Yay! Next chapter!
"If I never see another movie again, it will be too soon." Sherlock still hadn't moved from his position laying down on the couch, Union Jack pillow under his feet and his head in John's lap.
John just smiled softly. "You don't hate it as much as you say."
Sherlock huffed and muttered, "How did I ever stand how right you always are?" but he made sure John wouldn't be able to hear him. He wasn't ready to have that conversation. Plus, the tingling streaking through his body like electricity was making it too hard to think.
John looked down at the man with a gaze of fondness. He didn't know how, but Sherlock had bypassed all his doctor-soldier-brother-fighter defenses and wove himself into the heart that existed under that. Sherlock just glowed. And God, would John be lying if he said it didn't make him glow, too.
The two men were in a haze, but both would deny it if asked.
"Well," John said, getting ready to rise from the couch. "We should put on some date-clothes. I'm treating you, and you're not allowed to protest." Of course, Sherlock opened his mouth, but John pointed a finger to shut him up. "If you want to treat me next time, you're absolutely welcome to, but this time is mine." Sherlock almost shivered at the way John said 'mine'.
"Alright. I'll have to go next door, however, to fetch clothing," Sherlock replied smoothly. John really didn't want him to go, Sherlock was warm and smelled like spice and lab chemicals and he liked it too much, but saying that aloud was another matter. He let him go, stalking quickly into his own bedroom to put on a nicer shirt and pants. Somehow, he didn't think Sherlock would care, which was completely true, but he had habits that were difficult to break.
Sherlock stiffly left 221B for 221C, mostly because John awakened things, without meaning to of course, and he'd rather not have those things interfere with, add another variable so to speak, to his already marred experiment. He flipped through various items hanging in his closet to find something, anything, that would come close to matching everything John was without meaning to of course.
He finally came up with a deep emerald green button-up that made his eyes look green as well. He hated how dull they were, colorless, you couldn't name what they really were, and that infuriated him. John couldn't be truly named either, but he was far from dull, so it was alright. Sherlock carefully slipped the shirt on, noting the tightness in the chest, and a neat suit jacket. He ran a hand through his curls in front of the only mirror in his sparsely furnished flat. Acceptable, not good enough, but John seemed to irrationally like him.
Irrational was a term Sherlock used much more than he should for this, whatever it was, and he knew that wouldn't change.
He stood, fidgeting, near the doorframe of 221B once he was sure John was ready. The door opened so slowly, but it was worth it. John looked...Sherlock didn't have the words. "Hi," the other man said. "Shall we?"
"Yes. That would be marvelous." And Sherlock meant it.
Once they were settled in a cab, John took Sherlock's hand. He knew the detective was bad at feelings, no one had to tell him, so he wanted to let Sherlock know it was okay. Sherlock had an ally in John, whether he knew or not.
The ride took a long time, and yet not enough time, and the two were dropped off in front of a red restaurant awning. "This is one of my favorite places to eat," Sherlock said, "when I actually feel like eating, which is rare."
John smiled. "Thanks for sharing that with me." Sherlock didn't know how to respond to that, so he stayed silent until Angelo noticed them.
"Sherlock Holmes!" the large man said boisterously. "How've you been? Clear any names lately?"
Sherlock looked vaguely uncomfortable with the friendliness, but replied, "Some. This is John Watson, my..." He wasn't sure how to put it.
John grinned widely and took over, holding out his other hand, the one that wasn't holding Sherlock's. "Boyfriend. Great to meet you." Angelo shook John's hand firmly. John decided he liked this man, and he was glad it was him that was overseeing their first date.
"Finally admitting it, are we?" Angelo beamed. "Someone recently vacated that table over that way. I'll be back with menus." He strolled away happily, but John was confused, and Sherlock went white. They both attempted to ignore that as they walked over to the table Angelo had pointed out. They soon settled there, still neither one of them letting go of the other's hand. It's like a pact, John thought, like a promise I'll stay with him. It is like a string connecting us, Sherlock thought, like one of the almost-telephones that are made with yarn and two plastic cups, like I can always reach him.
In a way, both of them were right. It was a connection, a bond, a don't-let-go-of-me-even-if-you-want-to. Sherlock knew that kind of feeling too painfully, and John did also, but it stayed below the surface.
John and Sherlock got to talking after ordering and waiting for a little while longer than the impatient detective could stand. "So, what happened to all your attempts at dating?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow.
John laughed. "I don't know. Relationships just kept failing and failing, and I realized I didn't love them like I thought I did, and someone chased them all off as well, so I guess the whole dating thing just exploded in my face. What about you, Mr. Cheekbones?"
"Molly Hooper fancied me once, but I messed that up too badly for it to be fixed now," Sherlock answered, and there was something sad in his eyes. "I'm not good with emotions, so I probably couldn't have fixed it even if I wanted to. Lots of people have said I was good-looking, or handsome, but then I deduced them and they scarcely looked back. I don't even know what they wanted from me."
John glanced at his other features for a second. "They were right about one thing." Sherlock tilted his head in incomprehension. "You are incredibly good-looking and handsome." The genius, being him, didn't quite understand that at first, but when he did, his entire face flushed deep red.
"Your face and shirt are like Christmas," John said, laughing.
"I reject that on the grounds of it being a ridiculous analogy." Sherlock's face didn't get any lighter, however. John was still smiling; Sherlock was just...amazing and brilliant, and there wasn't anything in John's mind telling him to stop.
After Sherlock had cooled down a little and John had almost succeeded in schooling his expression into something vaguely appropriate, the food arrived. "Here you are, men," Angelo said. "Enjoy." He winked at John before heading back into the kitchen. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him, but John wouldn't explain that.
Sherlock exaggeratedly ate his entrée, making sure John noticed the effort he was making. In fact, it wasn't that difficult for Sherlock, but he didn't like worrying John, and by the approving looks John was giving him, he had the upper hand. Never had Sherlock Holmes had the urge to eat, but now he did, and there weren't any cases to concentrate on, so he could indulge just this once. Dating was a give and take, wasn't it?
The two of them talked about everything, anything, John's time in the army, Sherlock's drug use, John's shoulder, Sherlock's first job at the Yard, John's childhood, Sherlock's childhood. On the surface, it looked like a blind date, but if you really looked close, you could see something sparking between them. Not that either would admit it, aloud or to themselves.
"Why me?" John asked suddenly.
"Why you what?"
John took a breath. "Why did you want me for this experiment? Before, you said you had very few people to ask, but you didn't know me really, and you had far more people to attempt this with than you think. Molly Hooper is an example." Sherlock winced almost imperceptibly, but John caught it. "You aren't very gay, I can see that in the way you look at others, and yet you chose a man for this, in addition, a man that you deduced isn't gay either. Sherlock, you're too smart to just pick me using that. So why did you do it?"
Sherlock knew he had to answer John. He knew it, but he wanted to evade it. "You...I told you he was like you." John nodded. "He...he was the only person I could call my friend. He just attached himself where I didn't want him at first, and then I did, and I never wanted him to leave like all the others had, and I realized something that I tried to get rid of, but found I couldn't."
"This friend," John said quietly, "you loved him."
Sherlock made an almost choking noise. "I did. And you, you are like him in so many ways. You worry about me, you love the danger, you let me in so easily. In my mind, you are exactly the same as him, even though logic tells me that's not so. Plus, you have the advantage of proximity." He broke off. "I don't know what isn't right to say, but I'm using you because I want you to replace him, to be my carbon copy, to keep me alive until I can survive on my own. It's survival of the fittest, and my mind and emotions were far from fit without him. So, I'm...sorry. If you want to go now, you can." He curled in on himself, rocking back and forth.
John stared at Sherlock for a few minutes. Sherlock wasn't going to say anything else, because he honestly believed John would leave him. He honestly believed it. John stood up and took small steps toward the detective, dragging his chair along with him. Even when they were side by side, Sherlock still wouldn't look at him. John sat back down, carefully reached out his hand, as if he was trying not to scare an already frightened animal, and brushed the hair away from his forehead. "How could you think I'd ever leave? I like you too much to even consider that."
Sherlock gave him a quizzical look. "That's not the correct thing to do."
John laughed lightly. "I'll determine for myself what the right thing to do is, and currently it is this." He paused before moving forward completely, and kissed Sherlock.
Now, Sherlock was the most confused human being on the planet right about then. His brain felt like it had been short-circuited. He only remembered later what it felt like, but still couldn't interpret it. John had kissed him. There was no interpreting that.
"That's what people do when their partner is upset," John said in a teacher-like, teasing voice. Sherlock immediately felt warm hearing it. "That and hugging." He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist, and Sherlock finally reacted by shifting his arms out from John's embrace and wrapping them around John's shoulders.
"I feel better," Sherlock whispered.
"Good," John replied. He stood up again, taking Sherlock's hand. "I already handed Angelo the money, so we can go back to the flat now." Sherlock nodded, following. "Thank you, Angelo!" John shouted. Angelo shouted something incomprehensible back.
The two men walked out of the restaurant hand in hand, just as they had come in. They made quite the pair, the short, blond man and the tall, curly-haired man.
As they walked into 221B, they noticed Harry had come home. "Find her?" John asked.
Harry shook her head. "I think Clara moved to get away from me. That's why she's never there."
"You'll find her, I know it," John said firmly. Sherlock knew subconsciously that John really thought so.
"Harriet, there is a great chance of you finding Clara. Her habits obviously include visiting this market, therefore, according to statistical probability, an encounter is far more likely to happen than not, so..." Harry had jumped up to hug him.
"Thank you, psycho smart guy!" Sherlock gave John a sort of 'help me' glance, but John just grinned. Harry hadn't been this hopeful in months.
"Alright, let my boyfriend go," John said good-naturedly after a few seconds. Harry smirked and did so, plopping on the couch and seeming to fall asleep right then and there. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief, and John squeezed his hand.
"I like it when you do that," Sherlock remarked as they were getting ready for bed themselves.
"When I do what?" John's voice was difficult to hear, mostly because of the toothbrush in his mouth.
"I like when you hold my hand." Once John finished brushing his teeth, he came into the bedroom again.
"I'm glad." Those were the last words either man spoke that night.
He remembered fear, deadly fear. "I can hear it, I can hear it, it's so loud and so close."
"John, it'll be okay, just keep talking." John did as he asked.
"I'm in a cage, I shut myself in here, but I don't know how long it'll last before the hound gets me."
"John, I'm coming." He paused. "Stay there. You will be okay, I promise." And that promise was so human, and John trusted him so much.
"I'm staying."
"I'm coming."
Of course, the dream didn't last long in John's mind before it faded into nothing.
I didn't really like my chapter's start, but I did enjoy the fluff. Read and review!