Been a rough two months! I hate being a Junior in High School.
BUT I FINISHED THE EPILOGUE! (Yaaay) (But I didn't proof-read, too busy. So sorry if there are errors.)
Anywho, enjoy.
I am thinking about, maybe, doing a Volume 2 over the summer, involving Sebastian Moran. So keep watching!
Once again, my tumblr is Believe-Holmes.
And once again, I do not own BBC's Sherlock. Sadly.
Thank you, loyal babies. I LOVE YOU.
The first week, Sherlock didn't touch him.
John didn't really mind, not really. Sherlock was alive, and all of London knew. Of course, Lestrade had him. Every old case that they hadn't been able to figure out in the past year had been brought over the next day, and Sherlock was at work before John was even awake.
John thought he could never forget the mystical way Sherlock worked, but he somehow had. Sherlock seemed faster than before, more accurate, leading each string of information into the other and coming out with new clues John and Greg had somehow missed.
John had also always thought that Lestrade and himself were fairly good at deducing, after being around Sherlock for so long. Of course, they could never compare to the master.
Within the first day, Sherlock had solved half of the cases without leaving the house. He walked around, pinned up crime-scene photos and asked Lestrade questions when he was too lazy to read the case report. And John and Greg watched. He laughed at them, called them idiots for not being able to understand. He got overly excited when he reached a conclusion, and frustrated when they were unable to see what he saw. Lestrade would argue back, and then give up after a while. John had to force feed Sherlock to make him eat, and went to bed after Lestrade left.
John could sense Sherlock in the other room, practically hear him thinking, solving, deducing. John couldn't get Sherlocks smile out of his head. Maybe this was true paradise, knowing Sherlock could never be as happy as he was when he was solving crimes.
The next day was much of the same, but Lestrade was gone to arrest people as Sherlock accused them. John tried to stay with Sherlock at first, let him talk it out, but gave up after a few hours. He looked on his computer, called Harry and told her all about his past few weeks. Sherlock grabbed him and took him to dinner. Well, John ate while Sherlock spied on one of the waitresses involved in an old case. He had it solved before bed.
Sherlock was all in a fuss about the next case on the list, the string of serial killings that had been baffling Lestrade and John for the past few weeks, but John practically forced him to sleep. Sherlock ranted for a few more hours before passing out on the couch. John slept alone again.
The next four days, John worked with Molly at the yard, looking at bodies, during the day, while running all over London with Sherlock at night. While Sherlock deduced, John slept. After long battles, John usually won out making Sherlock get some sleep or eat some food. John suspected it was due to their new closeness.
But Sherlock only slept with him once, and there wasn't much touching.
Within the first few days, Sherlock solved the serial killer case; a couple with a hatred for cheating spouses. After that, Sherlock spent two days solving the case of a missing airplane engine from a machine; a woman and her two sons, angry and broken about her husband's illegal dock in paycheck. (Mycroft dipped a bit into that one, causing a fit from Sherlock before the case was over.)
Ten days after Sherlock's legendary return to London, all of Lestrade's top cases from the file were solved, including two "suspicious suicides" that ended up being more than that.
John came home late after checking out a few bodies for Mycroft, and found the apartment empty and dark. He let out a sigh and collapsed on the couch. It had been a long few weeks, and this was his first real moment alone in his house.
He didn't really like it. He'd spent a year alone in this place, and he didn't want to anymore.
He tried not to dwell on Sherlocks distance since their return. He was busy, and he was happy. He was also the most naturally distance man John had ever met.
Yet still, they were close, and it was not the same as it once was, over a year ago. John's bed was always open for Sherlock, and he would come when he could. It took much less effort getting the idiot to eat, and sleep, which meant Sherlock actually cared enough to know it meant a lot to John. John had overheard his roommate ordering a big freezer, and when John questioned him, he said it was so he wouldn't crowd the fridge with body parts anymore.
He was almost being… considerate.
The emotional closeness remained; the one that had always been there. John just sort of yearned for the actual closeness; the physical kind.
John was lost in that thought when the front door opened, he heard Sherlock march across the room, saw him slam down on the chair across from him (his chair, that had never been moved) and slam the thick folder down between them.
John raised an eyebrow at it, at the grin on Sherlock's face, "What's this then?"
"The cases, the unsolved ones," Sherlock sat back, "I solved them all."
"In ten days, no less," John smirked, "I expected sooner."
"A few were rather hard, it's no wonder you couldn't solve them. Others were blatantly obvious, you just weren't looking."
"So sorry," John murmured sarcastically, "Have you eaten?"
"Mrs. Hudson beat you to it," Sherlock stood up and approached the bookshelf, "Forced me to eat some god-awful soup she made. Have you?"
"Molly brought me takeout at work," John stood up, "What are you doing?"
Sherlock opened the small wooden box on the top shelf and removed a box of cigarettes, "It's been a few days. Want to take a walk?"
John had smoked at lunch, and felt fine now. But he wouldn't pass up a chance to walk and listen to Sherlock talk about cases. Even just to hear his voice. He nodded and went for his coat.
Outside, Sherlock passed him one and lit it. John inhaled and noticed that Sherlock wasn't in such a hurried pace like he usually was. He seemed to be watched Johns movements and following his step. So John strutted carefully along the sidewalk towards the main street.
"So why are you so happy about solving all the cases?" John flicked some ash away, "You usually would be upset. Now you've got to face the boredom until a new case comes along."
"I've actually missed it, a bit," John loved the way Sherlocks voice picked up a sensual deepness when he smoked, "Solving cases here."
He didn't say it, but John knew what he meant. He had missed solving cases together.
"Plus, I doubt we'll have much trouble getting a new case with our newfound fame. You haven't checked your blog, but I'm sure you've been contacted with new cases."
"How do you know I haven't checked my blog?" John looked sideways at him.
Sherlock gave a knowing smile, "I'm just glad for a break."
"You, take a break?" John snorted and turned the corner onto the main road. It was a bit crowded tonight, "I didn't know the great Sherlock Holmes took breaks."
"Not usually voluntarily," Sherlock stopped, his hand touching John's wrist and making him stop as well, "But now I've got you."
John smirked at him, tossing the butt of his smoke away, "I enjoy the cases too, you know."
"We can still take a break."
"Alright."
Sherlock met his eyes. The street lights made them seem so much more illuminated tonight, "You've done well, you know."
"What?" John furrowed his eyebrows.
"Some of the cases you solved when I was gone. It was impressive work."
John laughed, "Thanks. Not often I get complimented by the best consulting detective in the world."
"The only consulting detective."
John chuckled as Sherlock inhaled the last of his cigarette and tossed it aside.
"One day we'll be too old for this, you know."
John raised a brow at him, "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Sherlock sighed and looked over the street full of people, "One day our joints will ache. We won't be able to run around London anymore. My mind will weaken. I'll start to forget."
The thought of Sherlock mentally deteriorating made fear rise in John's throat, "I guess we'll have to teach our kids the art, then."
Sherlock laughed darkly, "You want kids? Nasty little buggers."
"I was joking," John smiled, "Can we not talk about us getting old? It's kind of a bad thought."
"I used to think so, too."
"What changed your mind?" John looked sideways at his friend.
"Now I get to grow old with you," Sherlocks eyes lit up, "And that, John Watson, is the next great adventure."
John couldn't help the color that rose in his cheeks.
"And if you want kids, we'll adopt." Sherlock added.
"No one in their right mind would let you adopt a child," John giggled.
Sherlock faked wounded, "You hurt me, John. I happen to think we'd make great dads."
"We aren't even boyfriends, really," John rolled his eyes, "Let's take this one day at a time."
"We could get married."
John started to laugh and then saw the calculatingly serious look in Sherlock's eyes, "Marriage, Sherlock? You can barely think about us being together in general!"
"But I'm sure about you," Sherlock stepped in front of him, looking down into his eyes, "Enough to have sex with you."
"Yes," John didn't know what else to say. He just looked into his companions eyes.
"If you don't want to be married, I understand. It's nothing serious. We could…" Sherlock looked a little frightened despite the sureness in his voice, "We could stop this charade, and you could see other people-"
"No," John grabbed Sherlock's lengthy hand, "Stop. I said I love you, didn't I?"
Sherlock looked at him, "Yes."
"And I meant it. I don't want to see other people, or leave. Let's just work on cases for now, and live together. We don't need to get married. But if you want to in a few months, we will. Just a small thing, so you'll be comfortable."
"And kids?" Sherlock smirked.
"Maybe one day," John let him go and rolled his eyes, "I still think you'd be a shit parent. You can't even take care of yourself."
"That's what I have you for."
"True."
Sherlock put his hand on Johns face and smiled, pushing his fingers back through the graying hair. Then he leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to John's lips. Johns face was hot, overly aware of the eyes lingering on them.
Sherlock pulled back, and John swore he saw some color in his cheeks. John chuckled deep in his throat and grabbed the black haired man's hand.
"Come on. Let's go home and sleep together for once."
"Alright," Sherlock trotted along, "Can we stay in tomorrow, take that break I was talking about?"
"Are you propositioning me for sex?" John mused.
"Yes."
They walked, hand in hand, back to 221B, laughing the whole way there.