11. Homecoming
John stood outside the front door to 221b. It was at times like this he regretted that he did not smoke. People who smoked had a good excuse for standing outside of their apartment. John did not. But John was hesitant to see Sherlock again. Over time, most of last night had come back to him, and the one thing that he knew for sure was that he had been a total shit. Sherlock deserved an apology, but John didn't know how to give it. John looked up at the window hoping to see Sherlock's face staring out at him as he so often did. If he saw that face, he would know if Sherlock had forgiven him.
John pulled out the phone and read the message again.
[I love you – SH]
When had Sherlock texted it? Surely after the conversation with Mary. John remembered that conversation with embarrassment as well. He and Sherlock had acted like children. No wonder Mary had felt the need to nanny them.
But Sherlock often made John feel like a schoolboy. They laughed together like primary school mates who had just tied the teacher's shoelaces together. Sometimes John felt that he was sillier now than he had been as a child. Sherlock affected him that way.
Sherlock was the sun and he, John Watson, was a planet that circled him. John looked up at the window willing the sun to come out and shine on his face, and lips, and eyelids. Sherlock had been the center of his life ever since John had been swept into his orbit. And when he left him, John wandered without focus or center through darkness until he had met Mary.
Even so who, having once glimpsed the sun, would not wish to bathe in his light even if it burned him. To feel his warm fingers caressing his face and neck. His strong, hot touch intense like fire. John had to see him even if he went up in flames. John walked up the steps to the flat.
He heard Sherlock before he saw him. Sherlock was at the fireplace removing papers from the mirror and placing them in a file. Sherlock could be incredibly neat about his personal matters, but when a case was on, neatness flew out the window. Now that the case was over, he carefully gathered the clues and notes and placed them into a file for later study. Sherlock removed a sheet from the mirror, and saw John's reflection. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then Sherlock turned away, placing the file in a cardboard box.
"Good evening John." He said. His voice neutral and matter of fact.
"Good evening Sherlock." John said before hanging up his coat.
Sherlock was wearing his black shirt today. He had rolled up the sleeves as he did when he had research to do. Sherlock was always very particular about his dress. The price of Sherlock's shirt alone was more than the cost of John's entire suit. It had a sheen to it in this light that accentuated the smoothness of Sherlock's back. When he turned, John noticed that the top two buttons were undone, revealing his smooth white skin. John remembered the feel of Sherlock's chest. That night, he had oiled it. It had tasted of cherries.
Sherlock looked up as if he had noticed John staring. They locked eyes, then John walked into the kitchen. He looked in the refrigerator and noticed nothing edible but a moldy piece of cheese. He knelt down to search the cabinet for some nibbles and felt Sherlock enter the kitchen.
An electric charge seemed to run all along John's body when Sherlock walked past. John froze and listened to Sherlock's footsteps as he watched him out of the corner of his eye. It was as if there was an elastic cord between Sherlock's body and his own. A force that pulled them closer together.
John found a packet of Melba toast and stood. Sherlock was facing away examining something on the counter. John walked behind him and sat at the kitchen table. He took a bite. He could feel Sherlock behind him. It made his shoulder blades itch.
Sherlock walked around to the other side of the table. He was holding a large book that read CRC Chemistry and Physics. He plopped it down on the table and began to read. John became fascinated with the way his long fingers delicately separated the thin pages of the book. He rubbed his finger down the edge in a clockwise motion pinching the paper between middle finger and thumb before turning it. John imagined Sherlock's hands making that same clockwise motion along his thigh. John sat back opening his legs and biting his thumb.
Sherlock's hand stopped on the page. John looked up to see that Sherlock was staring right at him. John crossed his legs and picked up the newspaper to hide his embarrassment. It took him a moment to find a comfortable way to sit. Covering his blushing face with the newspaper, John shook his head and tried to get himself together.
He could hear Sherlock close the book and rise from the table. John figured that it might be a good time to escape to his room. He rose quickly and turned bumping into Sherlock who was behind him. He bashed against his chest so that Sherlock had to steady him with one hand. Sherlock's touch burned like fire. John pulled away.
"Sorry" John said and looked up to get caught in Sherlock's arrow sharp gaze. Sherlock stared down at him deeply, intensely. John felt the cord pulling his lips closer and closer to Sherlock's. Then Sherlock's phone rang. He looked down and the cord was cut. John fell back.
Sherlock pulled the phone out of his pants pocket while John tried to catch his breath.
"Hello Kate." Sherlock said , "Yes I did."
John turned and walked into the living room to his computer.
"Well that has yet to be determined." Sherlock said twisting away, "No, I don't think that will be necessary. Goodbye Kate."
John walked over to his laptop and sat down."Who was that?" he asked.
"Kate Cooper, you remember, I told you about her. She was just asking about...things."
"Oh" John said, "things. I see."
Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket and came into the living room. He paced back and forth behind John as he filed the papers. John opened the lid of his laptop and typed in his password. In his mind's eye he could see Sherlock walking. His legs striding like a leopard across the carpet. The funny way he swayed his body from side to side when he was thinking. The computer returned an error. John typed the password in again. It did not work.
"Sherlock?" John said, "Did you change my password when you were putting those videos on my computer?"
"What?" Sherlock said striding up behind him. He leaned over John's shoulder placing one hand on the table and the other on the back of John's chair. His head was so close to John that he could feel Sherlock's breath on his neck. A curl from his head tickled John's ear. John sucked in a breath.
"Type it again." Sherlock said.
It was hard to think of anything while Sherlock was this close to him. Sherlock's heat radiated off him in waves. He typed the password.
"You typed it wrong." Sherlock said, and leaning over John's lap he typed the correct password on the computer. As he pulled back, his nose almost touched John's cheek. John turned and found his lips were centimeters away, almost touching Sherlock's. John froze fascinated by the shape of Sherlock's nose. Sherlock's breath became deeper and more raw. John moved in closer. Then John's phone rang.
Sherlock stood and resumed his pacing. John answered the phone.
"Hello" John said.
"Hello John." Mary replied. " You didn't call so I thought that I'd call you."
"Oh yes Mary. Sorry. So how are you?"
"I'm fine." Mary said, "I just wanted to tell you that I'll be working all night. Mrs Johnson has the flu and she needs someone to take care of the triplets. Sorry I can't come by."
"No, that's fine, it's fine, good. You take care."
"Oh thank's John, you are so understanding. Love you" Mary said.
"Love you too." John said turning to look at Sherlock's back, "Goodbye."
John put the phone away. He stared across the room at Sherlock who was fidgeting with the things on the mantlepiece. He refused to look back at John. John tried to concentrate on his monitor. He looked at the screen and found that he had typed the word 'Sherlock' ten times in a row. John ran his fingers through his hair. He was too distracted to work. This couldn't go on. He had to talk to Sherlock.
He turned around in his chair and saw that Sherlock was staring at him. His high cheekbones and closed lips reminded John of the images of Egyptian Pharaohs or perhaps their cats. Noble and inscrutable. Not someone to talk to. Someone to worship, John was tempted to fall on his knees in front of Sherlock now.
Sherlock walked over to John. John stood and looked up into Sherlock's face. John blinked. Had it been only two days since he had felt the taste of those lips? It seemed like months, like years. It would be a crime to wait another minute. Sherlock's head tilted very slightly to John's left. His stare held John like the glance of a cobra, impossible to turn away from.
John noticed the slight dimple above Sherlock's lips. The soft smooth curve of his neck. The shadow beneath his ear. The way his mouth curved very slightly up around the edges. His thick eyebrows. Ears as high as his eyes. His narrow shoulders. The squareness of his chin. His eyes narrow and smiling. The shadow under his cheekbone. The moisture of his freshly licked lips.
John followed the curve of Sherlock's cheekbones with his eyes. He had traced the line of that cheek with his finger. He longed to do it again with his tongue. If they could only touch. John knew that it would mend the breach between them. John leaned forward. They were startled by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
The door opened and Molly and Lestrade came in. Sherlock stepped away.
"Lestrade, Molly, you seem an unlikely pair to see together this time of day." Sherlock said leaning casually against the mantle.
"We heard about John moving, and we decided to throw you a going away party." Molly said lifting a polka dotted bag topped with ribbon.
"She says 'we' " Lestrade began. "It was Molly's idea. She wanted to know how you were getting on. Caught me on the corner and came up with the plan."
"Oh really?" Sherlock said.
Molly hit Lestrade's shoulder, "You didn't have to tell them that."
John turned back to the screen. He slowly deleted the letter K...
"I see that you've started packing." Molly said.
"Oh no," John interjected, "Those are Sherlock's I haven't started yet."
"Then you better get a move on. Friday will be here before you know it." Molly smirked nervously. Lestrade stood beside the door with his arms crossed.
"You don't have to throw me a party." John said, " I'm not leaving the country or anything. Just moving across town. I'll still be around."
"Yes, but I don't suppose we'll see you as much." Molly added," And Sherlock will be grieving, although he probably won't tell you."
"Molly!" Sherlock interjected.
"Just saying." Molly commented. "So, come along all. The pub awaits. Our treat."
"Ours?" Lestrade asked surprised.
"It's not a party if they have to pay. " Molly said walking toward the door.
John closed his laptop and sighed. Sherlock was already in the corner putting on his coat. He began to tie his scarf. John rose and followed Molly down the stairs. He was half-way down before he realized that he had forgotten his coat, "Just a second, I forgot something." John said as he turned and trod up the stairs.
John opened the door and walked into the apartment. Suddenly hands grabbed him and pulled him behind the door. John felt Sherlock's mouth covering his own. His arms pulling him close. He kissed him hungrily, passionately. John's surprise gave way to lust and he pushed Sherlock up against the wall behind the open door pressing himself up against Sherlock's body which he could feel even through his coat.
John wrapped Sherlock's blue scarf around his hand and pulled Sherlock's face down greedily drinking his kisses faster than Sherlock could give them.
"John, Sherlock?" Molly called from the foot of the stairs. "What's keeping you?"
John pulled away, but Sherlock rushed forward butting his lips against John's face and pulling him back into his embrace. Sherlock's tongue in his mouth prevented him from answering her.
"Sherlock? John?" Molly called again, and then her footsteps began to climb the stairs.
John's heart was beating triple-time. His breath came only in the infrequent moments between kisses. Just before Molly entered, Sherlock spun him across the room and stepped out so that when Molly entered she saw the perfectly ordinary sight of Sherlock putting on his gloves.
"Just a moment." Sherlock said.
John took his coat off of the hook and put it on. He was glad that he was facing away from Molly, because he had to adjust his pants before turning to go. He walked out last, closing the door behind him, his eyes focused on Sherlock's back as he wondered how short he could make this party. Because 'going' was not the thing that he was thinking of.