The next morning, John woke to the sound of violin music. Sherlock's playing was amazingly passionate today. The soaring high notes reminded John of the the soaring emotions that had filled him last night. He remembered, beneath his still closed eyelids the look on Sherlock's face when he had cried open-mouthed in joy. John's breathing deepened. His lungs rose and fell as he remembered how Sherlock's excitement had inflamed his own until he had felt that his chest would burst.
He had felt so strongly that his vision had turned completely white. 'Now I know why they say that heaven is white', John thought, 'because that was as close to heaven as anything that I've ever felt.' Listening to the music rising and falling John remembered their rising and falling bodies and kisses sweeter than champagne. John's eyes fluttered open.
John sat up to find that he was in Sherlock's bed. He was still completely naked, but someone had tucked the sheets warmly around him, and his clothes were neatly stacked on a chair. There was no sign of any of the stranger implements of last night: The whip. The boots. The oil. John admired how neatly Sherlock kept his room. John was no where near so tidy despite his military training. The music stopped.
John smiled. Then he frowned. Then he smiled again. The door opened and Sherlock came in with a breakfast tray. He was dressed in a purple shirt and suit pants. He was also wearing a broad grin. "I had to fix it myself" Sherlock said, "Mrs Hudson had a bit of a late night. She didn't come in until after two." Sherlock put the tray over John's lap and then leaned over to give him a peck on the lips. The smile on his face almost robbed John of his resolve. "Did you like the music? Beethoven's Romance No. 2. I rarely play it, but today the muse spoke so I..."
John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand to get his attention. "Sherlock" he began, "I have to talk to you... about last night."
"There's no need." Sherlock said, " I already know what you are going to say."
"No you don't." John said seriously, "Last night was … I don't have words to describe it. It was a moment that can never be forgotten. I was... we were...but that's not what I meant to say. What I meant to tell you was that despite last night, despite everything that has gone on between us..."
"You still plan to move out of the apartment," Sherlock said, " I know."
A puzzled expression crossed John's face and Sherlock reached out and caressed his cheek. John's vision went white around the edges for a second. Then he turned and looked back at Sherlock who stared with soft eyes and straight open lips. John wanted to kiss him. He shook his head and bit his lip.
"Yes, It's true." John said, " I am still moving out. How did you know?"
"Because I know you John." Sherlock said, " You must have promised Mary that you would tell me. You probably said something like, 'Don't worry about old Sherlock, he'll come around.' She's probably waiting patiently for you to call her to tell her that you're coming no matter what Sherlock says."
"So you understand. You don't mind me moving?" John said surprised.
"Of course I mind. I don't want you to go."
"Really, I thought that you understood?" Then John became thoughtful, "Wait sherlock. What is it you plan to do?"
"I thought that I'd try Molly's plan next." Sherlock said, and then his face fell. "Don't you like me?" He asked, "didn't last night mean something to you?"
John felt as if Sherlock had ripped out his guts with a metal claw. Even though he knew that Sherlock was manipulating him. Even though he had seen Sherlock pop out tears to convince a woman to talk to him and be dry eyed a moment later, it didn't stop the visceral reaction that hit John's gut when he looked at him that way.
Even so, John had resolve. He straightened his chin and ignored Sherlock. He began to eat the ham and eggs on his plate. They were surprisingly good. "This is good" He said turning to face Sherlock and he crashed into Sherlock's heartbreakingly love-lorn expression. Sherlock's puppy dog eyes were on the point of tears. His thin lips down-turned. John wanted to reach over and give Sherlock a hug. But he pursed his lips and turned his head away. Finishing chewing his ham before saying. "How long do you plan to do this show?"
"I don't know." Sherlock said his voice low and cracking,"Is it working?"
John hung his head and moved toward the edge of the bed. He lifted his tray and placed it on the dresser. Then noticing that he was still naked he sat back down on the bed and covered himself with a blanket. Sherlock offered him his own purple robe to wear, and John took it tying the strap around him before sitting down again. Sherlock sat beside him on the bed. Last night they had sat side by side exactly so. John had to close his eyes for a moment because he had an overpowering urge to lean over and kiss Sherlock.
John put his face in his hands. The emotions that he was feeling were totally unexpected. He had written a little script in his head to say to Sherlock. He was going to say, 'I'm really not gay Sherlock. Last night happened because I had a desire, a need to tell you how much I feel for you. But I have other things that I want to do with my life. Things that I can't do with you. Like start a family.' He started to speak, "Sherlock, last night happened because..." and then he turned and looked into Sherlock's face. John was overpowered by his emotions. Something had changed last night. He didn't understand himself.
Sherlock had lowered his head and turned it to peer at John who was hiding his face. Why? What was bothering him? John started to talk, "Sherlock, last night happened because..." then he froze and just looked into Sherlock's questioning eyes.
Sherlock tried to read John. His hair was tousled from having just risen. His eyes still containing some dried sleep. Egg crumbs on the edge of his mouth. His hands curled as if about to clutch something. He was upset. Sherlock knew that he should do something. This what what people did when they cared about someone. When the other person felt bad they did something to fix it. How could Sherlock fix John if he didn't know what was wrong?
Emotions were so much trouble to deal with. So Sherlock thought, what would John do if Mary looked at him the way that John is looking at me now? Sherlock reached out, putting his arm around John and hugging him to his side. His left hand held John's head against his shoulder and he put his head on top of John's. He had seen this posture before in a painting. A posture of comforting. Sherlock could never understand how so many people just knew instinctively what to do in such a situation. He had always envied John that skill. With a touch or a tone of voice he could defuse a situation that was about to explode. Sherlock had to reason it out every time, but he had reasoned correctly this time because John reached his arm around Sherlock's waist and turned further into his embrace. John always was able to surprise him. Sherlock had not expected his docility. Sherlock recalculated the odds that John would stay to be about 46 percent. He was winning. Sherlock gave a small smile.
John didn't understand himself. Yesterday he had known what he was going to say, but now, looking at Sherlock, all of those arguments became muddled in his head. Sherlock reached out and held him to his chest, and John wrapped his arms around him as he had yesterday when he let go of his anger at Sherlock.
John realized that part of the reason that he had decided to move in with Mary had been to escape that anger that he felt whenever he was with Sherlock. Now that it was gone, he wondered if his reasoning was sound. Wrapped in Sherlock's arms, moving didn't seem to make sense anymore. But John knew better than to change his mind without looking at all the facts. In a situation where ones emotions were compromised, one went on with the plan.
John pushed himself away from Sherlock then he brushed away a tear. Swallowing to clear his throat, John said, "Thanks, I needed that." Sherlock eyes studied him with rapt attention. This was John's chance to say his speech. He said, "I'll be going out. I need to talk to the movers to give them details. I'll be back later this evening."
"Okay, that will be fine." Sherlock said.
John wondered at Sherlock's gentle acceptance of his mentioning the movers. Did he know something that John did not? This seemed likely, because John did not know at this moment if he wanted to go, or if he wanted to push Sherlock down on the bed and ravish him. Actually, he knew exactly which one he wanted to do, and this is what disturbed him. It wasn't in John's self image to be the kind of person who wanted to attack Sherlock sexually. It wasn't right somehow. It was a good thing that he was seeing the movers today. John felt that the more time that he spent around Sherlock, the less like his old self he would be.
He nodded his head and then stood up, "I'll be going." he said and started to leave only to find that Sherlock had taken his hand. He turned and stared down into Sherlock's eyes. In this light they were the palest green. John couldn't turn away from them. He physically could not.
John could not tell how many moments had passed since he had stood. His hand had begun to sweat. He looked away and Sherlock rose so that he had to look up to gaze into his eyes. Then Sherlock bent down and kissed him softly, hesitantly on the lips. John's stomach muscles clenched and he found himself becoming hard. He closed his eyes waiting, longing for the next kiss that didn't come.
"Have a safe trip." Sherlock said and walked out of the room.
John opened his eyes just in time to see Sherlock close the door. His heart was racing in his chest. He had to give himself a moment to cool down before he could decently leave the room to get ready to go.