I do not own BBC Sherlock
.o0Sherlock0o.
Sherlock was playing the violin when I got back from shopping. The groceries where heavy so I rested them by the door. Sherlock's robe floated at his ankles as he swayed to the music that flowed from his instrument. Scarlett was bundled up in a blanket at his feet, her eyes wide as she looked up in amazement at her father. She practically worshiped the man.
This scene was nothing new, it was one of their usual bonding moments. Sherlock would play her favorite pieces, and she would stare up at him, or gaze out the window. It was a strange moment. Too see the two most eccentric, energized people I know sitting quietly in a room. It was as if they were strange creatures being lulled into a calm by the music.
I shuffled passed them, getting a start on dinner.
"Papa, don't you love Daddy?" Scarlett asked, Sherlock had her propped on his knee. He was giving me that infuriating over the top pout that was sarcastic. I pressed the palms of my hands to my eyes, groaning. Sherlock's newest case was to force me into a relationship with him. Well I say force. It was more like bully.
"Yes, John. Don't you love me?" Sherlock asked, leaning back into the couch. He steepled his fingers but it was hard to look cool when you had a four year old french girl giggling as she slipped off your knee and into your lap. He little legs flung in the air.
"There are different types of love, children." I said, letting my head tick in annoyance at the last word. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, smirking behind his fingers.
"Do elaborate." He said, glancing down at his twin. It was like everything sweet, lovely, kind, and innocent had been sucked out of his body and morphed into a little girl. Scarlett was looking at me with Sherlock's identical eyes, wide and curious. The ones above her were narrow and amused.
"Well, you see. Sometimes you love someone like a family member, how I love you Scarlett. Or how I love Mrs. Hudson, or my sister, or Sherlock. Then their are other loves, like how you love your friends. Like I love Lestrade," All amusement in Sherlock's eyes vanished, and he sat up, removing Scarlett from his lap as he bent forward. His eyes where so focused on me I felt myself flush.
"Or Mycroft." I added for measure. Sherlock snorted, sitting back.
"And the other?" He asked, crossing his legs. Scarlett was barely paying attention. Instead she was humming quietly to herself as she dangled over the side of the couch.
"Love, like you ... love. Oh, hell, I don't know. How a man loves a woman! Romantic love." I tried, this caught Scarlett's attention.
"Don't be a bigot John. Are you trying to teach my daughter that their can't be love between two men or two woman?" Sherlock asked, his eyes dancing. Oh fantastic, I walked right into that one!
"No, no. That's not what I said." I used my hands to emphasis this, Scarlett sat on her knees beside her father, two against one.
"Romantic love? The one to break the princess in a curse?" Scarlett said, and I nodded.
"Yes! Thank you! That one, the romantic one, is for a princess and her ... significant other. It's the strongest love there is." I said, groaning when both eyes narrowed at me identically.
"You don't love Daddy the strongest, John?" Scarlett demanded, clutching her fathers hand. Oh I had really done it now. She only used my name when she was truly angry. I dropped my head into my hands.
"Christ, that's not-"
"What is a Prince to do when his Princess won't cooperate?" Sherlock asked her, the mirth clear in his voice. Scarlett gasped, offended.
"Sherlock!" I snapped, both of their gazes froze me.
"This is ridiculous." I pointed out.
"What about me, Papa? You love me the most then, correct?" Scarlett demanded, crawling from the couch and coming to rest her hands on my knees. I sighed, raising my finger.
"Now Scarlett, you're misunderstanding."
"Don't be ridiculous. Johns feelings towards me are the strongest." Sherlock said from the couch, I raised my head to him in disbelief. Scarlett turned to look at him in outrage.
"You are not fighting with your five year old daughter over this." I groaned in disbelief.
"Papa, tell Daddy that you love me the most." She ordered, her eyes narrowing at her father. I threw my hands in the air when Sherlock stood.
"Consulting five year old!" I shouted, he ignored me.
"He doesn't love you that way. He loves you because you are a part of me, don't you see?" Sherlock asked, completely serious.
"Right, well. I'm going out, you two can sort this on your own." I said, sliding away from the aghast Scarlett.
"He doesn't chanter you to sleep!" She said, throwing an accusing finger at him. Chanter meant sleep, I believe. I was picking up on a bit of french. Scarlett yelled in it when she got angry. Sherlock snorted, giving her a cocky grin.
"Don't be childish, I've kissed John before." Sherlock said childishly. I rubbed my forehead, shutting the door behind me.
"Papa, let me kiss you!" Scarlett called in french, I ran down the steps to get away from the children.
I stretched out in my bed, grunting as my arm bumped a small warm body. Scarlett. Must have had a nightmare again. I yawned, rolling onto my side and draping an arm over her. The explosion from downstairs ripped me from my fading consciousness. Scarlett jerked awake in my arms, I jumped over her scrambling down the stairs.
"Sherlock!" I screamed, skidding to a halt as I barreled into the kitchen. Small feet pattered behind me.
"Daddy!" Scarlett cried. My mouth was agape as I stood there. Sherlock was covered in from head to chest in what looked like blue jelly. His lips where quirked downwards in a scowl. His usually curly hair was flattened against his head. I felt a laugh bubble from my lips. Some of the beaker glass which had exploded left a little scrape on his cheek. Other than that he was unharmed.
"You spilled my beaker filled with chemicals and replaced it with water." Sherlock concluded, glaring at Scarlett over my shoulder. Her tiny fingers were pressed to her lips.
"Yes." She squeaked. I couldn't help it. I doubled over, clutching my knees as a droplet of blue good dropped from Sherlock's hair. He gave me an annoyed look and prepared to make a sharp remark when Scarlett let out a few giggles of her own. Mrs. Hudson limped up the stairs beside me, I moved over to allow her acess to see.
"Is everyone alright- Sherlock!" She laughed, and we held onto each other. Scarlett's giggles increased. I couldn't help but notice Sherlock had a small smile of his own on his lips.
Months passed before anything new happened. Our lives where thrilling at work and then domestic at home. The change was rapid and strange but for us it fit. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, his long legs tapping the air impatiently as he spoke.
"Eleven weeks. Three days," He glanced at the clock. " Eight hours. You still haven't answered my question." Sherlock said, his head dropping to examine the suddenly fascinating length of his bow. Scarlett was at Lestrade's, playing with Jenny.
"What are you talking about?" I asked, only half paying attention. My book was just getting to the good part. Sherlock stood, pacing before me.
"Do try and keep up, John." He said briskly. I closed my book with a sigh, setting it down. Between him and Scarlett I never got my reading done.
"Our relationship." He admonished, his eyes skirting to mine. I looked away, the intensity too much.
"It's gone nowhere." He huffed, folding his arms behind his back as he gazed out the window.
"You're still on that? You need to find yourself a girlfriend, mate." I joked. Sherlock's body went taunt and mine did in return. I hadn't realized until Lestrade pointed it out offhandedly. However Sherlock moved, I followed. His emotions directly influenced mine, and the same went for him. If I laughed at a terrible joke, Sherlock's lips would quirk to try and join me. If I saw Sherlock tensing up from being called something cruel, I felt my own body react the same. We were two halves of the same person.
"You're mocking me." He rasped, whipping around. I shrunk back from the sudden onslaught of his gaze. Rarely did I get Sherlock undivided attention, and when I did it was almost too much.
"I didn't-"
"Either that, or you are being insecure. No that's not it. You aren't taking this seriously. You think I'm a joke. How I feel about you isn't something you'd ever honestly consider, so you're trying to brush it off, hoping I'll forget." Sherlock deduced aloud. No emotion was expressed on his face, but the small tilt of his eyes to the floor where enough for me. I knew Sherlock well enough to know when he was hurt, and the soft dazed look nearly sent me over the edge.
"Sherlock. You are wrong." I said, standing up. I shifted close to him. My hands reaching up to his shoulders.
"I'm taking you seriously, I am. I've thought about it, about us, constantly." I whispered, his eyes met mine and the relief was instant. Sherlock wasn't dependent, he wouldn't do something as foolish as pretending not to believe me just to get my attention. His shoulders loosened beneath my hands.
"Then you've come to the conclusion to reject me?" He said, his eyes burning. My hands slipped from his shoulders, and we both shivered as they swept down his broad chest. The blue in his iris nearly turning translucent as they lightened.
"No." I answered honestly. I stumbled back, and he followed. I winced as my back bumped into the solid wall. The world seemed suddenly so very minuscule. Our faces were much too close, his hands kept brushing the soft undersides of my forearms.
"Then, you accept?" He asked, trailing one of his slender fingers to the hallow of my elbow. Why couldn't I have worn a thick knitted jumper? Anything to prevent me from this very distracting movement. Beads of sweat started to gather on my brow.
"No." I wavered, it sounded much less sure than the first no. That wasn't right, was it. I had to tilt my head back, he was so close now. Our breaths mingled and I pushed myself flat against the wall. My eyelids flickered shut as he loosely cradled my wrist. Heartbeat, he was checking my heartbeat.
"Sherlock." I nearly sobbed. I could pull away. I knew he would feel my pulse racing beneath my skin, see my pupils blown.
"Fascinating." He murmured, he bent by my collar. I let out a small puff of breath when he brushed his lips over the tender spot beneath my ear.
"Sherlock, stop it." I was trembling. One of my hands came up to fist in his dress shirt. The buttons dug into my palm, I prepared to push him back. I needed him away from me, he felt like a drug when he was too near. My mind was muddled.
"John." My name had never been caressed before. It came from deep in his chest, a soft breath upon his lips. Christ, he was even making me think weird. I flattened my palm, preparing to shove him away.
"Ugh." I grunted, slipping my arm around his shoulder to pull him closer. His warm tongue slide across my collar, nipping tauntingly before kissing away the ache. Too much. My head felt fuzzy. I groaned, my toes curling in delight when he dipped his tongue into my collar before scraping his teeth over the skin stretched taunt over the bone. I did it. I reached up, forcing our lips together. His smug smirk did nothing to deter my arousal. I had to step on my tip toes when he straightened, his eyes half amused half smoldering. The combination sent sparks of lust jolting down my spine.
"Say you want a relationship with me." He demanded. His eyes, nearly silver in the light. I tried to shake loose the fog surrounding my mind. I blinked up at him owlishly, trying to sort my thoughts. I was burning, my entire body alight. When he first asked me to start the relationship with him, one of my first thoughts had been I wasn't gay. I'd assumed a sexual relationship would be impossible, the erection straining at my pants seemed to rebuke that.
"I'm not a patient man, John." Sherlock growled into my neck, nipping in warning. I gasped, crying out as my back arched. Sherlock fondled me through the heavy jean fabric, his lips sucking greedily at my throat. Hickeys, he was giving me hickeys!
"Alright-Okay!" I folded, I never was good at denying Sherlock. Even when he used underhanded schemes to get his way. I tightened my hold on him as we kissed, our tongues colliding to send pleasure rippling throughout my entire being.
"John, have a look at this." Sherlock called. I looked up from my conversation with Lestrade. Walking over I crouched by my partner. As far as Sherlock was concerned, we were partners in more ways than one.
"Wow." I said, beneath the mans shirt where hundreds of holes. Pricks littered his back no bigger than the width of a needle.
"He bled to death." I whispered, judging by his ashen skin color. But the pin pricks, surely they couldn't be the cause. Lestrade bent down beside Sherlock.
"Found him posed on a bench, made to look like he was waiting for a bus. Took a while for people to realize he was dead- Is that a hickey!" Lestrade yelped, jumping back from Sherlock as if he was on fire. Sherlock and I both froze in sync. Shit. The entire squad huddled around, Lestrade pulled off Sherlock's scarf. I winced, I'd been rougher than I'd intended. The marks littered his pale throat in large purple splotches. I lifted my collar, trying to hide my identical ones.
"Who's the lucky girl?" Lestrade laughed. His eyes twinkled with honest happiness. I lowered my gaze, as others made speculative comments.
"Probably a freak, if they want anything do with this psycho." Anderson's nasally voice caught my attention and I glared at him.
"Out with it, Sherlock." Donovan smiled tauntingly. Sherlock ignored them, pulling his scarf back around his throat.
"Freshman in Uni, studying to become a veterinarian." Sherlock started. Rattling off a bunch of information that effectively stopped the teasing. I was hardly paying attention, I pulled up my collar more, flushed. What if they made the connection? Sherlock must have been on a roll today, because people where looking at him in amazement, even more so than usual. I tuned in.
"You got that from a hangnail?" Lestrade said dubiously. Sherlock continued.
"The scent of flowers is still subtle on his hands. He has a girlfriend, not a long relationship or he wouldn't be bothering with flowers. Unless of course its the off chance of it being her birthday, although an unlikely gift for a girl his age." Sherlock commented, his eyes intense on the corpse.
"Right, we'll look around the shops and call you if anything comes up." Lestrade said. Sherlock nodded to me. I saw him subtly slip something out of the mans pocket and prepare to slip it into his own. He wasn't as subtle as he thought, and some people where still watching him.
"Lestrade!" I called when he turned to say something else to Sherlock. Lestrade looked up and I allowed my collar to fall in humiliation. His eyes went wide.
"No bloody way!" He laughed, the team huddled around me. Sherlock got what he needed from the corpse, plucking some hairs from his head and wiping his hands on a handkerchief. Lestrade would never let him tamper with evidence like that. I was the perfect distraction.
"You and Sherlock?" He asked, a smile going wide over his tan face.
"Not what it looks like, we got in a row and were throttling each other." I lied, Lestrade raised an eyebrow at the obvious falsehood. Sherlock stood coming to stand at my side.
"Let's go, John." He said, wrapping a possessive arm around my waist and leaving the group to gossip behind us.
"Sherlock! You do know he's going to tell your brother, right?" I asked, pushing away from him. He used his height advantage to wave down a cab.
"He knew before you did." Sherlock said, maneuvering me into the car with a smirk.