Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
Summary: After an odd interaction the night before, the next day takes an unexpected turn.
Smells of bacon and toast greeted John as he walked down the hall to the kitchen. Sherlock cooking breakfast? No, must be Mrs. Hudson. It must be, bless her heart. He picked up the newspaper off the coffee table, and walked into the kitchen.
"Good morning, John." The tall detective greeted his flat mate, putting down a plate of bacon and eggs, toast and jam, and a cup of tea for John, and then putting down a plate and mug for himself.
John looked at Sherlock suspiciously. Was he ill?
"Well, this is... unexpected," said John.
"What? I can't make breakfast for us?" Sherlock retorted, as if nothing about the gesture was abnormal.
"It's just not like you, that's all, but thank you," He replied.
"Your welcome," Sherlock replied softly.
Okay, what the hell is going on? This is not him. Oh god, is something wrong? Was it something to do with last night?
John remembered the sensation he felt last night when he merely touched Sherlock's hand.
No... I'm not in lov- like. I'm not in 'like' with my male flat mate. I'm not in 'like' with Sherlock Holmes. And he certainly does not feel that way about me.
Married to his work. But what if? He's asexual and you're straight. End of discussion.
"You okay?" Sherlock asked, more concerned than usual.
"Yeah, I'm- I'm fine. This is very good," He replied, still suspicious of Sherlock's actions, but tried to dismiss the thoughts from his head.
They ate in a semi-awkward silence; the detective looked out the window, as if deep in thought, whilst his strong, attractive flat mate read the paper.
Attractive? Now where did that come from. I admire John and his courage, but in a friendly way. Married to my work. Yes, I see no need for relationships. A futile attempt to make one feel needed. Absolutely useless. After John's reaction last night, though. The obvious redness in his cheeks and increased heart rate... No, he's not interested and I don't care if he's interested. I don't want him to be interested. He's straight, he's only been with women and has only ever wanted to be with women. There is nothing else to think of it.
"Any new cases?" John asked, putting his plate in the sink.
Sherlock got up from his seat and paced a bit, apparently from boredom. He moved from the middle of the room to the doorway.
"No, actually. It's going to be rather a dull day, I suppose. I've always always hated Tuesdays," He replied, leaning against the door frame.
"It's actually Wednesday," The doctor replied with a chuckle.
He's so cute when he makes mistakes like that...
The doctor caught himself.
Wait, no, not cute. I don't find him cute. I'm not... I can't be... and not him. Oh, just shut up brain.
"Dually noted," Sherlock responded, absent-mindedly.
"I'm going to the store, need anything in particular?" Asked John, leaving the room to put on his coat.
"Rosin," The detective replied, walking over to the coach, plopping down.
"I'm pretty sure they don't sell rosin at a grocery store..." John replied.
"Pity," His flat mate replied sarcastically.
With a chuckle, John put on his jacket and left the flat. The fresh air was good for his head. It helped clear his thoughts. Just as long, hot showers helped others think, John needed cool, fresh air. The mundane simplicity of grocery shopping didn't bother John as it did Sherlock. Doing simple tasks gave John more time to think.
Oh, the mystery that is Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective and one of the most confusing people I've ever met. One day he's married to his work, uninterested, and his usual Sherlock-y self. The next, he's gracious and nice... Still married to his work, though? Of course he is. He's never been interested before, and he isn't now. Maybe he's just in a 'good mood'. But when he's happy is when he's on a case, focused and exercising his intellect. You're overreacting and over thinking; over analyzing every action like a hopelessly in love teenager. And you're not in love- or 'like'- with Sherlock, or anyone.
The way he smiles when he's just cracked a case; how he combs his hand through his fair when he's frustrated. The way his coat billows behind him as he runs and jumps over rooftops, in the graceful manner that Sherlock does without even trying. He takes my breath away, he makes my heart flutter. God, am I infatuated with my male flat mate? With Sherlock Holmes?
As he approached 221b with two bags full of groceries, he shifted the bags in his arms to open the outside door. As he walked up the stairs, Sherlock opened the door and took one of the bags from John.
More helpfulness...
"You didn't need to help, I could have managed," The doctor told his friend
"No, no, it's no trouble," He replied.
They set the groceries down on the counter and John began to put them away, as Sherlock returned to his violin and began to play a soft sonata.
John returned to the living room, picked up a book, and pretended to read. He listened to the sweet music produced by such a mad, brilliant man. He saw the way the detective's eyes seemed relaxed and focused, his face seemed to glow, and how his fingers moved with a delicate brilliance that was so very Sherlock Holmes. His usual mannerisms seemed to translate to the violin quite excellently, and he could play very well when he wanted to. He looked up from his violin and smiled oddly at John. The army doctor went back to pretending to read, blushing furiously, and the consulting detective went back to concentrating on his music, closing his eyes, relaxed, and deeply involved in the music.
"I'm going to make tea, want some?" John asked his flat mate, getting off of his chair and walking into the kitchen.
He filled the kettle and put it on the stove. Sherlock got off the couch silently and quickly, leaving his violin on the coffee table. He was behind John before he could even realize that the music had stooped.
"No, no let me," Sherlock half whispered, touching John's hand which was placed on the kettle.
John turned and faced Sherlock, Sherlock's hand still on his. They were abnormally close together, but it was not uncomfortable in any way, and Sherlock leaned down to close the space between them.
I know these two chapters have been short, but I promise that the next chapter will be longer.
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