John moved to sit up, after what felt like an eternity of being touched without being allowed to touch in turn, and instead pulled Sherlock to lie with his head in his lap, so that he could caress his hair; one of the few touches that was never declined. He took comfort in touching the soft curls of his genious as he continued to read his book.
Sherlock was unmoving underneath his hand, as he so often was, no doubt lost in his mind palace somewhere. John had long since stopped to be concerned about it. It was simply a Sherlock thing to do. It didn't bother him in the least, hadn't for years.
When he finally rose, gently tangling himself away from his best friend, not to mention the love of his life, Sherlock briefly opened his eyes, but, obviously determining why he moved just from his expression, settled again as John moved into the kitchen to cook them both some dinner. Food was another thing that had changed since Sherlock came back, or rather, with their relationship.
Sherlock still did not like to eat during cases, still urged that it slowed him down, but in between them he would eat, obediently rather than willingly, just because John asked. Cooking was simpler, too, with a kitchen that weren't being used as a laboratory, and also since money was far less scarse these days.
Mycroft had full access to and the rights to decide over the Holmes' family funds - which were considerable - but had never given Sherlock anything from it, due to, well, Sherlock being... Sherlock, but had decided after they'd been together for almost six months to give John a monthly allowance, now that he, so to speak, were "with" Sherlock. It was several months ago now and had started to feel like a fairly natural thing, if in a Holmes kind of way. It made shopping easier.
John cooked a very nice, if he may say so himself, meal of stewed vegetables, bacon and pasta, and dished some onto two plates, less for Sherlock than for himself. Sherlock had a tendency to simply eat what John had put on his plate, as if viewing it as an assignment of sorts, and he could look somewhat overwhelmed if it was too much. John had decided not to push. No matter how healthy it was for his genius to eat more, he did it for him; and thus he should not take advantage.
The ex-army doctor put the plates down on the coffee table and watched the genius come alive at the sound. Sherlock no longer needed any prompting to grab a fork and his plate and start to eat, and he even smiled at him with a, for Sherlock, gentle "it is good". "Thank you, Sherlock". John could only just hold back a wince at how his voice came out. It was, very poorly, too, hiding a sigh, and the tone was sad and thoughtful, not at all the relaxed, comfortable, loving tone he had aimed for. Sherlock put his plate down and eyed him warily.
"You are unhappy" he finally noted. "Yea" John agreed, only to catch himself "that is, no! No, not at all". Sherlock looked puzzled, giving his doctor that look which John knew to interpret as "I need a translation to understand that, John".
John took a deep breath and put his own plate down. He hated how vulnerable Sherlock looked. "I am happy" he assured him "that is, with you. I promise. Alright?" Sherlock nodded in confirmation, slowly and deliberately, and then watched him, waiting for the rest. "But there is something we definitely need to address. I worry about you". Sherlock's eyes did not clear "but I am fine" he noted, prodding.
"Are you?" John watched him, trying to deduce like Sherlock might have. "You avoid me. I mean, I never get to touch you. That's hard, never being allowed to reciprocate. And I worry about why". He forstalled a reply, that he could already see as coming, and would probably be in the upset variety, judging by Sherlock's look. "No. I know that you care about me. It is blatantly obvious, Sherlock, so I have no fear in that regard" he ran a hand through his hair in that typical Sherlock-induced, half-amusing frustration "but I worry about what is wrong, Sherlock. A lot. And it bothers me, too".
Evil cliffhanger is evil.
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