Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. A. N. And we end with prompt n.16, "favorite song". Or, since it's in London, favourite, I guess? ;D Johnlock because Benedict got a star on the Walk of Fame today. :D Hope you like this!
Lemon and Cheese
Of the two of them, you'd expect Sherlock, the violinist, to be pickier about music. Often, he is. There are tunes that will make him look like an unexpectedly soaked cat – or so John says. The mix of utter distaste, betrayal that anyone could perpetrate such a thing, and incredulity that it's even legal. But, in general, he will not be hurt by any song. Maybe because he feels more like a composer than its audience.
John is, in general, not passionate about music. He likes his share of songs, sure, like anyone else. But the fact is, he's more a lyrics man than musically inclined. He's always listening to what the actual words say, no matter the music underneath...and sometimes, the words hit him. Hard.
John is actually at work when it happens. There's some radio station or another in the background, and he usually tunes it out, but – it's the last appointment of the day, and Mrs. Elsworth is the most hypochondriac woman to grace London, and possibly the earth. So yeah, maybe he lets himself be distracted by the lyrics, if only because the word "boring" infiltrates his consciousness. It's a perfect description of his current mood, and at the same time such an intense reminder of his boyfriend that John has to catch himself before he smiles at her tale of woe, which would be a bit not good. She's not dying, though, no matter what she's insisting on, and John lets himself pay attention to a different thing for three minutes. It's not the first time he's had her, sadly. She's going to go on for another fifteen at a minimum.
It's his punishment for being less than professional, maybe, that he's picked such a song. He'd hoped for more reminders of Sherlock. It's not that he misses his boyfriend...Ok, he does, a little. But he's kissed him goodbye this morning, and will get to kiss him again soon. Without that damn word, he'd just be daydreaming about him and what he might find when he gets home (he's really never bored anymore) until it was time to reassure his patient. Instead, he's listening. And he's feeling personally attacked.
He's not sure what the writer of this one was thinking, or what he might have gone through. But the verses, details aside, are so on point about what John was without Sherlock. Yes, some sentences were closer to 'before even meeting him.' Especially the "I'm waiting for you." Sure, John didn't know it yet, but he was. Like a laptop on standby, useless until someone touched it – and that was the most charitable comparison. And the chorus? Sure, maybe he's overreaching, but his brain jumps to what they call hiatus, because there's no more exact word that wouldn't make John want to scream.
Ok, yeah, fine, Sherlock is unlikely to ever start a conversation about the sky, of all things. But the "blue, blue sky" John loves the most swallows Sherlock's pupils, and it's just as iridescent as the actual one. And staring at it one moment, and then being left with a " yellow lemon tree"? Something – blonde, in a way, whose fruits are sour, and really not something you'd want in any considerable quantity unless you were already sick in the first place? Yeah, that was a stupid choice. But John felt sick to his core, after losing Sherlock (forever, or so he thought). No wonder he'd leant on Mary. Isolation is not good for anyone, really. Not him, not the singers, not anyone from a social species.
At least the blokes singing had more sense than him, and rejected their own lemon tree...long before getting too enmeshed. John's path has been longer, and more awkward. But he finally understands that she was as far from what he really wanted as the earth is from the sky, and allowed himself to have what he'd craved all along. What they'd craved, because he's stupidly lucky.
John is actually relieved there are 10 extra minutes of senseless complaints for him to concentrate on. Otherwise he'd be too raw going home. Instead, he listens, then reassures Mrs. Elsworth to the best of his ability, even knowing she'll eventually be back. When she leaves, he can do the same, and he's always eager to see Sherlock, but damn, this time it's almost embarrassing. He finds a taxi almost immediately, and that might or not be one of the Holmes boys' influence, John doesn't care, he's just happy about it.
He finds his boyfriend stretched out on the sofa (sulking because he's been lonely, even if he wouldn't ever admit as much) and dives to box him in. Cuddle first, dinner later.
"Huh?" Sherlock isn't protesting, far from it. But he has that sharp look in his eyes that means he's going to deduce John's whole day, find the cause of this change in John's routine (usually it's food first), and consider the opportunity of sending them dead body parts.
"Hush." Most often it's Sherlock who shows octopus tendencies. Surely, John is entitled to a turn. And while he's often annoyed at his lack of height, this time he's actually grateful for it. "I'm listening."
Sherlock frowns, trying to do the same and coming up empty. Finally, he taps a "What?" on John's arm. (Of course they know Morse code.)
"My favourite song," John says. It is. Oh, he loves a few singers, of course, and the violin is always brilliant, but the steady drum of Sherlock's heart against his ear? Best song in the universe.
It takes Sherlock a few seconds to understand. When he does, though, he laughs – which is a close second. "Likewise, but promise me something about dinner."
"Yeah? What are you in the mood for, love?"
"No cheese."
John giggles too, crossing his finger in promise. "I can arrange that." And then kisses Sherlock, just because he can.