Okay so this chapter isn't really much longer than the last one, but they're setting up the next big part of the plot of the story so you can't really blame me :P
No smut in this chapter, just a bit of fluff and an ending to give a big hint as to the next big focus of the story. I'm sorry for taking a little while to update - I was away in Wales at the weekend with no internet access.
As always thank you all so much for favourites subscriptions and reviews! It means a lot to me 3
The Return of Sherlock Holmes 9; Distance
It was agonising, the waiting and that expression that his only friend regarded him with. John Watson was the only person who had ever made Sherlock feel, and now he was going to lose him because of his own inability to voice it. No, that simply wouldn't do. Didn't actions speak louder than words anyway? If that were so why was it that his feet had been frozen to the spot?
Doctor Watson regarded him with disdain, it was clear he thought he had been made fun of, as though perhaps this was some sort of game.
"I don't want to be an embarrassment." The words came out before he realised he had formed them and the detective was shocked at his own outburst. It was as though someone had opened a flood gate and once he had started he could not stop until all of the water was gone. "You know I'm not proficient when it comes to this sort of thing; I don't understand it. I thought that the lack of contact since the graveyard – the distance – had been because you had realised that you didn't want me around. I thought you wouldn't want to show people any affection towards me because you were ashamed to be attracted to someone as mutually disliked as I am. Perhaps it had been an overwhelming emotion due to my return that you mistook for something else. I can't reason with myself, I can't logically come to any conclusions about the whole affair and it is torturous."
Quickly the atmosphere became thick and heavy, hot with anticipation. John let everything sink in before he stepped towards Sherlock, taking his other hand so that now he was holding both. Looking up at those blue pools of doubt he couldn't help but smile.
"I told you I love you didn't I?" he asked, earning an expression not unlike that of a puppy begging for treats.
"Yes." Was the monotonous reply.
"Then, do you know what that means?"
Sherlock shook his head, brown curls bouncing with the movement.
"It means I want to spend every day with you, that I want the world to know that you're mine and no-one else's. It means that I would parade you in a chicken suit in front of the whole of London and point at you and say 'that's Sherlock Holmes, the only man I will ever love'."
The taller man simply looked at him with an expression of disbelief, which resulted in John releasing his grip on one of his hands and taking him by the other back in the direction of the crime scene they had just left.
Needless to say, Greg was surprised to see them return that day, even more so hand-in-hand. As he opened his mouth to say something, John shushed him and pushed past towards the room where the body had been found – there she lay still undisturbed apart from the forensics team and Sherlock's quick appraisal. Turning to his companion, Doctor Watson nodded in the woman's direction.
"Tell me something about her." He asked, leaving the other man very confused – but he obliged nonetheless.
"She was a waitress." Began the detective slowly, eyeing John with suspicion. "Her hands are rough from cleaning tables and the crockery on occasion with strong industrial soaps with little time to moisturise after each wash. She has well toned arms and calves from carrying heavy weights and walking or being stood up for most of the day. In her pocket there is still a note pad for scribbling down orders which she had mistakenly taken home with her, along with a pen marked 'The Swan Coaching Inn', not in the immediate vicinity but I believe a new public house on the outskirts of the city. She was in this particular area to meet up with a boyfriend or partner, you can tell by the way she's dressed – nice, not quite risqué enough to deduce that she's attempting to seduce someone, but much better than one would dress when meeting a friend or acquaintance. Conclusion; waitress unhappy with her job gets a new boyfriend who promises her riches and a better lifestyle, she spends too much, borrows too much money – I mean who can afford those shoes working as a waitress? – and he kills her before she runs too high a debt."
It was an odd request, John asking him to run through a deduction about a victim – he had always found it impressive but he'd never requested it. Sherlock turned to face him, and his breath caught in his throat at the childlike admiration his friend regarded him with.
"Amazing." Breathed Doctor Watson quietly, his face breaking into a huge grin. He tugged on the taller man's scarf so that they were nose to nose. "Absolutely amazing."
What followed would be one of the only things that could leave Sherlock speechless; as lips met his, not as softly as at the graveyard, he felt so much doubt fall away from him. John was kissing him, confidently, unafraid, surrounded by people they knew. If he hadn't managed to shake off the shock as quickly as he had it would have been pretty awkward for his companion, as it took several moments for him to gather his wits enough to kiss back. John pulled away though their faces remained close and smiled genuinely for what felt like the first time since before St Barts those years ago.
"Better?" he asked; the other man breathed a sigh of relief.
"Much."
They stayed like that for a minute or so, before Sherlock righted himself and pressed John's hand to his wrist. The doctor could feel his racing heartbeat, and as he looked into his companion's eyes he understood.
He was being confessed to in the only way that the other man deemed acceptable.
A loud cough brought them out of their thoughts as both parties turned to face the man behind them.
"Thanks for the extra information. Gonna have to pull you up for PDA though." He cracked a smile in their direction. "So, I guess Anderson and Donovan owe me £20 each."
It was Greg Lestrade, and although he seemed a little uncomfortable with the situation at hand he offered no form of distaste. The DI had always known somewhat that Sherlock and John's relationship would eventually develop into something like this, though it took until he had seen it to realise what that entailed.
Sherlock smirked at the other man with the kind of satisfaction and togetherness that a fox might greet its prey with. Clearly the kiss he had just shared publicly with his companion had been an ego boost. Great.
"Purely platonic I assure you, Lestrade." He noted with a nod, earning a stifled laugh from John. It was odd, the doctor noted, that Sherlock was so insecure and yet as soon as you wiped those doubts out one by one he became all together too confident. This was proved by a hand colliding with the shorter man's arse as they made to leave the scene – the response was an elbow in the ribs followed by a grunt of pain.
It was quiet, but warm at two-two-one B Baker Street. Mrs Hudson had muttered something about going out for the day and for the 'boys' not to make a mess. Sherlock had not responded and John had smiled and said 'I'll try my best to keep him occupied'. As she well knew, if the youngest Holmes was bored there would be no sparing her walls.
If someone came into the apartment now they would think that nothing had changed, that Sherlock had not disappeared for years while everyone believed he was dead. There was still the globe on the mantelpiece, the deer skull with its headphones, the cluedo board attached to the wall via a knife jammed enthusiastically into its centre, and the ashtray that they'd taken from Buckingham Palace. As per usual the younger man seemed not to have a care in the world for his surroundings and after rearranging something quickly in the kitchen he walked over the sofa before allowing himself to flop into a sitting position where he was facing John; who had long since placed himself in the armchair.
He was frowning, as though he were trying to deduce something about his partner and failing entirely, eventually his expression became blank apart from his furrowed brows though he still focused on the man in front of him. The TV he had turned on moments ago spoke to itself for a lack of audience.
"Calm down Spock, your eyebrows will get stuck like that." Teased Doctor Watson with a grin, Sherlock couldn't hide the little twitch of his lips to show that he had found it at least a little amusing.
"Now is not the time for jokes, John." He chastised. "This is very important."
"Care to share?" There was no reply. "No, of course not. Right."
The detective shushed him before placing his fingers against his lips and elbows on his knees in his characteristic thinking pose; that rather attractive thinking pose. Smirking, Sherlock shifted his weight slightly – John hadn't noticed that he had licked his lips until he saw the expression on his partner's face.
"Oh, no that's not – I mean-
He began, again he was hushed, the other man gesturing for him to sit next to him on the sofa – Watson obliged. He hadn't thought about it before; what kind of a lover Sherlock would be. It was probable that he was brilliant at most sexual acts, he had that kind of silent grace – and performing things like that didn't require any amount of emotion in order to know the mechanics. As far as emotional connections went would he be the type who once he let out some of them they all came rushing through, gushy and clingy? It was doubtful; he was much more likely to be the overprotective type who was very good at using what they had to get what they wanted.
Now that it came down to it, maybe he wouldn't actually be that good when it came to sex – he always said the idea had disgusted him before because it distracted from the important things he needed to save space for in his mind and took up time. Perhaps he'd want to take their relationship slowly.
John was brought out of his thoughts when he sat down next to Sherlock, and felt sure arms wrap around his waist, and a chin rest on his shoulder. The show that was playing on the television was one of those ridiculous chat shows, Jeremy Kyle – why this was fun to watch simply to poke holes in Doctor Watson couldn't understand. Maybe the other man found it amusing how stupid the human race really could be. Breath tickled his ear, and John found himself hoping that his companion couldn't feel the evidence of the excitement that feeling provided him with; he'd always had very sensitive ears. A purr emanating from Sherlock's direction showed that he had indeed noticed – at least the reaction hadn't been a negative one.
"Perhaps another time John." He murmured against his lover's ear. "Tonight is important."
Important in what way? Wondered the doctor absently, turning to the television once again, and trying to forget the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind up until only moments ago. In unison the two men chuckled at the woman who was demanding child support from a man who was very clearly not the father. Then it clicked, tonight was important because they were going to share things, this was Sherlock attempting to integrate John into his daily activities, and an attempt for them to act like a genuine couple.
Of course what he did not realise was the reason for being held so tightly, it was because now that the detective had him, he would not let him go, he was afraid to repeat the last few years, afraid to lose what they had.
"Even I can work this out!" John exclaimed while laughing turning his head a little so he could show his appreciation of their current situation – breaking Sherlock out of his melancholy train of thought.
"Even you?" he asked jokingly, earning himself a jab in the stomach. They stayed like that for most of the night, until John drifted off into sleep, ever awake, Sherlock carried him – as he was surprisingly light – into what would now become their room, and laid him on the bed; resolving to climb in next to him. It didn't matter that they were both fully clothed and would no doubt be uncomfortable in the morning, they had each other.
Outside, London was cold and the alleyways dark. Across from Baker Street there were several back alleys and passages – one of which was home to two men at this present moment.
The taller of the two was of Indian nationality, thin and gangly but with a menacing stance. The shorter was Russian, stocky and powerful with fists that seemed large enough to crush an entire face with one blow. Both of them wore black suits with white shirts and red ties.
"Are you sure this is the man Nikolay?" asked the Indian man, looking up at the sky for signs of rain or cloud. "We can't afford to go wrong."
"No problem, Aadesh; this is Holmes. I am sure. We take the doctor, and we have all information." Cracking his knuckles to make his point Nikolay grinned menacingly, showing his several gold teeth from a severe lack of care when it came to oral hygiene.
"Good, it better work, the boss will not be happy until we find Miss Adler."
Patting his companion on the back, the Russian chuckled heartily.
"Miss Adler is as good as ours."