Disclaimer: This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Not beta read, so all mistakes are mine.
#BlokeCode
"Sorry, what was that?"
And John Watson grins at his best friend. Watches in amusement as said best friend's sharp, irritatingly super-modelessque cheekbones turn a spectacular shade of red.
On the other end of Sherlock's phone, he can hear Molly Hooper giggling.
Sherlock turns from him, lowering his voice and saying something inaudible to his Not A Girlfriend before hanging up his phone. Nodding to John and setting out at a brisk pace towards Baker Street's front steps, head held high, eyes straight ahead.
It doesn't matter though: John knows what he heard.
He heard Sherlock Holmes call Molly Hooper, "honeybee."
More specifically, he heard Sherlock Holmes call Molly Hooper his "honeybee," and then saw him grin when she answered him.
Johns best friend, the most unromantic, irritating, emotionally incompetent git in London, called his girlfriend by a pet name, and John- as his best friend- is honour bound to slag the crap out of him for as long as he can before Sherlock walks off in a huff and refuses to talk to him. (Perhaps even longer).
Failure to do so would be a clear breach of the Bloke Code, and who knows where that would lead?
So, bearing that in mind, he sets out after Sherlock. If he understood correctly, Molly's already at 221B, waiting or them. Given his longer, lankier legs the detective has managed to get quite a bit ahead of him in the brief moments when John was grinning to himself. Watson is forced to take the steps of 221B two at a time to catch up with him, grinning demonically all the while; by the time Sherlock's opened the front door he already has about a dozen smart arse questions to ask and he can't even decide which one to go for first-
Before he can say any of them however, Sherlock seems to come to a decision, for he stops. Straightens his shoulders. He turns back to John and blocks his way up the stairs, his expression oddly... mulish.
Red can still be discerned along his cheeks and the back of his neck.
"John," he says sharply, and when Watson glances at him with glee he sighs. Rolls his eyes and then crosses his arms over his chest.
"Fine then," he says. "Get it out of your system. Come on, let me have it. Better you do it out here than in front of Molly; she's a nervous wreck about that nickname as it is."
John frowns, surprised. "Why's Molly a nervous wreck?" he asks, somewhat against his better judgement.
Sherlock rolls his eyes again.
"Some of her more idiotic co-workers have been gossiping about her," he says testily. "Something along the lines of "I'm grateful and nothing more," or "I'm just looking for someone to break me in and then I'll leave her in the dust."" He grimaces. "Actual quote, that," he says sourly, before adding, a "Bloody Meena," for good measure.
"That being the case," he continues, "I have bee endeavouring to make Molly more comfortable with our relationship- And more confident." He shrugs. "I had thought that a new pet name might help with that, hence-"
He gestures grandly with his hand, rather than say the dreaded, honeybee.
He cocks an eyebrow at his best friend as he does so, as if daring him to raise an objection.
"So this is for Molly?" John asks.
He nods. "Of course it's for Molly," he snaps. "Why ever the hell else would I say something like that?"
Watson narrows his eyes. "And we're having this conversation because you don't want her upset?"
Sherlock nods, but something moves through his expression. Something unsure. Something vulnerable. It occurs to John, rather suddenly, that whatever his friend's feelings or ability to articulate them, he's got it bad when it comes to his pathologist.
John remembers how that feels.
"She will face enough censure for her choice," Sherlock says stiffly. "I will not have her made uncomfortable in my home, as well- Is that clear?"
For a moment John is tempted to dig his heels in, but at the last minute he decides not to. Can't tease a man about being a git for years, he muses, and then tease him when he doesn't behave like one, now can you?
"I'm going to slag you about this from a height," he tells Sherlock. " But not now, and not in front of Molly- You have my word on that." He smiles. "I'm really rather fond of her, you know."
The detective inclines his head sharply. "I would expect nothing less, especially considering how lucky we both know I am to have her."
And with that he turns on his heel and heads straight upstairs, John grinning behind him. The back of his neck is still noticeably red. When they enter 221B Molly's already waiting, making something that smells amazingly edible for the kitchen of Baker Street. She lights up when she lays eyes on Sherlock.
She's wearing a new pendant around her neck, a small gold charm shaped like a honeybee, but though John notices he says not a thing.