Hey! Trying to get these out quickly when I still have time- I naively thought that maybe, just maybe, I'd have a quiet Christmas holidays, but that doesn't look like it's going to happen. This may even be the last chapter before Christmas, due to my hectic schedule, so if it is- Merry Christmas! Sorry for not meeting my deadlines- this is why I shouldn't be allowed to do course work. Just a short one for you. Have a nice day!
P.S How hot is it when Sherlock says that whilst in the security guard uniform? Yum ;)
10:30pm
"What?" John asked, shock audible in his voice.
"Teach me to be human."
John's jaw dropped open, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. How predictable. "I don't know what you mean."
Sherlock sighed, exasperated. "Teach me to be like you. Normal. Sociable."
"… Why?" said John, incredulous.
"Because… It would be useful to me. I need to learn how to be normal in order to gain people's trust. It would help with the case." John sighed with relief, and Sherlock recognised the look of Typical Sherlock in his eyes. He tried hard to ignore it. "So," he said irritably. "Will you?"
"… That's a lot of pressure, Sherlock." John said uneasily.
"And me teaching you to seduce your girlfriend isn't?"
John paused, trying to think of a reason why this was inappropriate. "I suppose. If that's really what it will take, then yes, I'll teach you to be normal."
Sherlock smiled. "Thank you John."
"No problem." A devilish grin spread across John's face- John's beautiful face, Sherlock added in his head- as a thought popped into his head.
"What?" Sherlock asked defensively.
"Nothing," John smiled ever wider. "It's just… If you want to be normal, you'll have to do Christmas."
Sherlock groaned. "Anything but that. Please. I'm begging you!"
John giggled. "Nope! You've got to do the whole deal- Cards, Presents, Christmas with the family-"
Sherlock moaned into the Union Jack cushion on the sofa. "Please, not Mycroft."
"He's your brother!"
"I don't consider him family. The only person I would remotely want to spend Christmas with is you, John." Sherlock said without thinking.
John was visibly taken aback. "Really?"
Sherlock felt a crimson mist taint his skin. "Yes," he said testily.
"… That's… That's really…" John struggled to find his words, and Sherlock noticed that he too was blushing.
"You don't have to," Sherlock gushed nervously. "I'm perfectly fine staying here on my own-"
"I'd love to spend Christmas with you, Sherlock." Again, that breathy, perfect voice that John had when he was pleased. So unlike the military man to show such sentiment in his tone.
"Er, well, that's, er, good then," muttered Sherlock, suddenly finding himself engrossed with the floor. He heard John's laughter, then his footsteps walking away. Probably gone to bed, he thought. Sherlock was wrong- a moment later, John had come back, holding a large blue notebook.
"Move over, will you?" He lifted up Sherlock's legs, sat down, and then placed them back over his own legs. Sherlock shivered at the touch- it was all too intimate, too personal, far too warm. He hadn't forgotten his little fantasy a few moments previously.
"What is that?" he said feebly, pointing at John's notebook.
"This," he said proudly. "Is my Christmas planner."
Sherlock snorted. "Your Christmas planner?"
"Yes!" John said indignantly. "I like to plan ahead!"
"Whatever, John." Sherlock chuckled. A Christmas planner. Honestly.
"Yes, well," he said stuffily. "I've planned everything this year, so I don't have to stress about it later."
"How very military. Let me see," Sherlock took the notebook from John's hands and opened it. It was much like a diary, except there were lots of little bits of paper stuck to each day. Receipts, Post-it notes, Business cards, all pinned to the book. Sherlock turned to today's entry. "Write Christmas cards for Jenny and Marcus (Australia)? You have Australian friends?"
"Yes. Contrary to popular belief, you're not my only friend, Sherlock."
Sherlock couldn't stop the small, primal part of him that wished he was. John was his. Screw Jenny and Marcus. "So, have you?"
"Yes. See, it works?"
"Alright, I'll admit the concept is sound."
John smirked. "I'm going to make you one of these tomorrow. If we get the time, whilst working on the case."
"Wont that muck up your schedule?" Sherlock teased.
John punched him playfully on the arm. "No it wont. And you're going to have to do all of these things if you want to be normal."
"It's not important!" Sherlock whined, but he could tell that he was fighting a losing battle.
"It is to me."
"Well you're an idiot, we all know that."
John tickled the back of Sherlock's leg for revenge, leaving Sherlock writhing and squirming. In an effort to wipe that smug, self satisfied look of John's face, Sherlock brushed his fingertips over the back of John's neck. He burst into hysterical laughter.
"Stop it Sherlock!" He giggled.
"Never," Sherlock grinned mercilessly. Unfortunately for him, John took his opportunity to get his own back. Placing his leg behind Sherlock's, he pushed until Sherlock began to topple. Sherlock grabbed John's shirt to steady himself, but lost balance, pulling himself and John down onto the floor with a humiliating crash. John landed on top of Sherlock, groaning slightly from the impact. Sherlock's body tensed- the damp heat rising from John's chest spread through his own, and he realised they were far too close to each other. Bodies crushed together, his legs brushing gently against John's, heads level. He would have given anything, his money, his intellect, anything to kiss John then, his face flushed, eyes sparkling with joy. The perfect moment, if only he leant forward and-
John laughed. "Sorry about that. I must have squashed you."
"It's… fine," Sherlock wheezed, glad the fall covered his newly husky voice. John got up, straightening his clothes. He stuck a hand out to pull Sherlock up, and he grasped it tightly. Sherlock felt a slight head rush when he was back on two feet, though he wasn't sure whether it was the fall or John that had caused it.
"I'm going to bed. Wake me if anything important happens, ok?" John walked away quietly, still chuckling to himself. When he was sure John had gotten to his room, Sherlock collapsed onto the sofa, cursing his own bad luck. If only he'd been a woman, then John might show some interest. He held his head in his hands, trying to sober up. He still felt slightly punch drunk by the whole experience- he'd never been that close to another human being, well, ever.
Sherlock stopped his frantic thoughts. John's palms were sweaty. Very sweaty, considering they'd done very little physical exercise. John was fit- in every sense of the word, he thought guiltily- and couldn't possibly be exhausted by such a simple activity. So that left… arousal? No, it couldn't be. Stop reading into this, he told himself scornfully. He's straight. But for all his mind's reasoned, well thought out protests, he couldn't shake the feeling that John had enjoyed that just as much as Sherlock had.
11:59pm
Sherlock had waited until midnight for Moriarty's call. He was unsure whether or not Moriarty would ring him- it seemed like something he would do, to congratulate him- but he knew that if he did, it would be prompt and precise, at exactly midnight. Pacing the room, Sherlock stared transfixed at the phone, waiting for the time to change. After what felt like an eternity, they did, and almost immediately the phone chimed. Sherlock answered it hurriedly. "Hello?" he said hoarsely.
"You haven't slept Sherlock," came the all too familiar drawl. "How do you expect to solve the case when you're so tired?"
"Moriarty," he said flatly. "So good of you to call."
"I see you figured out the last case. Very cute, that final speech of yours. So touchingly sentimental."
"Have you found Blake yet?"
"No. I'm saving that for after Christmas. I mustn't go spoiling myself all at once, I've got to spread out the fun." Moriarty giggled horribly, a sound that made Sherlock's legs go numb. And not in a good way like John did.
"So why have you called?"
"Oh, just to see how you're getting on. Have you got any leads on this next one?"
"Not yet," Sherlock said coldly.
"Shame. You've only got 48 hours, remember that. Otherwise there'll be another body!" Moriarty hung up. The sound of the phone blared loudly in his ears. Sherlock shoved the phone into his pocket angrily. How was it that this man could be so irritating? He suddenly remembered John, and how he'd promised to wake him up. Creeping silently into the corridor, he knocked gently on the door of John's room.
"John?" There was no answer. He knocked again. "John, you've got to get up, we need to go." Again, there was silence. Sherlock sighed. "John, I'm coming in. You better be decent." Though, Sherlock thought, he didn't absolutely have to be. His stomach squirmed, and he opened the door. Unfortunately, John was clothed, and lying in bed, but with the most horrifying, terrible expression on his face. Sherlock felt himself go pale-well, paler. John's face was screwed up, his hands balled into fists and clutching at the sheets of his bed. He was drenched in sweat, and breathing heavily. Sherlock saw tear tracks on his face.
"Please!" John shouted. "Please! For God's sake, stop it! Please, Please, I'm begging you, stop it, don't, I don't want to, I want to go home!" John's voice was cracking from the strain, pure anguish in the sound.
Sherlock couldn't stop himself. He ran quickly to the bed, took John's shoulders and shook him. "John! Wake up! You have to wake up! This is a dream!"
John's eyes snapped open quickly. It took him a while to register Sherlock's presence, and when he did; his face was a mixture of embarrassment, anger and sorrow. "How long have you been here?" He asked blankly.
"… A few moments. John, why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock murmured quietly, his face pained. To see the brave soldier so… so lost, was terrifying.
"I don't want to talk about it." John tried to get up, but Sherlock's hand was clamped firmly onto his shoulder. "Get off."
"No." Sherlock said bluntly. "Are you alright?"
"I don't want to talk about it." He wrenched Sherlock's hand off his shoulder and got up. He grabbed his clothes and walked out, slamming the door of the bathroom behind him.