Thank you so much reflectiveless, oatniel, zoe the god, Lady Prussia of Awesomeness, MarkMeUp, JGHB, SakuraBlossom58, Readerhaven, xXxBookNerdxXx, and raintsukema for you continued support and reviews. Also, thank you to everyone who has favorited and followed this story. Your support means a lot to me. It's helped me keep my head through, well, everything. Thank you.
Believe it or not, this chapter contains the very first words I ever wrote as far as this story is concerned. I'll give you a hint, the section I wrote starts with: "John leaned his head against the couch..." and ends with "...and so very Sherlock."
So, it goes without saying that I've been waiting for this chapter since day one. Don't worry, this story goes on for a while yet and, I hope, it improves with every chapter.
I would like to thank my lovely beta, Helena Chauby, for her assistance in editing this story.
I would also like to thank Lady of Clunn for her assistance with BritPicking.
Finally I also owe thanks to my flatmate, sounding board, and own personal Sherlock, Geoff.
Without further ado, onto the story...
Chapter Seven: The Leap
John sighed, uneasy, as he dragged his eyes across the walls of his room. He was trying, very hard, not to think about what was going on downstairs.
When they'd got back to 221 B Baker Street, Sherlock had actually asked to speak with Mycroft alone. John had looked at up at Sherlock hurt and a bit confused. Sherlock had looked back at him, pleading. In the end John had huffed an unhappy breath, and climbed the steps to his room.
John trusted Sherlock, of course, he always had. It was crazy, really, when John stopped to think about it. He had trusted Sherlock completely so soon after meeting him. Sherlock had turned his life upside down, and he hadn't been able to get enough of their mad rambles about London since he'd left his cane at Angelo's...
A sparkle of light caught his eye and John smiled. He'd hung the crystal Sherlock gave him in his bedroom window. He'd selected this location in part because he didn't want Sherlock to witness the goofy smile John got whenever he looked at it.
Standing, John made his way from his bed to the window. It was late afternoon now, and the crystal sparkled in the golden light. John cupped it in his hand, blocking out most of the light, but it still glowed, true to its name.
John carefully ran his thumb over the ornament, feelings its cut facets. Having the crystal in his bedroom window also mean that he would be able to see it glow with light when he started out of a nightmare and be reminded of the day Sherlock had given it to him. It was a foolish sentiment, really, but it made John feel better.
The sounds of a scuffle coming from downstairs caused John to look up sharply from his ornament. The crash that followed, moments later, resulted in John sprinting through his door and down the steps.
John clamored into the sitting room to find both Sherlock and Mycroft looking a bit roughed up. A small side table had tipped, or been flung over, and spilt its varied contents across the floor. Sherlock faced Mycroft with an open posture, knees and elbows bent, cheeks flushed. John knew Sherlock could box quite well when he chose to, so seeing Sherlock in a fighting pose was not nearly as surprising as seeing Mycroft pulling back from one.
Mycroft wasn't as skilled a fighter as Sherlock, but he showed the signs of having been in a scuffle. His knees and elbows, now straightening, had been slightly bent when John entered the room. John also noted that Mycroft's right eye was beginning to look puffy, as though he'd recently been struck, and the knuckles of his left hand were smeared with a small streak of blood.
Mycroft yanked on his lapels to straighten himself out and glared across the room at his brother.
"Just remember what I said, Sherlock. You are playing with fire."
Sherlock's eyes narrowed and he held his ground. "Get out Mycroft," he hissed.
Mycroft made a point of sweeping his gaze across the room to look at John, then back at Sherlock, before shaking his head judgmentally.
"Now!" Sherlock insisted, taking a step forward.
Mycroft took a step backwards, and held his hands up in surrender. "Just remember, when this game comes to an end, Sherlock, I warned you." With that cryptic and ominous statement, Mycroft retreated from the room.
John stared after the elder Holmes for a moment as the door closed behind him before bringing his gaze to Sherlock. The lanky consulting detective was just straightening himself, tugging on his own lapels.
"What happened?" John asked, flabbergasted. The Holmes brothers' contentious relationship was certainly no secret, but John hadn't seen them come to actual blows before.
"It's nothing," Sherlock waved a hand in front of him dismissively.
John set his hands crossly on his hips. "Sherlock, you promised me answers-" John stuttered to a stop as Sherlock turned to face him. There was a nasty cut dripping blood down Sherlock's cheek.
"Lord, Sherlock, can't I leave you alone for two minutes?" John strode forward and grasped an uncooperative Sherlock's chin in his hand as he examined the wound.
"Technically," Sherlock began, leaning away from John's touch slightly, if only because he feared his natural inclination to lean into it, "Mycroft and I were speaking for over forty minutes."
John caught Sherlock's eyes for a moment and smiled, despite himself. "You're impossible sometimes, you know that."
Sherlock's breath hitched the slightest bit. John was close, too close for him to think properly, and lord did he need to think right now. He was, of course doing the right thing. He knew all the details of this case, and it was a smart plan, wasn't it? Suddenly, Sherlock felt a gentle push on his shoulders.
"Sit down, Sherlock," John murmured, continuing to push him in the direction of the couch, "I'll get some antibiotic cream and some antiseptic."
Right, sit, he could do that.
Sherlock slowly folded his legs and settled himself on their familiar green sofa. Sherlock took several deep, measured breaths as he listened to John rummage around in the medicine cabinet. He needed to be sure, absolutely sure, of his plan. Once he presented it to John, there would be no turning back. It, fit certainly. It just might put them in the killer's sights, but it also stood a good chance of preventing yet another double murder. If, that is, John agreed to it. John would need to be all in if this was going to work.
Sherlock swallowed and willed himself to be calm as John strode back into the room with cotton balls, a small tube of antibiotic cream, and antiseptic. 'It's a good plan,' Sherlock thought to himself, 'It is.'
John knelt between Sherlock's slightly parted legs, completely in doctor mode. John pressed the cotton to the tip of the antiseptic bottle, tipped it, righted it again, then set the bottle down. Sherlock traced John's every move with his eyes. John leaned forward slightly, grasped Sherlock's chin again, tilted the taller man's head to the side, and gently dabbed the wet cotton against the blood. "This might sting," John breathed, intently focused on his work, and Sherlock felt pinned.
Now was not the time to get caught up in foolish sentiment. He needed to focus, but all he could concentrate on for long minutes was the small movements John was making with his hand as he dabbed at Sherlock's cut.
At length John pulled the cotton back, studied Sherlock's cheek, and nodded to himself. "I think the bleeding's stopped," John murmured, leaning back on his heels and wrapping the bloody cotton in a tissue.
John moved to rise and throw out the used cotton, but paused when he felt Sherlock's hand on his wrist.
"Sherlock?" John asked, confused.
Sherlock gave John's wrist a little squeeze before tugging him down towards the couch. John followed the movement and sat beside Sherlock, placing the first aid supplies on the coffee table as he sat. They turned to face each other properly, John curling one leg under him and letting the other drape off the couch.
John looked at Sherlock expectantly, waiting for an explanation, for answers. Something had been eating away at Sherlock since they'd examined Evan's body, and John was not about to let Sherlock get away without a complete explanation... he just couldn't allow that, not since Sherlock's fall.
Sherlock looked at John, then looked away, then looked back. Sherlock's mouth worked, moved, opened and closed, but still there was no explanation.
Finally, with a frustrated sigh, Sherlock heaved himself from the couch, and began pacing the sitting room. John turned to follow Sherlock's movements, still sitting, but with both feet on the floor now.
John watched Sherlock pace for a few moments before the consulting detective finally spoke. "Our killer is fanatical," Sherlock began, "This is a holy war for him; he's out to punish both the community and individual couples for some wrong he feels has been committed against him. Our biggest problem at the moment is that there are too many idiots that fit this description..."
Sherlock trailed off for a moment and John interjected, "Yes, I know this already, Sherlock."
Sherlock heaved a strangled sigh before rounding on John, "John, I am laying out an argument here, be so kind as to listen."
"Oh," John breathed, taken aback. Sherlock had never bothered to lay out his argument from beginning to end before. He just spouted incredible deductions and presented the conclusion. If most people weren't fast enough to keep up, that was their problem. John swallowed. This had to be big. "...I'm listening," John murmured at last, his eyes locked on Sherlock's.
Sherlock held John's gaze for a beat before resuming his pacing. "This killer has gone for wealthier and higher profile targets with each new killing."
John nodded to show he was following along.
"He started out almost slap dash, a long time fantasy played out in a moment of convenience," Sherlock continued, "Then he became more organised, but he was still acting from a place of intense emotion, anger, hatred, as evidenced by the state of the second two bodies."
Sherlock paused and John nodded again, he was still with him. Sherlock had adopted his 'thinking pose' as he strode back and forth across the room.
"With this latest double murder," Sherlock continued, gesturing with both his index fingers pointed at the ceiling, "The killer has created over the top gothic and religious imagery. This killer is no genius, unfortunately, and his motives have been too ordinary to pinpoint him by. However, I think we have managed to get his attention. He's building steam now, but he's also got sloppy; just as we wanted him to." Sherlock finished speaking while he was facing John, both hands fully extended , slightly in front of him and to the sides of his face as though he'd come to some grand point.
John stared at his flatmate for a moment, slightly open mouthed before shaking his head and admitting, "Yeah, you lost me somewhere."
Sherlock sighed irritably and sank to his knees in front of John, gesturing forcefully as if this would somehow help cram the message he was trying to get across into John's thick skull. "John, he's drawn us a map of where he's going next."
John licked his lips reflexively and opened his mouth to ask Sherlock to start making some sense, when the taller man drew a stack of papers and a bible off the coffee table. Sherlock quickly spread the papers over John's lap.
"Here," Sherlock began, gesturing to the papers, "these are photocopies of each bible quote we've found. This first one: Leviticus 18:22- Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination. He's laid all his cards on the table with this one, he's only focused on his anger towards homosexuals."
Sherlock shuffled the papers a moment before laying the second quote out before them. "This one reads: Revelation 2:2 - I know thy works, and thy labor, and thy patience, and how thou canst not bear them which are evil: and thou hast tried them which say they are apostles, and are not, and hast found them liars. Here he's proclaiming himself to be the person who will 'rid the world of these evils' or some such nonsense."
Sherlock muttered to himself a moment, thumbing through a copy of the King James Bible before coming across the quote they'd found only today. "Ah, here it is: Proverbs 16:12 - [It is] an abomination to kings to commit wickedness: for the throne is established by righteousness." Sherlock rested his finger near the passage and looked up at John, "This quote, taken in combination with the patterns we've seen building, and the mock crown of thorns the killer placed on Nathan and Evan most likely leads to only one conclusion."
John stared at the photo copies, then at the bible, then at Sherlock. "He's, what," John fumbled, "He's going after the Royal Family? Last I heard, none of them were gay."
Sherlock rolled his eyes and blew a pursed breath through his lips, ruffling the dark curls over his forehead. "Don't be daft John. It's not the nuclear Royal Family he's going for..." Sherlock paused then, and John leaned towards him, hanging, as usual, on Sherlock's every word. "...but the Queen does have a cousin. His name is Albert, and he is set to marry his long time partner, Trevor, a month and a half from now."
John gaped at Sherlock, incredulous. "No," he breathed, disbelieving. "How does this tie in with the other murders?"
"Think of the victims, " Sherlock insisted, ticking off each couple on his fingers, "Thomas and Sean were your average 'couple next door' types. Marcus and Bryan were heavily into GLBT activism, and fighting for gay rights. Nathan and Evan are not only activists, but had the money and the political backing to really make an impact. The one thing that ties these men together, besides homosexuality and a growing influence over politics, is their marriages. Each one was happily married, or as close to it as they could've got with the laws."
Sherlock paused meaningfully, scooping up a recent newspaper, the front page of which proclaimed the new legality of gay marriage in Great Britain. "Now, not only has the Queen and parliament recently given the legal seal of approval to gay marriage," Sherlock pressed on, "but one of the first people to make use of this-"
"Albert," John finished, a bit stunned.
Sherlock nodded, seeming to calm some, now that John was on the same page.
John sat back a bit, taking it all in. "So you think the killer means to hunt down Albert and Trevor just before their wedding?"
"No," Sherlock shook his head forcefully, startling John, "that would be too easy. You see, it's nearing early summer and the 'happy couple' is planning to have a low-key honeymoon in the Hamptons of New York, America. Killing them there will make his statement both shocking and international."
"That's diabolical," John murmured, leaning his head on one hand. John lifted his head then and made a sweeping gesture with his hand, "So you've got a plan, then?"
Sherlock looked away and rested back on his heels. Was he biting his lip? Couldn't be.
"Sherlock?" John pressed, leaning forward a bit, looking down, for once, at his best friend, "You do have a plan don't you? You've always got a plan, even a harebrained, last minute one."
Sherlock took a breath, looked up, and held John's gaze intently. "I have an idea for a plan," he conceded, "but it will only work if you're in agreement; I mean, all in."
John's eyebrows crept towards his hairline, "This must be some plan. You don't normally ask my permission."
Sherlock was silent for a moment, his gaze searching John's. "This one won't work without your permission," Sherlock breathed, his cheeks looking slightly flushed.
John leaned forward now, intrigued. Sherlock's dark curls were almost touching his forehead. "What is it?" he murmured.
Without breaking eye contact Sherlock reach forward and took John's hands in his. John sat back a little, surprised by the gesture. Sherlock had to be worried about something. John gave Sherlock's hands a little squeeze, "Look, you're asking me first," he began, "I appreciate that. If I can't do whatever it is, I'll let you know. No hard feelings. Especially considering all the times you've thrown me into some harebrained scheme, sink or swim."
Sherlock chuckled and looked down at their joined hands, running his thumbs over John's fingers as he did so. "Being close to Albert and Trevor, following them on their honeymoon would put us in the best position to catch the killer before he strikes this time."
John nodded, following along again. "We need to be close but not too close, or we'll spook the killer."
Sherlock gave a tight smile as he studied their joined hands. "It would be better if we could be both inconspicuous and potential targets at the same time."
John was still nodding. It made sense. It would hardly be the first time they'd put themselves in harm's way for a case. Sherlock and he did have an unhealthy attraction to danger. "We could draw him out that way, by staying close and being targets," John surmised.
Sherlock nodded but remained silent for the moment.
"So, what, we'd go on holiday as a couple or something? That's hardly shocking considering how many times we've made news as a couple recently. Hell, we'll probably be in the paper tomorrow. I told you I was game for this ruse, what's the problem?"
Sherlock began running his thumb over John's fingers again, eventually resting his right thumb over John's left ring finger and holding it there. Taking a breath Sherlock looked up again and held John's gaze with his. "The killer only targets married men, John."
John sat up a little straighter then, reeling.
Sherlock pressed on. "At least, for now, they represent the greatest insult to him."
"W-won't that look a little suspicious?" John asked trying desperately not to blush, and failing. "He must know we're on the case."
"It won't be suspicious if he thinks we've dropped the case." Sherlock allowed himself just the smallest bit of hope now. John hadn't said no, he was talking details.
John's brows knit together in confusion. "Why would we drop the case?"
"If we think it's solved," Sherlock replied. "One of the most frustrating things about this case has been how many prejudiced or bigoted people could have the right motive for committing these crimes. If we arranged for someone to take the fall, someone who the police could make a big show of arresting, we might be able to lull the killer into complacency. We've already made him mad. If we then make him lazy, and present ourselves as a possible target he would likely strike, for revenge if nothing else."
John's eyes traced Sherlock's face, trying to keep up; to make sense of the consulting detective's reasoning. "You're not the type to frame someone."
Sherlock shook his head. "Of course not, we, the Yard, and the person they arrest will be in on it. The Yard will just hold them for a short while, until we can pin the real killer."
"And you can get Lestrade to agree to this?" John asked, incredulous.
Sherlock levelled a look at John and arched his eyebrow as if to say, 'You doubt me?'
John chuckled. "True enough, you've got him wrapped around your finger."
Sherlock shrugged, "Making someone else look good by solving murders for them for years will earn you some favours."
John smiled affectionately, then looked away, thinking. His face softened before he looked down at Sherlock again, disbelieving. "You...you want to marry me?"
"Yes," Sherlock replied without hesitation, and John felt his breath catch in his throat.
Sherlock squeezed John's hands again, and pressed on. "It would only work if you were willing, John. Bringing the ruse to this level would likely result in more intimate moments, depending on what makes the most sense at the time. It wouldn't be believable if you looked like you were just tolerating being touched. It would have to be as real as possible."
John swallowed, hard. He'd just barely admitted to himself that he was attracted to Sherlock, and now he was supposed to marry him? That would not help his little crush, or whatever it was. Then again, Sherlock was asking him. Sherlock was asking because he valued their friendship as much as he was asking so that it would be believable, John was sure of it. He could see concern etched in Sherlock's features. He didn't want to damage their relationship. Sherlock had, in his own way, voiced his relief at John's warm welcome when he'd returned from the dead. Sherlock certainly didn't want to damage things now. That and he was being careful; more wary since Moriarty. Concern for them both, concern for their relationship, and concern for the case. That was what was motivating this.
"John," Sherlock murmured, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
John couldn't help but smile. Sherlock was never this concerned about getting permission from someone if he needed their help on a case. John had lost count of the number of schemes he'd been unwittingly thrust into over the years. It was possible that Sherlock was being somewhat cautious about this case in general. After all, the last case that ran this long, and proved this complex, resulted in Sherlock's fall... Even so, John was sure that part, if not all, of Sherlock's concern stemmed from his desire to avoid damaging his relationship with John. That was proof positive that Sherlock cared as much about John as the case. It was even within the realm of possibility that Sherlock cared more about John than the case. That thought made John blush.
Would it really be so bad? It was just a stupid crush. This could be a way for him to get his Sherlock fixation out of his system without hurting anyone, and help Sherlock solve a case.
"Okay. I'm in."
Sherlock still looked wary. "Are you sure? While we won't need to consummate the marriage, we would be faking a honeymoon while surreptitiously trailing another couple on an actual honeymoon." Sherlock forced himself to sound calm as he pressed on. "We may find ourselves in a situation where chemistry and biology are at play. That's all they are, chemistry and biology. I don't want any hurt feelings or apologies."
John flushed and looked away. That was Sherlock's way of saying one or both of them might become aroused because of...stuff. Well... as long as they both understood ahead of time, and were being adult about it.
John had to fight back a laugh at that thought. Yeah, right. What could possibly be mature about this? John looked back down at Sherlock and found him still waiting for John's answer. Still nervous about inadvertently hurting or alienating John.
John lifted his left hand from Sherlock's grasp and caressed the side of the consulting detective's face, trying to convey that he would be comfortable with what had to happen. "It's fine, Sherlock," he murmured, "It's all fine."
Sherlock smiled up at him, cupping John's hand in his, keeping it against his face.
"People are going to ask how I proposed to you though," John speculated. "We'll have to think of a good story."
"I proposed to you," Sherlock insisted, pulling their joined hands down to John's lap once more.
"Who would believe Mr. 'I'm married to my work' would be the one to propose?" John asked, amused at the idea. "You said it had to be as close to the truth as possible."
"It can be," Sherlock assured, shifting his weight so that he was properly on one knee.
"Sherlock?" John asked, more than a little surprised.
Sherlock gathered John's hands up in his once more, and lifted his shining gaze to John's, pinning him there. "John Hamish Watson, I never thought I could fall in love. I had always regarded love as a chemical defect found on the losing side; a weakness. I never thought I would encounter sentiment I could not rationalise or ignore, and then I met you. Someone so simple, so grounded, and so full of surprises. I still couldn't say why you shot that cabbie for me, but there you were. You've been protecting me from myself ever since."
John stared at Sherlock, transfixed. Sherlock had to be mixing a description of the friendship they'd forged with romance. This was for the case, obviously, so John would have an actual memory to draw from when asked about the proposal. Even knowing that, John found himself swept away.
"Still, I couldn't say that I loved you, until it was almost too late." Sherlock swallowed and paused, adding weight to his next words. "But I knew I loved you when I stepped off the roof of St. Bart's."
John sucked in a breath, he hadn't expected this to come into play.
"That was why, more than anything, I had to fake my death. I could not let anything happen to you. If it would keep you safe, I'd do it again."
"Idiot," John breathed.
Sherlock smiled in response. "Most people are, especially for love."
John couldn't help but smile back.
Sherlock raised their joined hands to his lips, and kissed John's knuckles. "You've made me a fool of sentiment, John Watson," he murmured, looking up at John through his lashes, "and I can find no cure for it. Will you be my husband? Will you marry me?"
Sherlock looked so sincere, like he meant every single word.
"Yes, Sherlock," John murmured, "I will marry you."
Sherlock grinned up at him. "See? Easy. Now we have a story."
John blinked and shook himself as Sherlock stood and seated himself on the sofa beside John. This just might be more difficult than he'd first thought. He leaned back and glanced over at Sherlock. "So, what now?"
Sherlock leaned back on the sofa, adopting his 'thinking' pose again. "We should visit Ms. Bruckner tomorrow, I think she will be able to help us find a 'killer' for the Yard to arrest. About four days is long enough not to be suspicious, that's when we'll set up the arrest. We can announce our engagement shortly after."
John nodded. "That's poetic."
"We want to be in the Hamptons just before Albert and Trevor, so that gives you about three weeks to plan the wedding."
"Wait, hold on. Sherlock, I am not planning an entire wedding by myself!" John protested.
Sherlock glanced at John out of the corner of his eyes. "Why not?"
"Because!" John insisted, "Weddings should be planned by both people involved."
Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Details."
"Yes," John replied, "Details. Ones you will be planning right along with me."
Sherlock narrowed his eyes and leaned forward slightly. "And why would I do that?"
"You said you wanted this to be as real as possible, right?" John asked. "Well if I were really getting married-"
"We will really be getting married," Sherlock interjected.
"You know what I mean," John countered. "If this was real, I would find a way to get you to help. A marriage is a partnership, Sherlock, and a wedding is a celebration of that partnership. It's not right unless both people have a say."
Sherlock sighed dramatically, leaned back onto the sofa, and threw an arm over his eyes. "You're going to beat me to death with that 'We have to make it look real' excuse aren't you?"
John grinned. "Don't hand a man a gun, unless you know where he's going to point it."
Sherlock let his hand slide down into his lap and looked over at John again. "Duly noted."
John leaned his head against the sofa and smiled. It was always fun scheming with Sherlock. Sherlock scooted closer to John on the sofa, causing their legs to touch. John lifted his head off the couch and looked at his consulting detective.
Sherlock reached forward and placed his right hand on John's left shoulder, letting it rest there. "I am going to kiss you now, John," he murmured.
John felt a rush of heat and his breathing quickened slightly. Sherlock leaned into him, his brilliant blue/grey eyes captured John's gaze and held him, pinned. When John felt Sherlock's breath ghost over his face, he closed his eyes and shivered. Sherlock's lips pressed warm and soft against his. John groaned softly at the contact, opening his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock opened his lips in turn, and their lips slid and moulded around each other.
Tingles crept from the back of John's neck down his arms leaving goosebumps in their wake. John had never had a kiss quite like this, unhurried, teasingly open-mouthed, almost aching. John slid his right hand over Sherlock's left shoulder, around his neck, and began threading his fingers through the black curls he found there.
John's tongue slipped between his lips to skim along Sherlock's mouth, soon after meeting Sherlock's tongue as well. This time it was Sherlock who moaned, or maybe they both did. Fingers tightened on shoulders and in hair as they pulled each other closer, hungry for more. Tongues curled together, lips moved against each other, and for a few, breathless minutes, the rest of the world faded away.
Sherlock slid his left arm around John's waist and stroked his back. Slowly, he began to pull back his tongue, and after a few moments more, his lips as well. Sherlock didn't pull back far; their foreheads were pressed together, and their breath still mingled.
John kept his eyes closed at first, his head still swimming. At length, Sherlock pulled back further and met John's gaze. "Well," he breathed, smirking, "We may be able to convince people we are a couple after all."
John shook his head and chuckled. This was crazy, and brilliant, and so very Sherlock.
"I think it's time for bed, John," Sherlock murmured, when John lifted a hand to cover his yawn.
"Yeah," John relented, "For those of us who actually sleep."
John stood then and, surprisingly, Sherlock stood with him. "Are you going to sleep, too?"
"We will be sharing a bed on the honeymoon," Sherlock observed, "It makes sense to get used to it."
"Oh." John was not blushing, he was not. "A-alright then. Whose room?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Mine, of course, I've got a bigger, better bed."
"Of course," John replied sarcastically as they made their way down the hall. "I'll just run up and change then."
John returned shortly in a soft, oversized, t-shirt and comfy pajama bottoms. He found Sherlock wearing a similar outfit, turning down the covers.
"Do you have a preferred side?" Sherlock asked
John shook his head.
Sherlock gestured to the bed, "Then get in."
John ducked his head and did just that. He couldn't help but notice, as he slid between the sheets, how soft Sherlock's bed was. You just sank right into it. John closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
"Isn't this better than your hard mattress upstairs?" Sherlock asked smugly, as he turned out the light.
John just smiled and nodded. After a moment he rolled onto his side and got comfortable. "Goodnight, Sherlock," he murmurred. John felt the bed dip as Sherlock moved, then he felt a long arm wrap around him, and pull his back flush with Sherlock's front. John's eyes flew open in surprise.
Sherlock surprised John again by throwing his leg over John's, pulling him closer. He was spooning him. Sherlock was spooning him. Beneath the shock John noted just how nice it felt, how warm.
"Goodnight, John," Sherlock whispered, his breath ghosting over John's ear.
John shivered. He felt tingly all over. It had been a long time since he'd been held like this, and, God, it felt nice... Most of the women he'd dated wanted John to do the holding. John didn't mind, but it was nice to be held now and again. Sherlock seemed perfectly suited to be the "big spoon", John felt comfortably surrounded, safe.
'Well,' he thought as he snuggled back into Sherlock, 'I did say I was all in, didn't I?' John closed his eyes, oblivious to the contented smile resting on his lips. This crazy case seemed like just the thing to blow off some steam and get himself over his silly crush. After all, it was just a crush...