Days passed, then weeks, and then months. Half a year, and John had officially become Sherlock's best friend and vice versa. John always visited Sherlock after he was done with his chores, or anything else his sister asked of him. Sherlock didn't mind how late, or early John came to visit, as long as they got to spend time with each other. The visits would consist of Sherlock playing his violin, John listening to Mrs. Hudson complain about Sherlock being impossible, or when it was quiet, they would talk. Neither really thought common conversation was necessary, but they used it as an excuse to be in one anothers company.
Over the months John had been allowed to come and go from the tower whenever, yet there were days when Sherlock would ask John not to visit the following day. John didn't question it at first, thinking it was because Sherlock wanted some alone time. Then, John saw a pattern. It was almost every month, when a new moon would occur. John didn't know what it meant, but it somehow bugged him.
"Every new moon?" John whispered to himself. He and Sherlock were laying on the floor, and Sherlock had passed out next to him reading a book. John couldn't help but stare at him, his features relaxed, his hair looking like silk against his skin, and his cheekbones beautifully sharp. Sherlock would sometimes pass out while John was around, and John didn't mind. Sometimes Sherlock wouldn't sleep for days, and it worried John. But Sherlock would see no problem in it, saying that sleeping was ;boring' or 'dull'. John smiled at the memory of all those times Sherlock would say the word 'bored', watching as the other man slept.
John hoped Sherlock wouldn't find his watching him creepy, but Sherlock seldom found things weird. Sherlock twitched slightly, his fingers moving, as though they were playing his violin. John was laying on his back against the fur blanket Sherlock had set down for them, just watching as the other man slept. John caught himself staring at Sherlock's slightly parted lips, the cupid's bow in a perfect pink color against his skin. The window was slightly open, and the afternoon rays of light hit the back of Sherlock's figure, making it look like he was glowing.
"Why every new moon? What do you do? Leave the tower? No...you think the outside world is 'boring'." John had grown accustom to Sherlock calling people and the outside world boring, even though he has never left the tower. He had also grown used to Sherlock showing how smart he was, by criticizing Mrs. Hudson whenever she came to check on him.
"Having a row with the baker down your street, are we Mrs. Hudson? How is he by the way? Is his wife back from her travels?" Sherlock's deep voice was a bit on edge, as though he wanted to. No, he needed to deduce something. John remembers Sherlock explaining how his mind works, and all John really remembers is Sherlock explaining it was like a machine, a restless machine. John couldn't help but feel a bit sad, knowing that Sherlock was not a metaphorical machine. Sherlock said he couldn't handle human emotions, so he hid them away in his 'mind palace', burying them deep in his thoughts.
John sighed at the memory, his eyes wandering up and down the body of the male in front of him. Over these past months John had learned a bit about Sherlock, his constant use of the word 'bored'. His reason for making so many experiments, (One to gross out Mrs. Hudson, and just for entertainment) and most importantly John had learned he had a few enemies out in the world. Sherlock called one in particular his 'archenemy', which deeply concerned John. John had never heard of anyone having an archenemy, but this was Sherlock he was talking about.
John moved a bit closer to Sherlock, feeling the 3 feet separating them too big. John was glad Sherlock was passed out next to him, so he wouldn't see John blushing like a girl. He felt his pulse quicken as he moved his body a bit closer to Sherlock, and soon John was close enough to feel Sherlock's breath on his lips. John had always looked at Sherlock as very special, be it his ingenious persona or John's lack of friends. Yet, something stuck out to John. The odd beauty Sherlock possessed, made John think he were the most beautiful creature
The raven black curls that sometimes covered his bluish green eyes, making John's breath catch in his chest. The fair pale skin that covered his tall figure, making John have unnatural thoughts. John wanting to kiss and caress his skin, to feel his against Sherlock's. Their bodies entangled in one anothers, the soft pants of breath, the exchange of heated kisses, the soft whispers of love.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard Sherlock stir from his sleep, causing John to close his eyes and pretend he had fallen asleep.
Sherlock had awoken next to a sleeping John, or a 'pretending-to-be-asleep' John. He cracked a smile, something he only does when he's around the former doctor. Sherlock was still laying on his side, John so close to him. No one but John has been this close to him, and it gave Sherlock a sense of peace and happiness. For some odd reason, everything about this farmer boy made Sherlock happy. His small size, his courage that has yet to be shown to Sherlock, his way of life basically. Sherlock cursed his mind for already telling him everything about him, but that's what made him interesting. John accepted Sherlock, even when Sherlock he didn't think he deserved it.
He felt as though John could have found a better person to call 'bestfriend', someone besides Sherlock. Sherlock felt as though he were betraying John, and his friendship. Sherlock wanted John in his life, but not as a friend. As something much more, as something only one word can describe. Lover.
He wanted to hold John, wanted to make him moan out his name, to make him cry for more. Sherlock felt his imagination go vivid with these thoughts, something that has been happening from the first time they met. He felt overjoyed when John came to visit, and felt his chest tighten when he had to see John disappear behind the trees.
Yet, it wasn't just for the sake of their friendship holding Sherlock back, it wasn't because John was all he had. It was because Sherlock hadn't told John everything. The reason as to why he asked John no to come over on a full moon, the reason why he never told John why he was locked in this tower. The reason as to why John doesn't know his full name, and yet he didn't really seem to push any questions about it.
Sherlock sat up, his hand brushing against John's, making Sherlock shiver in pleasure. He didn't understand the whole thing about being lovers, but as long as John was his and his alone, he didn't really care. He looked down at the 'sleeping' John, his features relaxed against the blanket. John was breathing slowly while Sherlock sat there next to him, so Sherlock knew John had passed out.
"John," Sherlock whispered. He knew John had to leave soon, since tomorrow would be a new moon. "John." Sherlock said again, this time nudging him with his hand.
"I have to leave...don't I?" John whispered, his eyes still closed.
"I'm afraid so." Sherlock replied, glancing around the tower quickly. The sun was no longer in the sky, now hidden behind the tall trees as the day was ending.
"Sherlock…" John said, while he sat up. His hair was flat on the side he was laying on, and his brown eyes were shining. Sherlock stared at John, and watched a he licked his lips every now and then.
"You're going to ask why I have you not visit every full moon, aren't you?" Sherlock asked, his gaze lowering to John's hands. They were a bit dirty from his day of working the farm, the soil in his fingernails showing a bit.
"I know I may not get a good answer...or no answer at all, but I would still like to know. I mean, we spend all of our time together every day...except for when it's a new moon...Can't you tell me why?" John's voice was soft, and Sherlock knew that John was nervous about the answer. So, he decided to give John an answer. The truth? Not even close, but a good excuse...
"Every month, my brother comes to visit. To give me a monthly supply of food. Reason I do not want you over, is because Mycroft; my older brother, is unbearable to be around. Believe me when I tell you that." Sherlock smiled a bit at John, and John returned it.
"Sherlock," John said, his eyebrows knitted together," what is your last name? I mean..I feel like i've heard your name...and your brother's…" Sherlock's smile faded a bit, and John gasped in response. "Holmes. Your last name is Holmes...isn't it? As...As in Prince Sherlock Holmes?" John whispered, causing Sherlock to look away from John. (Dramatic music anyone?)
"Yes." By now Sherlock and John were standing, facing each other. Sherlock was towering over John as they stood there, staring at each other.
"Bloody hell Sherlock, why didn't you tell me before? I mean, we're best friends for pete's sake! Why didn't you tell me?" John asked, making Sherlock look away.
"I didn't think my title was important. And because I..I don't want to be your friend, John." Sherlock mumbled, making John tense at his words.
"Oh…" John said, his hands clenched," I see. I suppose you got bored of being friends with a dimwit like me, right?" John's voice was strained and sounded tense, anger Sherlock deduced.
"John, let me finish my sentence…" The prince said, stepping a bit closer to the smaller male. John stiffened as Sherlock approached him, but stood his ground. "I don't want to be your friend..because I have different types of feeling towards you...I have never felt this before John, this feeling." Sherlock scoffed and ran a hand through his hair, his face was giving John raw emotion. Confusion, fear, and most of all something that made John's heart thump in his chest, the emotion of want.
"Love, Sherlock. That's what it's called. Love…" Sherlock flinched at the word, and John couldn't help but smile. "You claim to love me, but you're afraid of the word…" Sherlock was silent, but he was clenching his jaw. John sighed, and ran a hand over his face. "I suppose I should be going, don't want you to strain over this." And with those last words, John made his way to the secret door.
Before he could get it open, Sherlock pulled at John's arm spinning him around. Before he could even form a word, Sherlock was holding John against him. Their lips pressed against each other, sharing a may have seemed short, but for both of the men, it felt like hours. The prince separated from the former doctor, both panting against each other's lips. Their foreheads were touching, eyes closed, the only sound was their breathing.
"John. I may not know much about love," Sherlock started," but I do know that I want you to be happy. I want you to be happy with me." Sherlock opened his eyes, and met John's brown ones. John was beaming brightly, his cheeks red with embarrassment.
"Are you proposing to me, Prince Holmes?" John emphasized the title of Sherlock's name, making Sherlock smile.
"I am actually." He said in response, making John chuckle lightly.
"Well, I will accept that proposal." John replied, making Sherlock blush. Sharing one last kiss, he left the tower. Left Sherlock, who watched as John disappeared into the trees (not before waving and staring up at the tower for a few seconds).
That night John couldn't sleep as he laid in his cot looking out of his dirty window, neither could Sherlock. Or rather Sherlock was not able to sleep, due to him shedding his lied about tomorrow, because the truth was far much worse than his brother.
Midnight. Always midnight. Sherlock had barely made it outside of his tower, his breathing hard, face covered in sweat. He would crawl out of his skin, yelling in agony as his body grew, bones breaking and stretching within him. Red scales covering his body, his screams becoming deeper and irregular. When he was done changing, he was as tall as the tower. His red scales glistened like rubies in the night, his claws were as long as spears, his teeth as sharp as swords. His nostrils were billowing out smoke as he breathed deeply, his forked tongue slipping between his lips every now and then. He had a long face, his eyes glowing a bright yellow, and his pupils were slits.
'Sherlock' flew into the night, his wings unfolding and stretching out. His wings would cut through the trees, their edges as hard as steel.
"I am fire…" He said in his deep grainy voice," I..am...Death."