Chapter 30: M
"All of that," John grumbled into the floor. "For nothing."
"She cheated," Sherlock mumbled back.
"Yes." John rolled onto her back, extracting her arm from under Sherlock and folding her hands over her chest. "Yes, she did."
"It was not all for nought," Sherlock groaned as she tipped over. Her back popped audibly as it realigned itself against the wood. "We'll soon be able to track where the treasure ends up."
John closed her eyes and sighed. "We will?"
"Tracker in the box we first found. One of Mycroft's new toys. She won't notice it in the mess."
John woke up some hours later. Her creaky body did not thank her for the position she took on the floor, but frankly it was better than half the places she slept in the past month. In fact, she had snuggled herself on Sherlock's shoulder and that was near worthy of a goose feather filled pillow. She would feel guilty about the casual touch but she was just too tired to do so.
Food was a priority. They collectively lost at least two stones. Not to mention the dehydration.
Sherlock refused to move from the floor, even when John put a piece of toast in front of her. No cheese for the toast. It had gone bad just like the milk and the yogurt and the fingertips.
After finishing her own sandwich and a large glass of water, too exhausted to make tea, John pulled Sherlock up by her shoulders and moved her to the couch, unable to think about making it to the bedroom. Sherlock collapsed neatly and dragged John down with her, forcing her to sit on the ground next to her.
Eyes closing already, John tried to push herself up. Sherlock grunted in protest and John sank back down. Another uncomfortable position to fall asleep in, but somehow John managed it.
When they woke up, it was to the sound of Mrs. Hudson bringing them cake. She must have heard about the disaster because she made Sherlock's favorite. Sherlock refused to get up to have any. John ate her piece for her.
Mycroft did not help in the slightest bit. He called over and over, though both of them ignored him. Then, he actually made a house visit just so he could lecture them about galavanting around the world, chasing after buried treasure, while Queen and Country had priorities.
Mycroft had been able to track the treasure and confiscated the truck it was being transported on, but, as with the rest of their luck on this case, it contained nothing. Moriarty found the tracker. The only item left was the box Sherlock found first, old and chipped, black and gold with a monogrammed M hidden in the back corners. Mycroft dropped it off for them.
Neither one of them engaged. They simply waited until Mycroft left and ignored the box entirely.
The box was promptly discarded into the cold fire pit.
John was in hot water at work. A sudden month-long 'vacation' was no way to keep a part time job. Sarah was absolutely fuming. Fortunately, John's flexibility was a hard thing to reproduce. Most doctors who could work her odd hours wanted full time, better pay, or were completely inexperienced. She would be hired back but only after paying her dues. Two weeks more without pay, a second round of new-hire training, and a doctor's conference in Wales that would take no less than 6 days and 62hours worth of lectures.
John could not simply sit around for two weeks. She could only sleep twelve hours a day for so many days in a row before starting to feel worse. It took three days before she went jogging again -thankfully without being kidnapped-, did another round of shopping, and went on that pub run simply for herself. Her stitches had been removed, her bruises were healed, and she was back to her normal self within the week.
"Wait, explain this to me again," Molly requested over lunch at the coffee shop. "You were not searching for Nazi gold."
"No," John nodded. It was only her. Sherlock ignored the invitation.
"But everyone thought you were, including the other governments?"
"Yes."
"But it was really Moriarty's missing inheritance?"
"Yup."
"And you spent nearly a month and a half looking for it and Sherlock didn't…?"
"Nope."
"Well." Molly frowned at her muffin. "That's unfortunate."
Unfortunate was an understatement.
Along those same lines, it was unfortunate that John was not the only one on probation.
"Sorry," Lestrade huffed into the phone. "I can't."
"What do you mean you can't?" John whispered harshly, trying to keep the conversation quiet in her bedroom. Sherlock's sonar hearing would pick it up anyway.
"Sorry, mate. Sherlock's not allowed to work cases till the month's up," Lestrade said, as if John already knew. "If it helps, I've not got anything too weird. You did have Moriarty distracted. The best I've got is a woman with bite marks literally all over her body. Died of unknown causes. But I'm sure we can figure it out. You're both welcome to join us for pub night though."
Sherlock was on the mope of the century. After Mycroft dropped off the box the most Sherlock said was, "How disappointing."
That was all she said for two weeks.
John was getting fed up with it. Sherlock was not eating, barely drinking, not getting her strength back, and her hygiene was lacking. The armpit hair was getting distracting and John knew for a fact that was not the hair Sherlock wanted to grow out.
John refused to let her kill herself over this.
"Hello, Doctor Watson," Mycroft greeted after the first ring. "How are you settling in after your holiday?"
"Cut the bullshit, Mycroft," John snapped. "It wasn't a holiday and you know it. Sherlock is-"
"Learning her lesson."
John's teeth were probably audibly grinding through the speaker. She grabbed one of her newly cleaned jeans and shoved them into her closet. "Your sister is half dead on that couch right now."
Mycroft tsked. "Why are women always so dramatic? She's probably on her monthly. She is not dying ."
John visibly shook with the effort it took to not throw her phone across the room. "You are not her mother or her father. You cannot take her toys away when she does something you do not like. You are to be there for her when she needs you and right now she needs you."
Mycroft scoffed. "She doesn't need me."
John knew she growled and she hoped Mycroft enjoyed every hormone driven, wiley second of it. "You leave me no choice."
"Dramatics again?"
"I'm calling Mummy."
There was a distinctly long pause.
"There is no reason to be so drastic, Doctor. You will only upset Mummy if you allow her to see Sherlock like this."
"The way you made her, you mean. Fix this, Mycroft. Fix it now or I will be calling Mummy and I will be telling her exactly who made Sherlock look like a puppet with its strings cut off."
There was another pause.
"Sherlock won't let you."
"Sherlock won't know."
The phone was silent for so long John almost felt the need to ask if Mycroft were still there. If he were weighing out the probability of it being a bluff, he had another thing coming. John was willing, able, and prepared to take any and all measures.
"I shall message Lestrade." Mycrot sounded painfully unhappy and it made John smile. "I do hope Sherlock does not find out about this. She already has a mother, she does not need two."
"Goodbye, Mycroft."
Two minutes later, Sherlock's phone buzzed with pictures of a dead body. John ran down the stairs to see if she was looking. She was not.
John pulled Sherlock's phone into her lap and sat on the edge of the couch, resting her hand on Sherlock's shoulder briefly. "You have a case."
Sherlock said nothing.
John opened the pictures of the bitten girl and held it against the back of the couch, right in front of Sherlock's face.
Sherlock's eyes flickered but she only curled further into the cushions.
"Come on, Sherlock. Those bite marks are clearly human."
"One dog."
"What?" John grabbed the phone back and zoomed in.
"Left arm. Bicep."
At least Sherlock was speaking.
"Should I text Lestrade?"
Sherlock shrugged so John texted.
Is that dog bite relevant? -Lestrade
"Is that dog bite relevant?" John asked.
Sherlock galred.
Your guess is as good as mine - JW
"Lestrade invited us to the pub on Friday. Might be nice to go. No one's seen us in a month and a half. They might think we're dead."
"Good," Sherlock grumbled. She pulled her knees up and entered the fetal position.
"Sherlock," John warned. "I'll make Mrs. Hudson come up again. She'll talk your ears off for hours gossiping about what's been happening with her book club and I'll make sure you don't sleep this time."
Sherlock curled in tighter.
"That's it," John snapped. "Up you get or I'm calling Mummy."
Sherlock's still body seemed to freeze even more. She stopped breathing and blinking for thirty seconds. She seemed unsure. "You wouldn't."
"I wouldn't?"
"You wouldn't break Mummy's heart like that." Sherlock spun onto her back, her eyes flickering over the ceiling. "She'll have a heart attack after seeing my unshaven legs, traditionalist she is. Not to mention the state of the flat. Mold growing in the bath. The fireplace is clogged and the temperature is dropping. She'll worry over a fire. And do you know what will happen if she sees that cock on the wall? She will die, John. My Mummy is not prepared for lipstick cocks."
John could not help smiling. Sherlock was speaking in full sentences. It was a miracle and it gave John a brilliant idea. "Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?"
John made it all the way up to her room before she remembered she did not have any more chokers. Damn it. She decided she did not need it and ran back down the stairs. This could be her chance to fix the awkwardness. This could be the opportunity to draw that line and find the old dynamic between them.
Just as she reached the bottom step, she heard Sherlock's bedroom door click shut.
"Sherlock?"
It was pointless. The lock was in place and there was no getting to her after that.
This was probably the worst mood that she had ever seen Sherlock in. Ever. It was beyond an average Danger Night. She was simply comatose, ignoring the food John left out for her and not replying to anything John said. The only reason John knew she was still kicking was because she heard the bathroom being used every now and again.
John would have reached out to Ella but she was not exactly feeling like a therapist was the best route after what had just happened. She tried to do research into how else she could help, keeping in mind that certain avenues within their relationship had opened up, and came across a very scary web forum. Subdrop.
Sherlock was not a sub but there were Doms posting about Domdrop being something as well. What the hell had they gotten themselves into? Sherlock was not in a Domdrop really. This low had nothing to do with their scenes and everything to do with Moriarty. Right?
John was out of her league.
The phone was in her hand before she realized who she was calling.
"Yes?" Ian answered, sounding far too pleased with himself. "Doctor Watson? How can I be of service."
This was a terrible idea. If Ian found out how upset Sherlock actually was, that would mean Moriarty had a way of finding out. If Moriarty found out, that would give her all the reason to shove Sherlock's nose in it, not to mention give her a chance to spread chaos while her opponent was down for the count.
"Joan? I can hear you breathing," Ian said. "If you're touching yourself to the sound of my voice, you only need say. I could be saying something much more stimulating."
"Wrong number." John panicked and hung up.
That was how John found herself back at the beginning. Moriarty could still find out this way, but at least John would not have to deal with Ian's bragging.
"Alex!" John knew she stuck out like a sore thumb. Then again, the people in the crazy outfits stood out to her more. Now that it was her second time visiting the sex club, she could see there were all sorts of people wearing normal, everyday clubbing clothes and the crazy outfits were not necisarily the majority. Her tank top and jeans were acceptable.
Alex looked up from her section of the alcove. Beth sat directly at her feet. They were watching an experienced couple demonstrate one of the tools with the spiky looking end. John had little interest in seeing how that panned out and was honestly relieved to see Alex and Beth were in attendance at all.
John jogged over and it clearly took a second for Alex to recognize who John was. She waved her over and tapped the seat next to her when she did, inviting her to sit down.
"Hey you!" Alex greeted warmly. "Why don't you sit for a bit? Where is that girl of yours tonight?"
John shook her head and gestured over the sounds of the moans and music behind her, indicating Alex and Beth to follow. "I need to talk with you. Both of you."
"Everything alright?" Alex asked but stood up. "Beth, up." Beth stood and immediately followed.
"Is there somewhere we could talk in private?" John asked.
Alex led them all to the changing rooms. Apparently she and Sherlock had no need to arrive dressed to impress and people were not strolling in off the street with their skimpy school girl outfits already in place. There were lockers and stalls and it was all very clean and useful. It would have been more useful to know before Sherlock had shoved her in the bathroom stall for a quick change. Hindsight was 20/20.
John reintroduced herself as Joan and asked that everyone take themselves out of the scene so she could talk to the two on equal grounds.
"What's wrong?" Beth asked immediately, head held high and looking directly at her. It was jarring at first but John quickly snapped out of it.
"It's Sherly," John said. "I honestly don't know what to do."
John told them an edited version of the story. She explained that she had been in a relationship with a man and started the D/s thing with Sherly while in said relationship. They swapped and realized Joan made a better sub than a Dom and Sherly fit the part perfectly. But Joan was still in it with Martin. Things got messy. Joan broke it off with Martin. Sherly helped but Joan went away for a weekend trip that went topside and Sherly felt responsible. Then Sherly took her on a better holiday but that also went topside and Sherly blamed herself for all of it. Now Sherly would not come out of her room and nothing Joan did was helping.
"Whoa, mate," Alex said, shaking her head. "Well… honestly not that bad."
Beth nodded her head in agreement. "Every lesbian knows a lesbian with a story like that. Hell, I was married before meeting Alex."
"I'm not a-" John defended. "I just- Oh nevermind. Not important. Is this a Domdrop or whatever?"
Alex nodded her head slowly. "Could be."
"Has she ever done this before?" Beth asked.
John stared at them blankly for a moment, reliving every time Sherlock had ever been in a black mood since they started living together. It was a lot to take in in a moment. "Yes. But not since before we started-" She gestured at the club, "-together. And she hasn't wanted to scene and now I'm worried we won't get what we had before back either."
"You're not having any sex at all?" Beth asked, kindly as she could.
John felt her face pinch. "We never really… See- About that- Look-"
"Holy shite," Alex swore. "Never?" Her laugh echoed in the changing room. She threw a hand over her mouth to stop herself and shook her head. "I take it back. It's a bit bad."
John grimaced. "I know. How do I-" She threw up her hands helplessly. "Fix it?"
"First off," Alex held up a hand. "Does the girl even know you like her?"
John nodded. "Yeah. I think so. She should."
"Have you said it?" Beth asked, grimacing herself.
"I mean-" John felt her mouth gape open. "We don't really discuss… Emotions in our house."
"Wait, wait, wait," Alex held both hands up and walked in a circle, completely flabbergasted. "You don't talk about your feelings. You haven't slept with the girl. She doesn't know you like her. You're living with her. And your first step into a relationship with her is to start Domming. While you're seeing someone else. And you are confused about why Sherly is confused about where you twos stand?"
John felt her mouth pinch closed. "When you put it that way…" She trailed off with no real plan of action. Apparently her recurring problem. "Well, I want to figure out where we stand but for that she needs to talk to me. I don't know how to get her out of- of whatever this one is. It's worse than before."
"Of course it is!" Beth explained, eyebrows raising with ludicrousy. She seemed just as stupefied as her girlfriend. "Joan. Are you joking with yourself right now? This girl clearly likes you or she wouldn't have agreed to any of this. She opened up to you in a very deep and personal way. You don't talk about feelings? Well doing this-" She gestured between herself and Alex, "-was how she opened up to you. She was there for you after your breakup and then what? You never told her how you felt! She was probably sitting there, waiting, and you never came to her! That entire holiday and you never made a move or let her know everything between you was good? You never thought to reassure her?! I know you were dealing with a lot of stuff but Joan! Wake up!"
John was utterly speechless. An unbidden memory came to her of Sherlock standing up after they kissed for the first time, stripping her dress, and leaving her bedroom door open...and John not following. Then on 'holiday' when John listened to Ian, made Sherlock eat, let her know she trusted her, but then still did not talk about the elephant in the room. She had really cocked things up, hadn't she?
Alex put a hand on Beth's shoulder and squeezed. "I would add that Doms need just as much care as subs, Joan. Sherly was there for you in your time of need, right?"
John nodded.
Alex continued, "Then you need to be there in hers. Being a Dom is not just giving orders. It's a lot of work. You give a large part of yourself over. If you get nothing back then…" She shrugged. "Tell her and show her. She won't want to put more of herself out there without knowing you'll be there to catch her. You have to trust each other."
Ian, Alex, and Beth were right.
Be there for your Dom. Be there for your friend. Be there for the person you care about.
Duh.
John thanked the girls profusely for spelling it out for her and went home. Sherlock was still locked away in her room. John got to work immediately, starting with the cock on the wall. It was obvious the cock needed to go first. It was only ever going to be a constant reminder of the failed case, Moriarty waving her metaphorical dick in their faces. Lipstick on wallpaper was actually quite a hard stain to get off but John had all night to face it. Compound 3812 -a cleaning liquid Sherlock concocted herself that would literally remove rust from steel- was the only thing that would work.
After gearing up for a biohazard, clothespin to the nose included, John made quick work of the bath and moved onto the fireplace, regretting her offering to clean immediately. She absolutely hated cleaning out the fire pit.
While she was at it, she had to face something else she hated as well. Her own feelings. Because as much as Beth and Alex helped put things into perspective, they also said some things that John had not yet admitted out loud.
She liked Sherlock. There. There it was. Simple as that.
Only it was not that simple. Because John had been that Kinsey 0 up till now and Sherlock… What was Sherlock thinking anyway? How was John supposed to know? Beth and Alex meant well but they did not know Sherlock. Sherlock worked differently than other people. Didn't she?
John found herself staring at her phone, contemplating a call to her sister again. Maybe a text would do it instead. She pulled open her messaging app and noticed her drafts folder wall full of empty messages. She deleted four blank files before coming across an entry, written months ago.
Freesia
What the hell did that mean?
A few entries later she came across another.
Hyacinth
Right that was the safeword John wanted to look up. That's what these all were, the ones she did not know. She remembered one was a weed and iris was easy.
Protea
Were they all flowers? Why would Sherlock choose flowers?
John pulled her laptop forward and started googling. It was easy to confirm they were all plants. She pulled up Sherlock's website and searched for anything plant related.
There were actually articles all about plants. It was expected as a scientist for Sherlock to have at least something, the poisonous plant study quite predictable, but it was surprising to see an article all about their meanings.
Plants have always held a meaning for those that pluck them. For some, it is to create pigment, to concoct tea, to provide medicine, and for others, it is for symbolism. When investigating murders, it is important to know the meanings behind each plant and the differentiations in colour. One must understand why the yellow carnations were given as a gift. Was it because their favorite colour was yellow or was it a sign of rejection, therefore pointing out a motive for murder?
John skipped beyond the second paragraph and the third all the way down to the chart that listed each type of flower, the colors it could have, and the uses for such plants including symbolic meaning. Using the CRL F feature on her laptop, she searched each by name, reading only what was relevant to each.
Freesia: Innocence, Friendship
Hyacinth: Consistency, Sincerity
Bulrush/Cattail: Peace, Thinking of You, Prosperity
Iris: Faith, Hope, Wisdom, Trust
Petunia: Anger, Resentment
Protea: Strength
John stared at the page long enough to make her eyes hurt. She was running through every one of their scenes trying to remember why Sherlock chose those. There was no way she did anything by accident. Petunia stuck out from the rest. John tried to remember when she had that as her safeword and gasped.
Martin. The blue dress. The sex. The really bad sex followed by the really good wank.
Then, after Martin, the one where Sherlock safeworded. Protea. Strength.
"Oh, Sherlock," John whispered at her screen.
John came across another flower, one not used before but its alternate name stuck out.
Liatris (Blazing Star/Gayfeather): I will try again
John felt that one was appropriate in so many ways.
"Sherlock," John whispered again, her fingertips gently tapping the screen. "You crazy clever girl."
"Sherlock!" John knocked on her door just after hearing the girl exit her bathroom. She knocked at least a dozen times and paused long enough to hear Sherlock's bed squeak. "Sherlock you need to understand something." John sucked in her cheeks and shook her head. "I'm going to leave something for you outside your door and I want you to work it out. I'm going to the pub with the Yarders. I'll be back in a couple hours. I want to give you some space… but I will be back. Alright?"
John did not want to give Sherlock space. She wanted to give her the opposite of space. But Sherlock would never look unless John left. This was the only way. It still left her a trembling mess as she hid behind her beer and listened to everyone talk about the hot topic of conversation. They were still on it after half an hour.
"But why all the cocks?" Lestrade asked again.
"She really hates men," John said. "Truly."
Anderson could not resist piping up with his own opinion, "Probably to scare off Sherlock. God knows she's never seen one in her life."
"Hey, it scared me," Lestrade defended before John could get the chance. "Cocks are not a thing of beauty and I saw far more than I bargained for."
Molly's face rose in disgust and she nodded, "They are really not."
John agreed, "No one actually likes cocks."
Everyone turned to John and that was when Molly gasped. "John! Your hair! How did I not notice earlier? It's so short!"
John self consciously put a hand through her buzz cut hair and combed out the top with her fingers. It had never been this short in her life but she was running out of time on her biological clock. Soon her hair would stop growing at all. This was her only shot and she was about to take it, stereotypes be damned.
Donovan looked at Anderson and sneered. "Some women care about keeping their hair long because it makes them look feminine."
John looked at Ashley, the only other detective with short, pixie hair in the group and back and Donovan. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?" She mashed her face up in defense. "I haven't done anything."
John was going to shake it off but Sherlock suddenly piped up from behind her. "You said some women. As if excluding yourself from the sex and thinking yourself superior for doing so. It's what some girls who are desperate for male attention do. For example, some women are stupid enough to actually believe their boyfriend will leave their wives for her just because she is as vile a human as they are."
Donovan glared as Anderson looked away and sipped his beer.
"Sherlock!" Lestrade greeted warmly, jumping up to shake her hand and offer her a seat. "Sit, sit. We didn't think you were coming!"
Sherlock, still rumpled from her coma state with a sour look on her face, shook her head. "Neither did I."
Sherlock looked at John and it was as if everything else had melted away. John looked as hard as she could, trying to use every one of her detective skills to figure out what Sherlock was thinking. Sherlock's eyes were moving fast, taking in John's new hair and the way she was sitting and probably how much she had to drink already.
"So," Lestrade coughed, breaking the silence. "Tell us. What were you two up to while we were stuck here doing our jobs?"
John jumped into telling the story when it became clear Sherlock was not going to talk. It was when she got to the part with the vengeful monkey that Sherlock felt the need to take over due to John's inability to tell it correctly. John sat back and watched everyone's faces, noting how even Donovan became interested enough to wave Anderson away when he asked her to play darts. She had some stake in this, after all. She was the one who found Gabby Miller. Gabby had run to another country and they were in the process of getting her back but at least they could tell Tim his mom was alive.
It took most of the night to get through the story, and John definitely jumped in a few times to correct Sherlock's mistakes.
"We did not jump off the cliff without parachutes. It was barely a cliff," and "You did not convince American agents to let us live based on knowing their Great Aunt!" and "You bet your arse you hugged that camel."
As they were leaving and John was settling the tab, Ashley approached her. "Hey, Joan."
"Hi," John nodded at her, eyes still on the bartender.
Ashley giggled. "I just wanted to say I really love the cut. You look very pretty."
"Thank you," John smiled and picked her card back up from the bar.
"We should see each other outside of work sometime."
John nodded just as Sherlock appeared from behind. In her usual short clipped tone she said, "She's not interested."
"Sherlock-" John started.
"Just because she cut her hair short does not mean she is now a lesbian."
Ashley's face turned beet red.
"Sherlock!" John slapped her arm and shoved her back towards the door, turning to Ashley. "I'm so sorry about her. I'd love to see you some time. Maybe we'll have a group outing. Us girls. Teach Donovan some manners."
Ashley hid behind a trembling smile and nodded, "Sure," before bolting out of the bar.
John waited until they got home where Sherlock could not run before confronting her "Why did you do that?"
"Do what?" Sherlock asked innocently.
"Stupid doesn't suit you," John said and crossed her arms. "Ashley. Why did you out her like that?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were interested. I'll call her and set you up, shall I?" Sherlock stormed into the kitchen before John could take off her shoes.
John growled at the ceiling and charged after her.
Sherlock sat at the table, her fingers tenderly petting the stem of one of the flowers.
Honestly, John forgot which was which in the bocquet. There were asters, bird of paradise, cockscomb, liatris, gladiolus, lavender, a few orchids, gardenia, and gerberas. It was one of a kind to say the least.
"I know it looks a bit chaotic," John called from the center of the living room. "But I had a lot to say."
Sherlock spun the vase in her hands, a smile fighting its way up the side of her face. "I see you've been reading my blog."
"I do that, on occasion."
Sherlock pet the petals of a purple flower, plucked one out and twirled it in her fingers. John waited with her heart in her throat.
"Your haircut suits you," Sherlock said, still not looking at her.
John's hand automatically started to pet it again. "I thought-" John started and then cleared her throat. "I thought we could renegotiate the terms of our scene play."
Sherlock froze, refusing to turn around. "Yes?"
John swallowed the lump in her throat and made herself stand up straighter, adjusting the bottom of her shirt and slipping her palms over her trousers. "I don't think the idea of Domming and subbing without the sex is going to work for me anymore."
"Oh." Sherlock's head dropped down to the vase. She poked at another flower, driving her nail into the squishy center. "I see."
"I think-" John broke in before Sherlock could strut off in misunderstanding. "I think I'd like…" Damn this was hard. "I'd like…"
Sherlock finally looked at her, a frown plastered on her face. "What? Say what you want, John."
"You," John admitted. All of her breath left her with that one word. "I'd like you. I do like you. Not Ashley or anyone else. I've come to realise there is only one type of girl out there for me. One girl really. And that's you."
Sherlock said nothing and John was ready to burst.
The temperature turned up at least ten degrees. The air in the room was suddenly gone. The kitchen lights were a vile color that swamped her senses and made it hard to keep looking straight at Sherlock.
"I don't know-" John continued pitifully. "I don't know how you feel but I know that if you are willing to give this a shot, then so am I but I can't- that is- If you don't that's fine, it's all fine, but I wanted to know if- I don't know if you- I guess what I'm trying to ask is-" John blew out her breath and shook her head. Soldier up, dammit. "Do you like me?"
Sherlock was completely unreadable, her arms crossed and her face still sour. "Are you sure?" She stood up and walked into the living room, still so far from John, able to run into her bedroom at the slightest startle. "I'm not an easy person to be with, John. You've seen where a partnership with me will land you. In the arms of a madwoman, fighting for your life, constantly running."
John took a step forward at military rest. "I do cardio and I have a mind of my own. I follow those I trust. I trust you. I still do."
"Look where that trust put you," Sherlock sneered. "In a relationship with a psychopath. Kidnapped. Twice now."
"You did not send me to Frank. Other people took me. And who took care of me after?" John took another step. "You did, Sherlock. You were there for me."
"I wasn't," Sherlock snapped. "I should have been but I wasn't."
John shook her head. "You were. In your room. You invited me and I didn't even realize. You were there, I was not. I have not been there for you, Sherlock. I was being thick. But I've stopped now." She took another step. "I'm here now. I choose to stay."
Sherlock rolled her eyes. "I believe you can make your own choices."
"Good." John took the final step to close the gap between them. They were now toe to toe, glaring painfully close. John raised an eyebrow, challenging Sherlock to answer truthfully. "And I believe you can make your own as well. So make your choice. Do you like me, Sherlock Holmes?"
John could feel her heartbeat shaking her entire body. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips. Her arms twitched, begging her to move.
Sherlock's glare softened at the corners and she fought a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You would know if you only observed."
John huffed and smiled. "Y eah, well, observe this-"
John dove in and claimed Sherlock's mouth. She pushed and pulled her lips with a gasp. She wrapped her hands around Sherlock's hips and slid their bodies together. She moaned and leaned up to press harder.
The room smelled of flowers. John tasted like pub beer. Sherlock tasted like mint gum. It was perfect.
Sherlock's hands tentatively landed on her shoulders and slid their way behind her neck and scraped up and over her freshly exposed head.
Air escaped John in a laugh. The pet across her shaved head tickled.
John rested her forehead on Sherlock's and panted into the space between them. "See."
"I saw ages ago. It took you multiple orgasms and a kidnapping."
"I'm slow."
"I'll try not to hold it against you."