The chapter is betad by JustBeAQueen. Thank you so much. Thanks to all of you for your support.
Chapter two
John took a long and hot shower, trying to calm down again. Slowly, he realized that he had just accepted an offer of marriage from Sherlock Holmes – eccentric consulting detective, who happened to be his best friend and very male; for a case but he had given him his hand, nevertheless. John took a deep breath. He was so screwed.
When his skin was already reddened by the hot water and his fingers were completely shrivelled, he turned off the water. Not very eco-friendly, he thought, but it had to be done. Now, that the water jet didn't drown other noises anymore, he heard the thud of footsteps on the stairs who clearly had trouble ascending them. Mrs. Hudson, he thought. A minute later he could indeed hear the muffled voice of their landlady.
"The mess you've made again, Sherlock." The footsteps had stopped. Mrs. Hudson must have stopped in the doorway. There was no reply. "Sherlock!"
"What?" came the muffled reply of Sherlock. Apparently he was still busy with his papers.
"Do you have a case? It's a bit messy up here."
At least that was better than when he was bored, John thought smirking. He had always been struck by the curious anomaly in the character of his friend that, although in his methods of thought he was the neatest and most methodical man, and he was even fashion-conscious to a certain degree, he also was one of the most untidy men in his personal habits that he had ever known. Not that John was very conventional in that respect himself. The military work in Afghanistan, combined with a natural Bohemianism of disposition, had made him rather more lax than benefited a medical man. But with him there was a limit, and when he found a man who used to keep his cigarettes in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece, then he began to think of himself as a man who cultivated virtuous habits. John also was very strongly of the opinion that pistol practice should be distinctly an open-air pastime; and when Sherlock was bored, and proceeded to adorn the opposite wall with a smiley or a patriotic E. II.R. done in bullet-pocks, he decidedly took the view that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of their living room was improved by it. Mrs. Hudson completely agreed with him in this. Not that it did any good at all…
Their kitchen and, to some extent, Sherlock's bedroom were always full of chemicals and the whole flat was full of criminal relics which had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the fridge or in even less desirable places. But in the end, except from the wall-shooting, his papers were John's greatest crux.
They really took on a dramatic scale, slowly taking over every inch of the living room, and it was absolutely prohibited to even touch them. Sherlock himself however did not have the slightest interest in clearing up the mess and therefore they stayed a constant offence to John which led to may arguments until the detective finally - and not more than once a year - gave in, bringing himself to arrange them.
"Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Isn't that wonderful? It seems there are still some criminals out there worth the effort. By the way, have you brought milk? We are out of milk." Based on the voice of his friend, John could easily picture him, emerging out of a pile with documents and smiling broadly.
"Yes, yes. Dear John asked before I left." Mrs. Hudson replied. John heard that she moved again, probably making her way towards the kitchen and trying to avoid the piles of papers.
"Oh, my God, Sherlock, you proposed!" Mrs. Hudson yelled cheerfully, returning to the living room. "At last!"
John's stomach cringed by the joyful exclamation of the landlady. This was going to be terribly awkward. Secretly, he was glad that Sherlock had to deal with her first. Served him right. Despite the embarrassing situation, John couldn't suppress a smirk. He pictured Sherlock, standing somewhat helplessly next to the sofa, and probably wishing that the ground would open and swallow him up. Emotions had never really been his area.
"I knew you would eventually get there," Mrs. Hudson continued. "I always liked John. He is good for you."
Sherlock probably answered with a shy smile, slightly embarrassed by the situation and hoping it would pass as a being-in-love smile, because John didn't hear any reply of his so called fiancé. John let out a sigh. Mrs. Hudson always believed them to be a couple. No need to try to convince her otherwise. John might as well save his breath.
A moment later, John had gathered all his strength and courage and emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower, wearing his bathrobe.
The quicker he would get over and done with it, the better.
"Sherlock, have you seen…," John acted as if asking Sherlock something, but he didn't get the chance to finish his sentence.
John never got the chance to finish. Mrs. Hudson saw him and, smiling happily, she closed the gap between them quickly and hugged him.
"Oh, John, dear. I'm so happy for you."
"Oh, God…." John's face lost some color, his eyes darting towards Sherlock.
"Mrs. Hudson saw the box in the kitchen, John," Sherlock told him apologetically.
"Well,… uhm … thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Ah, we really would have ..uhm…liked to tell you in a different way," John lied, feeling miserably. There was no backing out now.
"I must tell Mrs. Turner right away!" Mrs. Hudson informed them, still smiling, rushing out of the apartment. Apparently she had forgotten her problems with her hips as well as the grocery bags on the kitchen table.
"At least one person is happy with it." Sherlock offered weakly, trying to encourage John.
"Ring. Still there. See," John said, showing his left hand to the detective.
"Good."
"I can't believe the things I do for you. And I know for certain I will regret this. Mrs. Hudson is already over the moon. What will Harry say? Or Mycroft? Oh God….Your brother will probably kill me if I break up with you." John looked sour.
He had not forgotten that Mycroft warned him on their very first encounter to choose a side. And since he chose Sherlock, Mycroft might not appreciate the breaking of the engagement. John always did have the suspicion that Mycroft was in fact very happy about the fact that he got divorced and returned to Baker Street. Not that he thought Mycroft wanted him necessarily to be romantically involved with his brother, just that he wanted him to be around his brother. If possible, 24 hours a day. If being romantically involved with each other was necessary for that, Mycroft probably wouldn't mind.
"Don't be ridiculous. My brother likes you, John," Sherlock dismissed John's objection with a wave and applied his attention to his papers again.
"I don't know if I am particularly happy about that or not. He keeps kidnapping me, you know. And he will like me only as long as I am exactly where he wants me to be," John replied.
"Just accept it for what it is. It is an achievement of a kind to be liked by one Holmes, let alone by both," Sherlock retorted without looking up.
John shook his head in silent disbelief. "Well, I really don't want to be in the line of fire when you two start in on each other."
"Well, who cares what they say, John."
John raised an eyebrow. "Says the man who jumped off a roof in order to protect the people he says he doesnotcare about."
"I apologized."
"That's not what I meant." He knew perfectly well that Sherlock knew perfectly well what he meant in the first place. Sherlock just wanted to make his point.
"Does the whole couple thing still bother you?" Sherlock observed John curiously.
"It's different whether strangers believe we are a couple, or our relatives do," John explained, ruffling his hair with one hand.
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. "None of them will mind. Besides you said yourself they already believe us to be involved."
"Exactly. People just assume things about us….about something they probably don't understand. And if I am honest, I cannot blame them. Because I do not understand it myself, Sherlock."
"What's your problem? We haven't changed, John. The ring does not change anything. It is still you and me…You aren't uncomfortable with us? I mean…in general? We are still friends."
John recognized the tone in Sherlock's voice. The one he didn't like at all. The one that reminded him of the painful days when they resurrected their friendship. The tone of uncertainty had been there since the day he returned. He never really expected John to forgive him for the fall. He had told John that he certainly had hoped they would be able to remain friends but he would have understood if John had refused him. John simply knew that it was on days like this, when he had to ask something difficult or impossible from John that one part of him was actually afraid he had crossed one border that he really shouldn't have. In his view, caring remained certainly not an advantage. After his return, they have had several good and honest conversations on the matter. Sherlock was still convinced it wasn't an advantage but he found that he couldn't turn that on and off. With John came caring and he didn't want to lose this friendship. John didn't make it easy for him, but in the end, Sherlock's honesty resulted in forgiveness.
Those days had been painful, because they had to find one another again when the first time everything just developed on its own. Luckily they found out that the foundation of their friendship was a strong one and in the end John could really forgive Sherlock for his action. Somehow he never had managed to stay angry with him for a very long time. Sherlock was just Sherlock and one could cope with that or not. It was as simple as that. He found that he still could.
"We are fine, Sherlock. But we might be stretching the boundaries a bit. For friends," John told him sighing, showing his ring.
"Well, maybe a bit. But then we were always different," Sherlock added smirking.
Despite himself, John couldn't suppress a grin. "I think so."
"See. It's all fine then." With that Sherlock turned back towards his papers.
"Yeah, it's allfine," John admitted sarcastically through gritted teeth and went off to the kitchen. He really did need some tea. A moment he considered adding something stronger to the tea but finally decided against it. Alcohol as soon as day broke really wasn't a shining example of a medical man. But somehow he knew it was not going to be a very calming afternoon at the surgery. There was no way to avoid Sarah and she would want to know about the ring. And he still had no idea what the whole case was about and why he ended up being engaged to his best friend at all.
When he leaned against the worktop in the kitchen, sipping his tea with relish, he couldn't know that the ring he was wearing would open Pandora's box ...