December 13

Thieves beware (part 10/10)

After leaving the bar, John and Sherlock went to Scotland Yard. The consulting detective told them everything about the murder and the ginger haired man who he had identified as the killer. The work was quickly done and the habitants of 221B found themselves soon on the street in front of the yard. When Sherlock started to look for a cab, John stopped him.

"I feel like walking. We're not that far away from home, let's don't take a cab", he proposed.

Sherlock merrily nodded and started heading to Baker Street.

They walked in silence for a long time. The tall detective couldn't keep himself from glimpsing every few minutes down to John. His flatmate seemed to be deep in thought. He let his gaze wander down John's body, admiring the sight. Quickly he looked back to the street again. What was he doing?! This whole feelings thing wasn't good. He should stop, definitely. But he couldn't.
Sherlock frowned. There was almost nothing he could not do on this earth, why would something that simple and mundane like feelings be his limit?

Sherlock's attention snapped back to reality as John suddenly stopped behind him. He turned around, facing the pickpocket who stared at him, gaping, disbelieve written all over his face.
The sleuth tried to deduce what happened but for once he couldn't.
"What's wrong?", he asked, hating it that he didn't know.

John blushed. He avoided his eyes awkwardly, looking down to his shoes.
"Nothing", he mumbled.
"No, John, something happened and I can't deduce it. Tell me", he demanded.

John sighed. "Sherlock, can we please, just go on? We're nearly at home."

The dark curled man eyed him up. Even if he couldn't deduce what was wrong, he did know that John wouldn't tell him until they were at home. Without a word, he turned around and started striding down the road to 221B.
Behind him he could hear his friend's relieved sigh.

Reluctantly John followed his flatmate back home. He knew Sherlock would ask again as soon as they were inside. He couldn't be miffed about it really, after all he did behave himself strange. But he hadn't been able to do anything else, when the realisation had hit him.

The whole evening since they had gone out to the gay bar he'd known that something had changed. He had wondered why he felt strange things around Sherlock. And then, as they walked in silence and he had glimpsed at Sherlock who had seemed to be deep in thought about something, a realization had crossed his mind which had made his heart first stop and then beat in double speed.

He, John Hamish Watson, Three Continent Watson, was in love with his best friend and official high-functioning sociopath Sherlock bloody Holmes. And that was a real problem, because maybe his flatmate hadn't figured it out yet, but he would surely soon. After all it was Sherlock.

So, when they entered 221B, John's heart sped up. They walked up the stair and entered the living room. Suddenly Sherlock turned around to face him. He was standing only two steps away and searched in John's eyes for an answer to his question.

"John. You're upset. Have I done something wrong?", he asked frowning. John sighed. It wasn't as if Sherlock had asked concernedly, no, merrily interested what could bring the pickpocket in such a state. "No Sherlock, you didn't do anything wrong", he answered plainly.
"Then what's the matter?"
"I… You don't wanna know." John turned around heading to his chair, but Sherlock quickly grabbed his arm. At the touch a tingling raced through his body and his heart beat even faster if possible. The detective spun him around again a scolding glitter in his eyes.
"You're being illogical. Why should I ask if not because I want to know?", he questioned, shaking his head slightly.

John blushed. "I… err… you really don't wanna know, Sherlock, believe me."
Suddenly the detective's facial expression went hard. "Oh", he stated, "why didn't I see it earlier? It has something to do with feelings. You've probably come to the realization that one of your loads of women is the one."
John blushed even further, but not for the reason Sherlock thought.
"I… No! I don't have loads of women", he argued.
The detective merrily raised his eyebrows. "So I'm right. Is it the boring teacher? I think your cause is lost there, after all she cheated on you with three other men, one of them her ex-husband."

The blonde man shook his head. "No, I broke off with Jeanette weeks ago. Why didn't you tell me sooner she was cheating on me?", he asked, pretending to be angry. Good one Watson, changing the subject, he thought by himself as his mind raced to find a solution how he should get out of here.
But Sherlock didn't even listen to his words.
"Good. I hope you'll be happy with whoever is the one. I'm going to bed", he pressed bluntly, turning around and disappearing into his room.

John gaped after him, mouth standing open. What was off with Sherlock? Since when was he bothered about his love life, and – even more important – since when did he voluntary go to bed?
Hesitant he made a few steps towards the closed door. He knocked.
"What?", a voice called annoyed.
"Can I come in?", John called back, but he didn't wait for an answer. Slowly he opened the door, getting sight of Sherlock who laid on his bed face down.

"Uhm… Sherlock, why are you upset?", he asked.
A muffled voice answered him. "I'm not upset."
John chuckled slightly. "Yes you are. Now, stop pouting and talk to me."
Sherlock sat up, turning to him. "I am not pouting."
The pickpocket quirked a brow. "So?"
"Idunnow", the sleuth mumbled.
"Sorry, what was that?", John asked, now smirking.

For one moment Sherlock only glared at him. Then he sighed, looking down at the bed, before answering: "I don't know why I am upset! I don't know why you keep racing through my mind or why you look so distracting in this clothes or why I didn't like this murderer flirting with you in the bar or why I hate knowing you're in love with some mundane woman which merrily stay a few weeks before she gets too annoyed with me to be together with you. I don't understand feelings."

John couldn't breathe. He looked at Sherlock, his heart stuttering and butterflies racing through his stomach. Was this real or had he just imagined it?
The detective still didn't look at him and when his flatmate didn't answer, he added: "Please don't leave. I don't want… I mean it would be illogical. You can't afford a flat alone anyway."

And with that sentence, John snapped back into reality. A soft smile caressed his face, as he leaned a bit closer to his best friend.
"Sherlock", he called, but the detective didn't look up. "Sherlock, look at me."
He gently stretched a hand out and lifted Sherlock's chin. In the eyes of the man before him he could see emotions changing. Fear. Then confusion. Then disbelieve. And the emotion which stayed was hope.

Without another word John leaned forward, Sherlock's face coming nearer and nearer, until his eyes fluttered shut and their lips met. The kiss wasn't long, just a light peck, but it contained everything they couldn't bring to words. And soon they kissed again, this time longer and more passionate, John's hands wandering through Sherlock's dark curls and latter slinging his arms around his pickpocket, his flatmate, his best friend, his lover. And when they both needed oxygen they pressed their foreheads against each other, breathing in the other's scent in content silence.

After a while John started to chuckle: "If I had ever known that getting caught at a theft from a detective would lead to this, I would have done it much earlier."
He could feel Sherlock's smile growing as he joined in in the chuckle. The detective leaned forwards once more, speaking his words against John's lips. "Thieves beware."

~ The End ~

AN: This was the longest more-than-one-chapter-story I've ever written! Hope you liked it! Tell me how you find it/it's end please.
Don't worry, "A Johnlock before Christmas" continues, it's just "Thieves beware" which is finished.
Again, thanks to all of you who read this, added it to your favourits and/or commented! It's all of you who motivate me to go on and write fluffy things like this! :)
- I don't own anything, otherwise this would be the end of series 3. -
Merry Christmas,
~ TheNameIsAllieHolmes