Author's Note:
Holy shit. There is officially porn fanart of Johnlock based off the fanfic 'In Sickness And Health' milling around on Tumblr. I'm thrilled and humbled. I never expected these stories to be so popular! Anyway... The beginning of fight two starts at the end of the chapter. The chapter after this was the hardest part for me to write so far. Worse than Sherlock catching John and Sarah together. Thanks to everyone who continues to leave me lovely reviews!
For the first time in six months John slept calmly, no nightmares and no waking up in a cold sweat. His chest expanded quickly as he took a sharp intake of breath and slowly opened one eye. 221B. London. The warmth snuggled against his side was his fiancé. John groaned slightly and stretched his body out, curling his toes against the tops of Sherlock's feet. "Morning," he stated through a yawn as he turned to look at Sherlock.
Sleep didn't find Sherlock at all. He was too busy thinking. He was laying on his back, head tilted onto John's shoulder. One hand was bent behind his head and the other was absently scratching behind Hamish's ears. The cat was laying on Sherlock's chest, its whiskers tickling under the consulting detective's chin. "Morning my dear doctor." He shifted slightly, so he could snuggle closer to his fiancé.
A small chuckle escaped John's lips as he studied Sherlock. "Y'know, even though it's three in the afternoon." He moved his head cautiously, eyes locked on Hamish, and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's temple. That bloody cat was practically attached to Sherlock's hip. "Didn't sleep, I assume?" He asked with a raised brow and a knowing smile. "So... we left with the kettle on and now it's off. I can only draw the conclusion that Mrs. Hudson now views me as a whore. A needy, very loud whore." He laughed despite the red tinting his cheeks.
"Wasn't tired." Sherlock replied with a slight shrug. "She came by awhile ago. Didn't stay to chat though." He smirked a bit, moved Hamish off his chest and then turned sideways so he could be closer to John. His head came to rest on his fiancé's chest, fingers trailing along the other man's side lightly.
The lack of sleep that Sherlock got honestly worried John but he couldn't force his fiancé to sleep. "The next time it's time to go to bed I'm going to try something," he whispered as he pressed his forehead against the top of Sherlock's head. "I'm worried about you not sleeping. Or eating, for that matter." A proud smirk tugged at his lips as the cat moved out of the room. It was stupid, John realized, to feel proud that he took standing over a bloody cat in Sherlock's mind. "Are you hungry? I'm craving some carry-out from the Chinese down the street."
Sherlock tilted his head up to look at John, eyebrows raised curiously. "Try what?" He hadn't slept or eaten much since coming home. There was too much stuff to do, so he hadn't really bothered with the basic stuff. Mycroft had tried and failed to get Sherlock to take better care of himself. "Well, I probably should eat. Been a few days since my last meal."
"Just something I learned when I was playing rugby," John replied with a small laugh. "It helps relax you, which I think you really need." Sherlock's next comment made him tense slightly. A few days? How did somebody go that long without eating? It made no sense. "Right. You need to eat. I'm going to go and order the carry out and put a new kettle on." He placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's lips and moved away from the warm body as he slipped on his boxers and left the room with a bit of an awkward walk.
Relax? When was the last time Sherlock relaxed? He couldn't remember. He watched John leave the room quietly and for a moment he just laid in bed. The bed was comfortable. It wasn't often, as of late, that he just did nothing. Usually, not doing anything would bother him but right now was a nice change of pace. He got up off the bed, when he heard the kettle go off. Instead of putting clothes on, Sherlock wrapped himself up in a sheet and walked to the kitchen.
John set his mobile down next to the two mugs he had set out with a bit of a smile, pouring the hot water with practiced ease. "Should be here in fifteen minutes or so, would you mind..." he turned around and couldn't help but roll his eyes and smile. "I was going to ask you to pick it up but you're in a bloody sheet... probably not too appropriate. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will end up getting it for us since I bet you have yet to fix the bell,." He yanked playfully at the sheet as he leaned against the counter. "Crap telly tonight?" He asked with a half-smile. The idea of sitting on the couch with Sherlock and doing nothing sounded wonderful.
"I can get it," Sherlock said with a slight shrug. He wasn't one to care about what was and wasn't deemed as 'appropriate.' He had completely forgotten the bell still didn't work, it wasn't a high priority on his to do list and probably would remain broken until things had fallen into some kind of routine. Watching the telly wasn't something that appealed to him but he nodded anyway. "Later in the evening. I have some experiments to check up on at the office. Would you like to go see it later?"
Experiments. In John's excitement to see Sherlock, along with the fight, he had completely forgotten that the kitchen was free of experiments. "Yeah, I would love to." He studied his fiancé with a loving smile and reached behind himself to grab his mug of tea. He took a slow sip and groaned, snapping his eyes shut. "Christ I've missed a good cup of tea." He took another sip before jumping slightly and hiding himself behind Sherlock the best he could.
"Boys, I've got your carry-out," Mrs. Hudson moved into the kitchen and smiled at them setting the bad on the kitchen table. "Good afternoon." She stated cheerfully.
Sherlock picked up the other cup and sipped it quietly. He was unperturbed that Mrs. Hudson just walked into the kitchen. "Hello, sorry if we were too loud earlier. John really can't help himself sometimes." He smirked, taking another sip of his tea and turning sideways to take in his fiancé's reaction.
John pursed his lips as a blush spread across his cheeks, his mouth opening and closing several times. He sent a quick elbow into Sherlock's side. "Thank you for getting our food, Mrs. Hudson," he stated calmly.
"No problem, dear," Mrs. Hudson smiled and looked at John. "At least we all know your enjoying yourself." With that she left, leaving John to bury his face into Sherlock's back with a groan.
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh. He smirked as he continued to sip his tea, obviously amused. "We should do it in every room, just to make sure Mrs. Hudson knows how much you are enjoying your little hiatus." He smirked again, moved over to the table and sat down in a chair. Hamish appeared and promptly jumped onto Sherlock's shoulder.
John watched Sherlock with a glare. "Hilarious, really." He plopped into his chair with a look toward Hamish and grabbed his box of food. He tore into it with a groan of pleasure, his head falling back as he chewed his first bite. "Honestly I'm only loud because you insist in being rough." He looked at Sherlock with a raises brow and took several more bites.
Sherlock was about to take a bite of his food but he paused and glanced up to John. "I don't hear you complaining," he replied with a smirk. "Would you like to try a more..." he paused in thought for a moment "...a more gentle approach?" His eyebrows rose curiously, and ended up giving the first bite of food to the cat on his shoulder.
John pushed his lips to one side in thought. "I don't know, maybe? I've still got a time for me to be in control. I mean, our first time was a bit slow." He took another bite and winced when Sherlock fed the cat. "I like rough, don't get me wrong, but I think I'll always be a bit vocal." After a long pause he shrugged and dropped his gaze to his food. Sherlock liked it rough, it was just who it was and John really just wanted to please him.
Sherlock nodded and finally began eating the food. Rough was all he really knew because he had discovered he quite liked it after catching John and Sarah together. He frowned at the thought and frowned even deeper at his next thought. With Jackson it had been slow and gentle, and he had liked it but he could never tell John that. After only a few bites, he wasn't hungry anymore and he dropped the chopsticks onto the plate. He picked at the food with his fingers, taking out the meat and feeding Hamish.
The change in Sherlock's demeanor didn't go unnoticed by John and he set his chopsticks down, folding his hands together as he licked his lips. "What's wrong? You were hungry and now you're feeding the cat. Talk to me." He pushed his own food slightly to the side and kept his gaze locked on his fiancé.
"I was just thinking." Sherlock picked up his chopsticks once more and forced himself to eat the food. He really hoped John wouldn't push him to talk this time, because he didn't want to end up in another fight like they had earlier. This wasn't something he could talk about with his fiancé. All it would do is hurt the other man. He would rather John be mad at him for not being willing to talk than his dangerous thoughts.
John bit his bottom lip and turned his head slightly to the side before clearing his throat. It seemed that he was going to have to her used to Sherlock keeping some thoughts to himself. "Alright," he stated in a defeated tone before glancing at his food. He had suddenly lost his appetite. "I'm going to go move the crib into our room." He stood from the table and moved into the living room, picking the crib up with ease and moving toward their bedroom.
After John left the kitchen, Sherlock slid the food away from him. Hamish jumped onto the table and began eating off the plate. Shouldn't he be grateful his fiancé didn't push him? He sighed, turning to watch the army doctor carry the crib into the bedroom. It wouldn't be wise to talk about it, but was all he could think about now. He got up, leaving the sheet behind in the chair and went into the only messy room in the flat. "I'm going to the office soon, if you still want to go." He took out a fresh set of clothes and then moved to the bathroom.
John set the crib at the foot of the bed for now, letting his eyes linger on his fiancé for a long moment. "I think I'll take you up on that offer. Am I allowed to shower?" The air between them was tense and he felt it. Christ, this needed to end. He moved swiftly into the bathroom after Sherlock, pressing his chest against the other man's back and wrapping his arms around his waist. "I love you." He placed a soft kiss on Sherlock's shoulder blade.
Instantly, Sherlock relaxed into John's arms. "I love you too." His hands rested on his fiancé's, a thumb brushing lightly against across the other man's skin. He tilted his head back and gave the army doctor a small kiss on the cheek, and then nuzzled the top of his head into John's cheek.
A small sigh of relief escaped John's mouth and he tightened his embrace around his fiancé. "I'm going to shower." He turned his head slightly and placed a kiss on Sherlock's temple before pulling away and slipping his boxers off. "Hey, is there any beer in the fridge?" John stepped into the shower and turned the water on, peeking back out to stare at Sherlock. "I haven't had a drink in ages. Can we get some?"
"No, there isn't any alcohol in the flat but we can get some if you want." Sherlock said as he stepped into the shower after John. He shivered momentarily, making sure to close the drape so water wouldn't get all over the tiled floor. He stood toward the wall closest to the shower head, so the water could fall over both of them.
"Yeah, I'd like some." John stepped closer to Sherlock and closed his eyes as the warm water spread across his body. He relaxed instantly and leaned slightly against Sherlock's chest. Instead of grabbing the soap and cleaning himself, the soldier put his hands to better use by running them up and down Sherlock's back lightly, placing soft kisses against Sherlock's collarbone. "Is that alright?"
Sherlock closed his eyes in content from the light touching. He rested his chin atop of John's head, after he placed a small kiss on the army doctor's crown. His arms wrapped around his fiancé in a light hug. "That'd be fine. Just because I don't drink, doesn't mean you can't." He gave another hug, squeezing slightly tighter this time.
Opening his mouth would be too much effort so John settled on a small hum as a reply. He closed his eyes and groped blindly around them before finding the bar of soap. After a bit of maneuvering he pulled away slightly from Sherlock's embrace and started running the soap over his fiancé's chest, tilting his head up to gently meet Sherlock's lips. "I just realized that bloody cat is probably eating all of my carry-out," he whispered with a playful push against Sherlock's chest, opening one eye.
Sherlock opened his eyes, to watch John soap him up. He returned the kiss and then smirked slightly. "Probably. He enjoys eating. Tried to get him to eat cat food but he refuses. Can't very well the poor thing starve can I?" Really, Hamish ate better than he did considering the cat ate far more and often than Sherlock did.
John blew a few bubbles in Sherlock's face with a small laugh before running the soap over his arms and chest, keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock the entire time. "You could make him eat cat food, really. That thing eats better than me. It gets carry-out and my dinner is sucking on some bloody coffee grounds." He placed the soap back against the wall with a dejected sigh. "Not fair." He pressed himself against Sherlock to slowly rinse the soap off of them. "D'you want your hair washed?"
Sherlock smirked again and then shrugged a bit. "He likes people food. When he just a small ball of fur, I didn't know what to feed him, so I gave him ham. Tried to get him to eat cat food too late, I guess. If it really bothers you, I can condition him to eat cat food." It really wouldn't be that hard, he just never had bothered because he didn't care what the cat ate. Instead of answering the question, Sherlock reached around and got the shampoo and squirted some into John's hair with a grin, before applying some to his own scalp.
"Doesn't bug me, you're the one that has to deal with the little git," John muttered as he reached his hands up and started to wash his hair. "Just an observation, really." He moved his hand, covered in suds, and trailed it along Sherlock's cheek with a grin and a chuckle. "I could make you look like Saint Nick," he stated jovially, both of his hands moving suds to the end of Sherlock's chin. "Now go off and gain some weight and say 'Ho Ho Ho,' will you?" After a pause John looked up at his fiancé with large eyes. "I would like the world's most handsome consulting detective for Christmas. I promise I've been a really good boy."
Sherlock shrugged again. "Doesn't really matter to me what Hamish eats." John sure was in playful mood right now. Maybe he could muster the same light heartedness his fiancé was displaying. "Hmmm, I don't know. My elves tell me you've been a very bad boy. Do you know boys on the naughty list get?" His smirk returned once more.
John's smile faltered slightly and he shrugged. "Hopefully equally naughty consulting detectives?" He ran a hand down Sherlock's chest. After their day John figured that his fiancé needed a bit of light hearted interaction. Even if it was in the shower. He moved both of them under the spray of the water and gasped when Sherlock lost all of the suds on his face. "The illusion's been shattered!" He laughed and gently met Sherlock's lips.
Sherlock tried to match John's enthusiasm. He just couldn't quite get there. He let the hot water spray over, his eyes closed momentarily. What was he going to do about this? It bothered him more than it probably should. Why couldn't he stop thinking about it? Would talking about it work? That was something he rarely did. Who could he possibly talk to? Lestrade maybe. Although, it would most certainly make the Detective Inspector uncomfortable, of that he was sure. Maybe he could distract himself with his experiments. After opening his eyes he stepped out of the shower and began drying himself off.
It was clear that John's light hearted moment wasn't doing the trick. For some reason, one John couldn't exactly put his finger on, his fiancé was upset. He knew it started with their conversation at the table about their sex life, of all things. Something that Sherlock didn't have much experience with. Was this all about Sherlock's little affair? The fight they'd had earlier? John stood under the warm spray of the water for a few minutes longer, eyes closed and arms holding him up against the wall. At this point he wasn't ready to face the man on the other side of the curtain. He had made the unspoken decision that Sherlock could scamper off and do his experiments on his own.
Sherlock glanced into the shower and sighed. John being home should be better than this and he was messing it all up. First the fight and now this. He wasn't sure if a silent fight was worse than a vocal one. Would talking about it work? For God's sake, John wouldn't want to know that information would he? It would probably ruin any chance of a slower pace ever happening. It was something he was interested in trying with his fiancé. Part of the reason was he hoped it get Jackson the hell out of system completely and other part was he was genuinely curious to see how it would be with John. He sighed again and now just stood in the bathroom, shivering slightly.
The shadow outside the curtain alerted John to the fact that Sherlock had yet to leave. It was obvious that something was wrong. John felt it running up his spine, attacking his thoughts, and it was all because of Sherlock. Irrationally he wanted to lash out, to shout at his future husband to leave and let him be for a bit but he figured that would be irresponsible, rude, childish. "Do you still want me to go with you, then? Or is there another reason you're standing in the middle of our bathroom naked and shivering?" He turned the water off with a rough jerk of his wrist, yanking the shower curtain open with one hand as his fingers clenched at his side. Nervous. He was nervous. Part of him knew what was bothering Sherlock. The other half just didn't want to admit it.
John's words jarred him. "Do whatever you want," he muttered as he walked out of the bathroom. He walked into the bedroom, where the clothes he had put out were on the bed. With a growl of frustration, he punched the wall. It stung and bruised his knuckles. He proceeded to throw a childish temper tantrum, knocking over boxes and scattering papers everywhere. He came upon the crib and he had to forcibly stop himself from destroying the infant's bed. He still couldn't bring himself to call the baby by name. Always referring to it as a baby or infant or John's daughter. He growled again and punched the wall with more force this time, this time with his other hand. Ignoring the throbbing in his fingers he finally began getting dressed, roughly putting them on and not caring about the wrinkles he caused from the abuse he was showing his clothes.
Crashes and thuds caused John to nearly bolt from the bathroom, haphazardly holding a towel around his hips. If he had been merely wondering if something was wrong with his fiancé earlier he knew for sure now. "What the fuck is wrong?" He couldn't take it anymore. Whatever was going on between them needed to stop and with a twist in his gut John stepped forward and grabbed Sherlock's hand. He should have thought his actions through but the emotion running through his body was too strong. With a sure movement he pulled the silver band from his left ring finger and placed it roughly in Sherlock's palm. "I need some time to think about this." His voice was rough and unconfident. He took a hesitant step away from the taller man and looked around the room before going into the bathroom and closing the door.
