As John stepped out of that glossy ebony door, his stomach plummeted, not only because he didn't want to leave Sherlock, but because he was excited. Both of his emotions were conflicted and he didn't know which was winning. As his emotions battled, he caught a taxi before throwing in his suitcase. John paused before getting in. He couldn't help but look round his shoulder to see whether Sherlock was there. A silhouette was stood in the window, the sunlight masked all of the features on the figure but John knew exactly who it was. Everything seemed to have stopped in those few seconds. It was just the two of them; no one else. Nothing else.
"Are you gettin' in mate?" The taxi driver was growing impatient.
John jerked. "Oh, yes, sorry." And seconds later, the taxi was driving away...
Familiar buildings zoomed past John's eyesight. He couldn't help but think of the first time he got into a taxi with Sherlock, being amazed at the man's remarkable skill. The doctor slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He brought it up to eye level and scanned the screen; the same scratches as before...
'Your phone is expensive-email enabled, mp3 player. You're looking for a flat share. You wouldn't waste your money on this, it's a gift then. Scratches: not one of them, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. The next bit's easy, you know it already.'
'The engraving.'
'Harry Watson. Clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you have an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment; expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. It looks like it's been given to you recently; this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then. Six months on and he's just giving it away? If she would have left him, he would have kept it. People do, sentiment; but no he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, and you're not going to your brother for help. That says you have problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking.'
'How can you possibly know about the drinking'
John turned the phone over in his hand to view the power connection.
'Shot in the dark, good one though. Power connection. Tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them.'
John smiled at the memory.
"You got a girl mate?" John glanced up to see the taxi driver looking at him through the rear view mirror.
"Oh, um no." John flushed red. "Why do you ask?"
"I've been doing this job for years, I've seen plenty of different people in my life and I know when I see the smile of someone in love."
"Oh..." John couldn't help but chuckle.
"So I'm right then?"
"You could say that..." John replied, his cheeks on fire.
Sherlock sighed deeply as he threw himself into his armchair; he stared at the note in his hand. It didn't take long for him to notice it beneath the door, as John left minutes later. He inspected the envelope: This envelope was relatively new, not a crease or mark in sight. John had used a black ball point pen-shown by a little smudge on the letter S written on it. Clearly the pen has been used on the envelope first then, as John went to write, the ink that had pooled at the bottom of the pen flooded out as it reached the paper. John had then quickly rubbed the ink away with a tissue so it wouldn't seep through to the back of it, causing it to smudge. Very neatly written-too neat for John to write this letter with little care- was the word 'Sherlock'. The detective turned the envelope over to open it, only to find that it was sealed. This was odd as John is not one to lick the seal adhesive, he normally tucks the seal in so people can open it more easily; because of this, the fact that John has sealed it reveals that he will want to know whether Sherlock did open his letter or not, and because Sherlock is a remarkable liar, the doctor knew that the only way to truly know, is to seal it. Sherlock gave in to temptation and retrieved his letter knife that was stabbed into the frame of the fireplace and quickly sliced the envelope open. He tilted it; the letter slid out...
After an exhausting and tedious journey through the airport customs, John was relieved to sit down and relax until he needed to board his plane. Much to his delight, he discovered that he only went over his suitcase limit by 0.2 kilograms, causing him to avoid the fine that he was expecting. John looked at his surroundings: Costa, Boots, Starbucks, Burger king etc. all wanting to bleed everyone dry with their ridiculous prices. John couldn't blame them though, it was obvious that people would take food and drink on their flight, and because their drinks were taken off them in customs why not raise the price to get more money? He decided to go along with it as he was becoming parched and bought an overpriced coffee from Costa. Sitting on a faux leather sofa in the restaurant, John began to think. His jigging knee revealed the nervousness of his idea. It took a while of mental debating, but eventually, John gave in. He pulled out of the phone out of his pocket: Messages. Compose. Sherlock Holmes...
'Just about to board. I'll miss you-JW'
John was fully aware that he didn't really deserve a reply but he still had hope. He decided to send another; he was becoming desperate and he was eager to show Sherlock how much he cared for him.
'I love you, Sherlock-JW'
*buzz buzz*
John unlocked his phone faster than what he thought was physically possible.
'Take care, I will miss you too- SH'
John's heart sank. Perhaps he was being paranoid but Sherlock was (surprisingly) the first one to express his love. Now when John expresses his, he doesn't get any in return? Did John really hurt him that badl-
*buzz buzz*
'I love you too, John-SH'
John couldn't help the beaming smile which grew across his lips. Sherlock's read the letter then, John must have gained back some of his trust. For the first time in days, John couldn't be happier.
Through the speakers of the airport, John was notified that his plane was ready to board...
The paper was not white, but a soft cream. It was neatly folded; not a millimetre over the edge. With a deep breath, Sherlock unfolded the letter...
'Sherlock,
It has taken time for me to realise what had caused you to be so bitter with me, and now that I know, I don't blame you. I just want you to know that I did not mean what I said, it was the anger talking; I was just confused, I didn't think anything through. I understand though, that I have lost quite a bit of your trust, that I am the army hero who normally protects you and failed. I deeply apologise. You are the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, the only consulting detective in the world, surely you must know that the harm inflicted on you was completely unintentional and that I would never want to do anything to hurt you. Well, of course you know, why wouldn't you? You were just angry too, confused like I was. We have both made mistakes, let's not make another. I can't possibly stay mad at you and I no longer am; hopefully you will do the same because we both know that I can't live without you. Unfortunately we have proof of that, but you've saved me, you've confessed your love for me and I've done the same. I thought then, that I couldn't love you more, but I was clearly wrong, my love for you grows more and more each day. Sherlock, I feel incredibly guilty; I just want your trust back. Your affection. Your love. I made a mistake; we all do. I will miss you, this trip will be worth it though and we both know that. I am happy with my decision to go, I just hope you're happy for me too, because your smile is what causes most of my happiness.
All my love,
John.'
Sherlock didn't know what to do; he didn't know what to think. All he could do was just read the letter, over and over again. As his eyes scanned letter, he started to feel a bit dizzy, the more he read the letter and memorised its words, the smile on his lips grew larger. "John." He was interrupted by the text alert of his phone. Sherlock assumed it would be Lestrade. Sherlock sighed irritably as he made his way towards his desk. He would normally be happy to receive a text from Lestrade as it meant that he had a new case to solve, but the text had interrupted the trance that Sherlock was in, the trance which made him forget everything in existence, except his doctor. He unlocked his phone.
'1 message from John Watson'
The detective's heart skipped a beat as he read that sentence on his phone. He couldn't be more happy to know he was wrong. "John." He repeated through a warm smile.
'Just about to board. I'll miss you-JW'
Sherlock suddenly felt warmth engulf his body as he read that message; well, a certain part of the message: I'll miss you.
"Take care, I will miss you too-SH' as he sent his reply, Sherlock's phone vibrated. Another text from John.
'I love you, Sherlock-JW'
The detective chuckled at the message. He was overwhelmed with happiness.
'I love you too, John-SH'
The flight to Ireland was mundane. John tried to pass the time with a book and couldn't be more relieved when the plane finally landed. After retrieving his suitcase, he walked over to a man standing with a large sign in his hands. Written on it was 'John Watson'.
"I'm John Watson." The doctor stated as he walked up to the man. The Irishman was tall and a bit chubby. His hair was light brown and he wore square framed glasses. On the top of his lip was a thick brown moustache. 'Sherlock would like that' John thought, trying not to smirk.
"Oh hiya, you alright?"
"Yes thanks, you?"
"I am," he smiled. "So you're the new teacher?"
"Yes, only temporary though."
"Oh I know." The man started walking towards the exit, signalling for John to follow. "Yes, the old one's fallen ill; got the flu quite badly. It's a shame, he's a nice guy."
John just nodded as he followed the man. "My names Brian by the way."
"Oh okay, hi, Brian." John pulled out his phone.
'Arrived safely-JW'
John had followed Brian to a black mini in the airport car park. "Yeah sorry," Brian said in his thick Irish accent. "I know it's not much, but it does the job." He took the suitcase from John's hand and threw it in the back seat before getting in. John felt his phone vibrate as he got in.
'Glad to hear it-SH'
John smiled. "So do you work for the university too, Brian?"
"Yes, I'm a receptionist there. That's why I've been given the job to fetch you."
"Oh okay." John still stared at the text, warmth growing inside him...
It was mid- November now, Christmas was slowly approaching. Mrs Hudson was trying to fight the cold with hot cups of tea; she gave Sherlock 4 cups that day. Sherlock was on the phone to Lestrade when she came up again, cup of tea in hand. Sherlock covered the microphone of his iphone with his hand when she tried to give it to him. "Thank you, but don't make me anymore now." He was growing sick of the tea. A Brit can only have so much tea in one day. He uncovered the phone and continued to speak. There was a case about a woman who was found dead in an alley way, no sign of injury.
"Sherlock-"
"Not now, Mrs Hudson, I'm busy."
"But Sherlock-"
"I need to solve this case, see me later." Sherlock was becoming irritable.
"You have a-"
"Mrs Hudson!"
"Brother, dear..."
Sherlock froze, all that could be heard in the room was Lestrade's small voice from the phone. The detective quickly spun towards the door, he groaned.
"You have a visitor." The landlady finally said before putting Sherlock's tea on his desk and leaving.
"Mycroft, now's not a good time." Sherlock stated icily.
Mycroft didn't reply, he just sat in John's chair. Sherlock could feel anger simmering inside him. "Sit in my chair." He commanded through gritted teeth.
"Well you appear to be in a marvellous mood. Please, sit and relax, Sherlock."
Sherlock huffed before hanging up Lestrade, without even any notice. "Well that was a bit rude." Mycroft's voice seemed a bit mocking, he knew it would annoy his brother.
"So is coming into someone's flat uninvited." Sherlock gestured towards his armchair and Mycroft finally followed it. "Thank you." The detective sat in the chair opposite his own, it felt weird, out of place, but Sherlock preferred it to his annoying brother sitting in something that was John's. That was another thing sentiment did, it made you irrationally protective over certain things. Sherlock sighed. "So what do you want?"
"I wanted to see you."
"No you didn't." Sherlock retorted.
Mycroft pursed his lips. "Hmmm okay, maybe I didn't"
"What do you want then?"
"As you are aware, I am a man of many duties and I am compelled to do my very best to please people."
"You want to make yourself look good, in other words." Sherlock rolled his eyes as Mycroft glared at him.
"I have been told that you are wanted, Sherlock."
"By whom?"
"Think, genius." Mycroft's voice had become stern.
"Oh well many people could want me Mycroft, you need to be more specific in what field this person is in."
"Who would want you the most, Sherlock?"
The first person who came to mind was John, a faint smile escaped his lips, causing Mycroft to sigh. "No, Sherlock, not John. Try again." The detective would have been surprised at his brother's knowledge of his relationship if Mycroft wasn't practically the British government with his cameras and eyes around every inch of England.
"Well, Molly wants me too." Sherlock teased. "Tell me Mycroft, how many people want you?"
Mycroft was becoming more and more irritated in his brothers presence. He did not come over to be mocked by his younger sibling.
"You know I know who it is, Mycroft."
"Yes, so I find your immature manner unnecessary."
"Lighten up." Sherlock taunted.
"Grow up." Mycroft growled.
There was a long silence. Mycroft was endeavouring to compose himself as Sherlock was deciding how far he would test him.
"So how's the diet going?"
"Well, thank you." The elder forced a smile.
"Oh I don't think so." Sherlock smirked.
"I have not visited so you can insult me, Sherlock!"
"I know you haven't."
"So why are you being so ridiculous?"
"It amuses me." Sherlock gave a mocking smile. "When does she want to see me?"
"Any time. You don't even have to see her, just call her, text her, email her. Just give her some proof that you're still alive! You haven't spoken to her at all since your oh so dramatic resurrection."
Sherlock sighed. "Fine. Now if you excuse me, I was in the middle of discussing a case."
"Oh that reminds me..." Mycroft pulled another letter out of his pocket. "Here's another."
Sherlock was now intrigued. Two cases in one day? He felt like it was his birthday. The detective reclined in John's chair, inhaling his familiar scent as the soft cushions embraced him. "Thank you." Sherlock held out his hand, waiting for the letter to be placed in it. Mycroft didn't bother to argue, as much as he hated it, he needed his brother to solve this case as he was too busy to do so himself. He placed the letter in his brother's hand. As Sherlock read through it, the elder waited in anticipation. "Fine." Sherlock eventually said. "I'll take the case." Mycroft tried to form the most realistic smile he could. "Marvellous."
"So this...Peter Wright, he was found dead in his living room. Is this all you have? Can I see the room? Or any room in his house?"
"The great Sherlock Holmes? Asking for more evidence? What has the world come to?" Mycroft's voice oozed with sarcasm.
"Don't be so over dramatic, Mycroft. The images here are appalling and nothing of any significance has been taken. Who even took these? Anderson?"
Mycroft was silent. "God, help me..." Sherlock sighed. "So can I?"
"Fine." His voice had turned cold. He stood up and headed towards the door. "I shall text you the details, you will be able to take it from there." Sherlock gave an approving nod.
"Has your argument simmered down between you and John?" There was conspicuous amusement in his voice.
"Yes, Mycroft. It has." Sherlock's voice was bitter. He gave his brother a clearly fake smile as he opened the door for him.
"Really? That was fast. Although I can't really blame you two for your little dispute, you being so bothersome and all. I'm surprised John hadn't been sent to a mental asylum after you got together." Sherlock glared at his brother, the anger within him now boiling. "Oh don't be so dramatic, Sherlock. It was supposed to be whimsical."
"Well I don't appear to be humoured. Now, Lestrade has been waiting long enough, I suggest you leave."
Mycroft complied and Sherlock couldn't be happier to watch his brother leave his flat.
"Don't forget to call her." The elder said sternly. Sherlock acknowledged his brother with a brief nod.
"Keep trying with that diet, Mycroft! I'm sure you'll get there!" Sherlock called down the stairs to his brother.
"Keep trying to lose your virginity, Sherlock! I'm sure you'll get there!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes as he closed the door. He reached into his pocket and dialled a number he hadn't called in years.
"Hello, mummy..."
John had just walked into his hotel room when his phone rang; it was Brian who was now back in his workplace: the reception. John was given details on his job, the exact location of the university he will be working at and what will be in his lectures during his time there. He flung himself onto his bed when the phone call ended, despite the fact that the journey wasn't really that long, he was exhausted.
The month was going relatively quickly, much to Sherlock and John's delight. Sherlock kept harassing Scotland Yard for more cases and when they didn't have any, he was planning John's Christmas present. There was no better time to get it, considering John was away. They didn't text very often, as the two were very busy, but it was clear that Sherlock forgave John. Sometimes John was distracted during his lectures when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, only because Sherlock was the first one who came to mind when that happened, this lead to a bit of stuttering and even forgetfulness on some occasions, but thankfully his students didn't mind. He had built himself quite a good reputation while he was there and was quite enjoying himself; the students seemed to like him too. He was touched when a couple of girls stayed behind one time, commending him on his teaching and wishing that he could stay longer. The money that he knew he would be getting at the end of the month was just a bonus. The doctor was actually surprised when he looked at his calendar, only to discover he had one week left. The month had flown by...