Magic

It had been a week since that day. The day where Sherlock and I had declared our love soberly and declared that we belonged to one another. That also happened to be the day that the meant-to-be-dead Moriarty had taken me on a date (if that was the right word) to the London Dungeons. And in a short period before that, someone had injected two lots of Meth into me and I was approached by some unknown army man with a grudge. Oh and I had danced to Rihanna and Sherlock told me I was his Rose, shortly after returning from the grave. You see, that may sound a little odd. But this chain of strange and slightly unfortunate events were the sort of occurences that followed my strange friend and after being with the man for so long, you welcome such occurences as if they were your average activity. And honestly, anything could happen and I would be okay, just knowing that I had Sherlock to face it with me.

The week inbetween today and that day was less interesting. There had been roughly three cases. Two of which were just drug-based killings, which Sherlock called "dull" and simply stated every fact as though we should all have guessed it. The other proved to be slightly more interesting and held his attention for a couple of days, but I was not graced with the details as I had been looking for jobs. I had expressed an interest in the cases but Sherlock's linear thoughts were too hard to follow so I gave up in the end. In that fairly monotonous week, we had only seen each other briefly each night, when Sherlock would crawl into my bed after he had been out for hours on end. But tonight we would see each other.

I had been out most of the day searching for jobs. I had also visited Harry and I was having a refreshingly good time with her, until she attempted to swig some Vodka when I wasn't looking and then it all kicked off. She started screeching about our parents, our childhood and how life was just so "shit." Every time she gets like this I have to remind myself to take it with a pinch of salt. The painful words that she spat at me were utterly meaningless. All of her misfortunes were of her own accord and God knows how many times I have tried to help her across the years. In the end, I just give up and leave her to drown her sorrows in the booze.

As soon as I set foot in 221B, I felt my spirits lift. Mrs Hudson was in the kitchen, doing her best to keep calm as she disgarded random limbs and body parts.. I walked over to her, giving her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. Then I proceeded to the kettle, filling it with water and retrieving some mugs. I ran up to my room quickly, kicking off my shoes and throwing off my coat before returning back to the kitchen.

"Tea, Mrs Hudson?" I asked politely, still a little pissy after the visit with Harry but very happy to be home.

"Oh no, dear. It's a bit late for me" She smiled, patting me on the arm before going downstairs. I heard her door lock, meaning that she was going to bed. Sherlock and I would be alone together tonight. Just as I was thinking about him, the curly-haired man burst into the living room, his face smeared with blood and his hair thick with it. He was carrying a large flagpole and stood upright as he realised I was looking at him, my mouth wide open.

"Eventful day?" I laughed, forcing myself to turn back to the tea I was brewing. I had begun making Sherlock a cup before he had even gotten home.

His small laughter rumbled a bit, making me smile. He then mumbled something about a shower and disappeared. I took both mugs into the living room, I set them both on the table infront of the sofa. I slumped down on the right-hand side, one arm with the remote resting on the arm rest, I laid back a little, putting one leg further up on the sofa than the other. I was tired and this position was perfect to fall asleep to, but I pushed the tiredness back as the longing for Sherlock far outweighed the need for sleep. In his short absence, I flicked through the channels, there were various crime dramas on which I would have put on- if Sherlock wasn't guranteed to deduce the fault in every detail. Instead I decided to flick through the film channels, they ranged from "17 again" to "The Exorcist." After five minutes that I had spent endlessly searching for a film and sipping slowly at my tea, Sherlock returned to me. His hair slightly damp, his skin soft and gleaming. He was wearing purple pyjama bottoms, a tshirt and his favourite blue dressing gown. He looked warm and emaculate. He turned off the main light and crashed down next to me, stretching out all of his limbs before crossing his legs and turning slightly, so he was facing me. He also retrieved his mug of tea and smiled at me. He laid out his free hand and I took it, our fingers intertwining, both of us smiling like idiots as we turned to look at the television. I decided to have a mutual approach to the film of choice.

"Blood Diamond?" I asked, curious as I read the summary of the film.

"Boring."

"The Exorcist?"

"Old."

"Harry Potter?" I was genuinely intrigued as to the response it would get from my strange flatmate, I didn't see how he could slate it. It was afterall, a phenomenal book and film series.

"Hmm.. which one?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Um.. Philosopher's Stone."

"Yes."

I put it on, luckily it had just started. We finished our tea quickly and disgarded the mugs onto the small table. Sherlock lunged infront of me to grab the remote, turning the volume down so we could talk as well as watch the film. He still had hold of my hand, his thumb stroking gently. It felt nice, relaxing even. I yanked it so he fell sidewards into me. He snuggled up so that his head was on my chest, his legs curled up like a child. I had my hand locked in his and an arm draped over his shoulder. It felt wonderful. I had missed him a lot this past week.

"Magic" he mused "it's just a different word for science."

"Is that why you like it? Because it's linked with um.. science?" I didn't see the actual connection Harry Potter had to science but I was always interested in what Sherlock had to say- especially when he suprised me.

"No, I'd just love to be wizard." he said seriously.

I chuckled heartily, his head bobbing a little on my chest.

"I thought you wanted to be a pirate when you were younger?"

"Yes, I did. But now I'm older, I wouldn't mind being a wizard."

I laughed again, he was such a brilliantly odd man. He fascinated me.

His head then swivelled upwards to look at me, a grin etched upon his face. His pupils dilated, the blue/green bright and thoughtful. He stretched upwards a little, so I met him halfway. Each of our faces upside down to the other but still able to press our lips together. I loved kissing Sherlock Holmes. I pulled back with a smile on my face and he did the same, but he changed his position so that he was sat upright and next to me. He turned to me again, taking both of my hands this time.

"You saw your sister today didn't you?" He seemed genuinely interested, how he had managed to deduce that, God knows, but I appreciated his concern.

"Yeah I did."

"She was drunk."

"As ever."

He paused for a few moments, deep in thought. Then he returned back to reality and smiled at me.

"Would you like a hug?" He stretched out his arms invitingly and I beamed. Sherlock's hugs were cosier than you'd think, and the warmth of his body made everything better.

"You bet." I embraced him, his gorgeous scent floating through my nostrils. His hug was the perfect medicine and eventually, we parted. Returning back to the previous position, though this time, he had his arm on the top of the sofa, just behind my head. It was comforting and prompted talking, which I wasn't going to decline.

"How is it, you always know the right time for a hug?" I laughed.

"Magic." he jested, giggling a little.

I went to speak again but my phone went off in my pocket, I slid it out quickly and saw that I had a new message. It read:

"I thought I'd drop you some good news, my adooorable Jawn. Your attacker and his associates have been.. dealt with. As payment, we're going for dinner tomorrow night. I'll pick you up. Wear something sexy. Or else. Jim x"

I handed the phone to Sherlock who had been waiting patiently. He scanned through the text in milliseconds and clenched his fists. His knuckles white. I took the phone out of his tight grip and held his hand again, forcing him to look at me. He looked annoyed.

"Sherlock, calm down." I said cooly, squeezing his hand re-assuringly.

"He wants to date my..my.." he seemed to be searching for the appropriate word, which was good as I hadn't even been able to do that. "my lover." He said it in a way that sent shivers down my spine, his tone just radiated sexual tension and I pushed back all thoughts, keeping my mind focused on calming him down.

"Exactly, your lover. If we just humour him Sherlock, he'll have no reason to cause harm."

"He's a fool."

"Yes, Sherlock, he is. He's just some bored psychopath who thinks he can get whatever he wa-"

"No John, he's a fool because you don't need to wear something sexy to be sexy."

He smiled at me brilliantly. I kissed him again, deeply and passionately. We broke off after a while, both feeling much better.

"Plus that loony who attacked me has been apprehended which is good eh?"

Sherlock muttered an "mhm" texting people on his own phone briefly. Then he returned his gaze to me, his eyes full of desire.

"John, I think we should stop thinking about all of this and instead embrace the theme of this film."

I raised an eyebrow quizically.

"Well let's do some magic of our own."

He pounced on me.

And we stayed like that, kissing and pinning one another down playfully for hours. Forgetting all of the troubles we had been facing and casting them aside to worry about tomorrow. We focused entirely on each other, letting our love consume us.

How magical.