I do not own BBC Sherlock
.o0Sherlock0o.
"It's the new year, and we're working." I said, rubbing at my eyes as we sat in a restaurant across the street from a night club. Well, okay, it was a gay bar. People where bustling in and out. Our client was mysteriously linked to something Mycroft had us working on. Sherlock needed to get close enough to the man to make a few deductions.
"I bet Mycroft doesn't have to go to gay bars." I mumbled, pouting slightly. Sherlock kept his eyes trained on the club but his lips quirked up. I blinked, catching the amusement on his face.
"No ..." I gasped, leaning forward. I was bored currently, anything would have interested me at this point. But the older Holmes brother being gay? That was news.
"Come on, he just entered." Sherlock said, unbuttoning a few more buttons on his shirt than usual. He ran his fingers through his hair and I followed him to the club. His usually brisk, long strides where exchanged for a swiveling saunter.
"Hey, can we go in?" Sherlock asked loudly in a bright voice. It was disturbing how well he was at acting. The bouncer eyes him up and down and Sherlock smiled at him sensuously, I snickered.
"Sure thing." The bouncer said, lifting the rope. Gyrating bodies where everywhere. Sherlock's arm slipped around my waist as we were almost pushed apart.
"Stay close." He called in my ear, scouting around the club. I nodded, feeling his head against my back as we pushed through the crowd. The music was loud, pop music from the states that I didn't recognize. Sherlock's hand on my waist tightened and I was suddenly very self conscious of the little roll of belly fat I'd accumulated since living with Sherlock.
"Sherlock, stop! I can walk on my own." I shouted, we stumbled together. I bumped into a young man and his eyes traveled over my face and shoulders, he licked his lips and I flushed. Sherlock whirled me around.
"Dance with me." Sherlock said, his eyes flickering across the room. I blanched as he moved elegently, he swayed to the music, his hips rolling seductively. Sherlock could dance?
"What about the man?" I asked, dancing awkwardly in front of him. Sherlock let his amusement show on his face.
"You don't exactly have a height advantage, John." He commented, I looked up realizing I was too short to even look above the heads of the clubbers. I scowled, continuing to dance terribly.
Sherlock's gaze would slip to me every few minutes, his lips trying to stay clamped together but they kept twisting up in amusement at my awkward flapping. I glared up at him, grunting as someone pushed me. I tripped against his chest.
"10!"
"9!"
"8!"
"It's midnight?" I called over the shouting. Sherlock looked down at me, nodding.
"Obviously." He called back, his hand steadying on my lower back.
"7!"
"6!"
"I'd like to apologize in advance." Sherlock said, his eyes looking somewhere over me. I followed his gaze to a monitor, five couples in the crowd where on screen. Two of them lesbian, the rest gay. The one in the center was us, Sherlock's arm appearing to be wrapped possessively around me while we spoke into each others ear.
"5!"
"4!"
"What're you talking about?" I asked, trying to pull away from him. But there were so many people. My hands where flattened on his chest, it appeared as if we where embracing.
"3!"
"2!"
"1!" My eyes widened Sherlock's long fingers slipped over the nape of my neck, tilting my head back. My mouth opened in protest and he dipped his lips to mine.
I was kissing bloody Sherlock Holmes.
The people around us cheered, hollering out. I twisted my hands in his shirt, prepared to throw him off. This was my best friend I was snogging! This was ridiculous. This was insane! This was ... nice. Really, really nice. His tongue slide across my bottom lip, I trembled and started pulling away. He pulled me closer, I scrambled to reach the floor but he'd lifted me off of it, cramming our mouths together.
"Hmf! Sherlock!" I gasped, ripping my mouth from his. He nipped sharply at my lower lip before setting me back on the ground. He'd bit me! That bastard had actually bit me! I tasted a bit a blood from my split lip. Our breathing was labored, as the crowd cheered around us, a few slapping us on the backs. Our eyes locked, the club seemed to fade as we stared at each other. Sherlock's eyes flickered up and he frowned.
"Come on, John." He called, pulling me by the hand through the crowd. The crowd parted for us, allowing us to easily catch up to the young man we were tracking. Sherlock had counted on that. The dancing, the touching, to get the cameras attention. Then people would assume we were ... running off to do ... that. A perfect getaway. Sherlock was so intelligent it hurt sometimes to think about it. We ran into the back ally chasing the man through the damp London streets.
"Christ," I panted, resting my hands on my knees. Sherlock growled under his labored breath, his knuckles clenched.
"He's fast." I said, inhaling sharply.
"Yes, thank you John I wasn't aw- he is fast." Sherlock said, his vision narrowing. He was in his mind palace, I rolled my eyes waving down a cab.
"Yeah, over here mate!" I called, the cab pulling up. I moved Sherlock in, following beside him. He remained silent, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly as he thought. The car right was silent. I had my own to think about.
I missed Scarlett, but she was probably already in bed now. I wondered if she had Lestrade sing that french lullaby she liked. She had nightmares unless she was sung it. And what about that bloody kiss? What was that about. I mean surely I understand the need to sort of blend in, but that was a bit much, even for Sherlock.
I touched my still swollen lips. When I pried at the bite he had left, tingles zapped down through my body. I shivered, quickly dropping my hand. That was unexpected.
"Cheers." I said, handing the cabbie the money before hauling Sherlock from the car. When Sherlock was in his 'mind palace' he was in a complete daze, not even moving unless I lead him. Once we where in the flat I helped him out of his jacket, I took off his belt and shoes before leading him to the couch.
Setting his robe on the arm chair I went to bed. It was our usual routine. After a quick shower I laid in bed. Glancing at the door. It felt strange without Scarlett coming to complain about Sherlock being 'weird'. She hated when he didn't move and sometimes she'd come snuggle in my bed, terrified of her strange father. I sighed tossing and turning. I dozed in and out, before glaring at the clock. Four o'clock in the morning. I sighed, staring at the wall.
"John." Sherlock snapped, causing to nearly hit the ceiling. I flipped over, gasping for breath. I was hard to sneak up on, and as tall and careless as Sherlock was he could move like a ghost.
"I can't concentrate without Scarlett's incessant prattle." He said, his eyes burning in the darkness. I grinned, hopping off the bed.
"Funny, I can't sleep without her 'prattle' either." I said, slipping on my pants and jacket. I followed Sherlock out of the house, we waved down the only remaining taxi in London.
As we pulled up to Lestrade's house the entire place was dark.
"Should we knock?" I asked, but Sherlock was already bent down preparing to lock pick the door.
"Sherlock! He's an officer!" I hissed, but Sherlock ignored me. We stepped into the house, going up the stairs. It was hard to find Scarlett, each pair of boys had their own room. After the third door I sighed, preparing to tell Sherlock to just wake up Lestrade. I turned around but ...Sherlock had disappeared?
"Hands in the air." A deep voice growled. I stiffened when I felt the familiar cold metal of gun pressed into the back of my neck.
"I'm just looking for my little girl." I squeaked, peering over my shoulder. Lestrade was behind me, sleepy eyed and in sweat pants and a tee shirt. He blinked wearily.
"John?" He questioned, lowering his gun. His eyes sobered up.
"Did you ... break into my house?" He demanded. I gave a nervous laugh.
"Where is she?" Sherlock asked from behind Lestrade. Lestrade rubbed his eyes shaking his head.
"You both broke into my house?" He droned, bobbing his head with disbelief. He snorted rubbing his eye.
"Come on then, she's here." He said leading us down another grand hallway.
"Well, it seems Mycroft makes sure your children are well accommodated." Sherlock said smoothly. Lestrade's steps faltered and I felt my face scrunch up in confusion.
"Wait, your not actually saying that Lestrade and Mycroft are-" I laughed and then stopped walking altogether when Lestrade flushed, ducking his head.
"Oh God." I groaned as visuals flooded me. Lestrade tucked his chin to his chest, huffing.
"Can't keep you're bloody mouth shut." He grumbled under his breath, opening a door quietly. Jenny and Scarlett where sharing a bed. Scarlett's eyes snapped open as soon as the door opened and she grinned, slipping out of the bed she ran to us.
"Papa, Daddy." She whispered in relief in a hushed voice. Relief spread through me as I lifted her up. I clutched her against my, cradling her there.
"Oh, I've missed you." I sighed, nuzzling into her warm hair. She giggled, preening like a cat in the affection.
"Papa-" She sobbed, clutching my shirt. I looked over at Sherlock, who was glancing at us before returning his gaze to Lestrade.
"Thank you for watching her. I'll be sure to tell Mycroft so you can be rewarded." He smirked. Lestrade stuttered at the innuendo, glaring at Sherlock.
"Ungrateful sod." He snapped, he began to stomp off before glancing over his shoulder.
"Oi, lock my door before you go out." He said, shutting his door at the end of the hall.
"Scarlett, will you stop talking! Honestly, how you get enough oxygen to your brain is one of my greatest mysteries!" Sherlock snapped. I came out of the kitchen, my eyes blazing. Scarlett had her head lowered, her eyes focused on the floor.
"Don't talk to her like that." I said, my voice lethal. Sherlock looked up, raising an eyebrow.
"Like you said, she's my daughter-"
"I don't give a damn, don't speak to her like that again." I threatened, Sherlock's eyes danced over my features. He turned his head to Scarlett.
"I apologize, Scarlett. Will you be quiet so I can think, please." He asked, his voice much gentler. Scarlett nodded, coming to my side. I led her into the kitchen, finishing drying the dishes. Sherlock's phone rang and we listened to him answer it.
"What?" He hissed, he didn't answer the phone that way unless it was one person. Mycroft.
"The boy was fast, ridiculously fast. I've looked up track runners, and found a troupe of Olympic medalist in the area. I'd start with them." Sherlock said.
"Yes, yes. It was fine. The security of the house is ridiculous, I broke in within a minute." Sherlock informed. I ignored the rest of his conversation, talking to the still upset little girl. She peered up at me, hesitantly. Sherlock was so dominating, such a strong personality that it was making her into a bit of a- I hated to say it but she was a wimp.
"It's important Scarlett to listen to your elders, but don't let anyone step on you, you're not a welcome mat." I said, drying the dishes. I snorted to myself. I was one to talk, Sherlock bossed me around, but we held respect for each other. I knew he would never speak to me that way, I would bite his head off. He just was learning how to speak to children was all, this was a very sudden burden for him. I think he needed as many life lessons as Scarlett did.
"Daddy's feet where not on me, he had them on the floor." She informed. I was confused for a moment, giving her a strange look before doubling over in laughter. I set down the dish, coming to her side.
"No, love. That's not what I meant. Do you remember when those boys where elbowing you at the table? You shouldn't have moved, if that's where you wanted to sit. You should have told them to stop because they where hurting you. You have to stick up for yourself, I'm not always going to be around." I said, brushing a dark lock from her pale cheek. Adler's nose. Slender and elegant, she was going to be so lovely when she grew up.
"You will, Papa. You will be there." She said, her fingers in my jumper. I smiled, cupping her round cheek.
"I will be there for you, but you need to learn to stick up for yourself. Fight back, love." I said, standing. I went back to the dishes and looked over my shoulder.
"Cause' if you don't, no one else will."
"Bloody hell, I'm tired." I groaned, collapsing on the couch. Sherlock looked over at me, slipping off his jacket. Another case solved, one involving scaling up the side of a mountain to find a cave with hidden exports. My fingers ached, I exhaled slowly. Mycroft would be dropping off Scarlett in a few hours. He'd absolutely loved the little girl, spoiling her rotten.
Mycroft was a fan of elegance and beauty, something Scarlett had inherited from her parents. He was repulsed by her tomboyish clothes, instead choosing to dress her up like a doll in dresses and petticoats. Scarlett had taken my advice to heart, every day that passed she became feistier. The only one she submitted to was of course Sherlock, who she still idolized.
"The things you have me do, Sherlock." I laughed, still high off adrenaline. Sherlock touched my feet and I curled them up, I felt the couch creak with our combined weight.
"I don't know what I'd do without you." Sherlock whispered suddenly. I had almost not caught it since I was in mid yawn. I sat up, looking at him in shock.
"What do you mean?" I asked. Was the machine of a man Sherlock actually admitting to feeling? Sherlock stood, running a ragged hand through his already messy raven curls. He paced in front of me, his piercing eyes darting about, unable to focus.
"You and I, surely you must-" He cleared his throat, his back to me as he looked out the window. I'd never seen him so flustered. He was usually so eloquent, what was on his brilliant mind?
"Sherlock, what is it?" I urged gently. He looked over his shoulder and I nearly fell off the couch. Sherlock was blushing.
"I'm obviously not a good father," Sherlock began and I stopped him right there.
"No, no. Wait, that is wrong. You are a young father, perhaps inexperienced. But you are not, not a bad father." I said, standing beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. He swallowed thickly, looking out the window. Sherlock tried, harder than I ever saw him try with anything else. He was a bit rough around the edges but he loved Scarlett, and was very protective of her.
"I have feelings for you that are foreign to me." He continued, his voice cracking a bit. His eyes darted to mine filled with insecurity, like I'd never seen before. I was so shocked I took a step back. He quickly regained control over his emotions. His hand covered mine.
"Sherlock, I-"
"Let me finish." He said lowly, straightening his blazer. His eyes self consciously went to mine. Was Sherlock nervous?
"I've always felt something for you. I've never let anyone get so close to me," He seemed to think about that for a moment.
"Well, in a romantic sense, of course." He corrected, thinking of Scarlett. He then flushed again, his eyes snapping to mine, locking me in place.
"Not that I'm saying our friendship is romantic! It can be, if you want. That is, it would be a waste of time, and effort on both parts. The percentage of lifelong partnerships is tragic compared to lifelong friendships. But that's not the point." He sighed, rubbing his temples. He almost shouted the last part to himself, he inhaled a deep breath, looking over at me.
"I'm a coward." He said suddenly, making my eyes go wide. He turned away, I saw his fingers reach out for his violin, be he retracted them.
"I've had these feelings for you, for quite some time. I've managed too ... ignore them. But now I know you are attached to Scarlett, attached to me. Even if you do reject me, you'll stay for Scarlett because you love her." He said, his fingers trembling. He shoved them into his pockets, glancing at me over his broad shoulder.
"What exactly are you saying?" I asked, confusion and hope in my heart. So I wasn't exactly following, he'd spoken all of this rapidly, only pausing at some parts, when the words escaped him. What was Sherlock trying to say?
"I think-I know, well I don't know. I would need to run a series of test and collect enough data-"
"Sherlock." I reminded, and he cleared his throat.
"I want you to be involved in a physical relationship with me. Provided I have little knowledge. You would have to teach me some of the basic skills, but keep in mind I am a very fast learner. I've been doing some research on intercourse between homosexuals, but I've found that experimenting rather than studying is far more efficient-"
"Are you saying, you want to have sex with me?" I demanded, still not quite following. If only he'd slow down. His cheeks burned and he pulled his hands from his pockets, gripping my shoulders.
"No!" He cried, his eyes went to my own flushed cheeks and he lowered them to my lips.
"Well, yes. But not until the socially acceptable period. You, of course may need more time to adjust to the idea of us as- " His eyes landed on my lips and he licked his own unconsciously, he shook his head, continuing.
"I've waited years, I can wait some time longer." Sherlock finished, his fingers tightening on my shoulders before releasing. I felt like I was in a dream, a very scary, very lovely dream.
"Sherlock, I don't know what to say." I choked out, looking at my hands. The thought of me and Sherlock, in that way set my face a deep red. I imagined his thick lips parted in pleasure and whimpered, closing my eyes. I'm straight, I thought internally.
"I'm straight." I repeated out loud. Sherlock's face tightened and I felt like I'd broken something very fragile. I was being stupid. I loved Sherlock. I knew I did. Those years he was away, he was all I thought about. I was just- damn if I wasn't bloody scared.
"I need time to think about it. This is a big jump in our relationship, you'll give me time, won't you?" I asked, not believing my words. Why was I leading him on? I wasn't gay, I loved breasts! The thought of his slender pale chest beneath my lips sent shivers down my spine.
"I'll give you until tomorrow." He said, his eyes trained on me in annoyance. I groaned, rolling my eyes. Now this was a Sherlock I knew how to handle.
"You can't give me a fixed time to sort out my feelings." I pointed out, he scoffed, folding his hands behind his back.
"Irrelevant. If you can't decide in that time you obviously don't know what you want, therefore I will decide for you." He said, I saw his eyes light up slightly. He was hoping, Sherlock Holmes was hoping I'd be in a relationship with him. That brilliant mind could be mine forever. The thought was suddenly tantalizing before I quickly squashed it. This was my friend, for God's sake.
"I think you're misunderstanding friendship for love." I said, and knew as soon as I said it that I'd said the wrong thing. His eyes where like blue lightening when they struck me, his lip curled in disgust.
"Don't be daft. I can identify my own feelings, as putrid as they are!" He snarled, I felt my stomach knot at that.
"So you're saying your feelings for me are putrid?" I challenged. His eyes widened, the disgust vanishing.
"That's not what I meant." He said, trying to keep his voice stern. I heard the crack in it and resisted snickering.
"Nope, nope. I get it. I'm just the object of your putrid affections." I called over my shoulder, going down to Speedy's to get lunch. He followed me.
"John, don't be an idiot. You know-"
"Oh! So now I'm an idiot? I can really feel the putrid love now, Sherlock!" I spat with fake anger. He followed behind me closely. His hands fluttering over my shoulders, afraid to touch me.
"John, if you would just listen-" He cried. I laughed down the stairs, leaving him to sulk behind me.