping body adjusted and fitted itself into Sherlock. Like they'd been doing this for their whole lives, when the truth was they hadn't spent a single night together.
It was perfect.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow Sherlock would tell him. Tonight he would let him sleep. And tomorrow, he would tell John everything. And let John decide for himself if Sherlock Holmes was worthy of being loved by John Watson.
**I do not own Sherlock or any of the characters within it. Smut next chapter, I promise!**