Sorry, I had before-school Honors homework to do. But I'm back! Until I go on vacation. Sorry. Enjoy the chapter!
Sherlock stared at the birthday cake for a full minute.
"Love, the thing isn't going anywhere. It's not like it's going to be abducted by aliens anytime soon," John joked, pressing a kiss to the back of Sherlock's neck.
"Worrying about an alien abduction is irrational," Sherlock said. "I'm wondering how it will stand up while we're bringing it to Mrs. Hudson's flat."
"We can make her come into ours, darling. Besides, since it's my fault its stature is compromised, I gave you an idea to fix it." John turned Sherlock around in his arms. "Why are you worrying?"
Sherlock wouldn't look John in the eyes. Last time he'd tried the whole birthday party phenomenon, well, he, by anyone's account, failed completely and totally. Not that this John would know that, but still. "I did, well, tried to do a birthday celebration for him, and then realized I'd gotten the wrong date and didn't know how to bake anything edible. That was the day I decided to learn how to do this sort of thing, but by the time I could..."
John hugged him close. "It's okay. I'm here to help you this time." God, why was John being so nice about this? Sherlock messed up his birthday once, and jumped off a roof before he could set it right. Not that his lovely boyfriend remembered, but Sherlock knew too well.
"When is your birthday?" Sherlock asked. He had to get the date correct. The space in his mind palace was very disconcerting.
John grinned. "We'll get to that after our landlady's." Sherlock's face immediately fell. John really didn't understand the importance of the venture. "Come on. We have a person to lasso. Who wants to be late to their own birthday party?" He dragged Sherlock by the hand down the stairs.
Sherlock huffed. "How exactly are we going to go about this?"
John leaned forward to kiss Sherlock firmly on the mouth. "How I say so."
"You have no plan, do you? You're a terrible liar, John, I would know. Let me 'reel her in' as those Americans say."
The doctor laughed. "When did you have contact with Americans?"
"It is a long story," Sherlock replied, knocking on Mrs. Hudson's door.
"Hello, boys," she said, opening the door mere seconds after Sherlock knocked. "Would you like some biscuits? Fresh out of the oven." She looked happier than usual, Sherlock thought. Intercourse with that baker next door again perhaps? But no flour on her dress. Hm.
"No, thank you. Actually, I was looking for some cleaning chemicals. I spilled the bag of thumbs Molly gave me, and we don't have sufficient supplies to clean it up," the detective lied.
Mrs. Hudson frowned. "Sherlock, you're going to run that lovely boy of yours out of the house with your antics." She shook her head disapprovingly. "I need to see the damage to know what I should bring." Sherlock was blushing before she had even finished speaking.
John grinned cheerfully. "He could never run me out of the house, Mrs. Hudson. I love him and his gorgeous body far too much to leave over a bag of spilled thumbs." Wait...rewind.
I love him and his gorgeous body far too much to leave...
I love him and his gorgeous body...
I love him...
Sherlock mentally berated himself. That couldn't be what John really meant, they were both lying to get Mrs. Hudson into the flat without suspicion on her part. Of course, his logical thought process had no line to how red his cheeks were turning. Damn John! Stupid..
John led Mrs. Hudson up the stairs, Sherlock trailing behind. "Come up here, darling. You need to show her the damage." A little twinkle appeared in his eyes as he looked at Sherlock. No, he was imagining things. John messed with his mind on the best of days.
"Alright, John." He stepped to the front of the little group, striding into the kitchen. Mrs. Hudson followed, arms crossed, but when she entered the kitchen, her face softened.
"You boys remembered my birthday?" she asked, putting a hand over her mouth.
"It stuck in my mind palace," Sherlock said, suddenly feeling awkward. "We didn't do very well on the cake, since we were a bit preoccupied while it was coming out of the oven." John giggled, and Sherlock glared slightly at him. "But, we did succeed in producing a tasty confection. And pudding." He paused, shifting his feet. "Surprise."
Mrs. Hudson walked forward. "This is very nice of you, Sherlock." She hugged him, and although he didn't expect it, it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. "Thank you so much for thinking of me." Mrs. Hudson turned to John and hugged him as well. "And John, you as well. It's a very pleasant surprise."
"You're welcome," John said. "Now, how about we reap the fruits of our labor?"
"I'll get the pudding," Sherlock added. "Feel free to sit in my chair, Mrs. Hudson." Harriet would be back soon, and then she could sit in John's chair and himself and John could sit on the couch. The perfect arrangement.
"I'll come with you." John matched Sherlock step for step until they reached a spot where Mrs. Hudson couldn't see them, and then John ambushed him.
Gentle kisses floated up Sherlock's throat and jaw, making their way to Sherlock's lips. Only a few kisses involved the tongue, but everything in between was very, very good, too. Sherlock asked himself where John had learned all this, and then turned away from that topic, because it had to do with the thousands of women John had dated before him. Deleted. He wondered if those same women would, as they say, 'eat their hearts out' if they saw the man kissing Sherlock now. "Any particular reason...ah...for this sort of treatment?" he asked.
"Does a man need a reason to kiss the hell out of his amazing," kiss, "genius," another kiss, "sexy as fuck," loooonnngg kiss, "boyfriend?" John looked at him with sparkling hazel eyes. "Because, I don't think so. Do you?"
Sherlock shook his head. "I do not. However, the birthday woman may object to the pudding not coming very fast."
John pulled away. "You make a fair point, my love. Let's go." He picked up the giant bowl of pudding and headed out into the sitting room. "We came with pudding, Mrs. Hudson!"
"Thank you, boys," she said. John grabbed a spoon from the silverware drawer and handed it to her. She served herself, and Sherlock served her a slice of cake after that. He had always had a fondness for Mrs. Hudson. She never called him a Freak, she never threatened to kick him out of the building, she even accepted the severed limbs, which was quite novel. Plus, Mrs. Hudson took care of him a lot more than he took care of himself. He owed her for that, and for keeping John alive until the memory-loss serum kicked in. She helped John and himself, and if she left Baker Street, London would fall.
A knock sounded on their front door. "Hey, are y'all having a party without me?" Harriet called, poking her head into the flat.
"It just started," John said. "Come on in. We made cake."
Harriet strolled inside, and Sherlock noticed the lack of alcohol smell, and notably clean clothes. "What happened to you?" he asked bluntly.
She smirked at him. "Nice to see you too. Actually, I'm off alcohol. I know I can do it this time. You will help me, right?"
"Being a former cocaine addict, I will do my best," Sherlock replied, a rare smile crossing his face. "Now, you should have some cake. It's your brother's recipe."
"Oh, big bro!" Harriet threw her arms out and hugged John. "You are so wonderful. It's no mystery why Sherlock loves you!"
John's eyes widened to the approximate size of teacup saucers, and Sherlock was sure his did the same, but John didn't say anything. "Alright, which one of you can get me some cake?"
Harriet had left for her room a few minutes earlier, saying something about leaving them to more pleasurable activities than talking to her. Mrs. Hudson had winked at them before leaving, taking the leftover cake. Now, Sherlock and John were alone, and Sherlock had no idea what to say.
"You might be wondering," John started after several awkward moments, "why I didn't ask you if what my sister said is true."
"It did cross my mind," Sherlock replied, laying on the couch, an arm slung over his eyes. It would be easier to take the rejection while not standing. Why did Harriet have to say that? John would leave now, no matter all the nice things he said to Sherlock daily. This was never meant to be permanent anyway, there was never supposed to be love again. Sherlock tried so hard not to tell John every second of every day they spent together how he truly felt, but it appeared to have been done for nothing. And soon, he'd be back in 221C, or much farther away.
"Well..." John sat near him according to the dent next to Sherlock's legs. "My little sister has always been able to judge feelings: love, specifically. I don't know whether she can read me, she's never told me anything like that, but she can read you, apparently, through all the masks you wear." Sherlock felt a finger trace his bottom lip.
"Get to your point," Sherlock whispered.
John didn't answer him. "John, I can't take the silence. Tell me I'm kicked out, and get on with your life."
But John simply lifted up Sherlock's arm. "How could you think I would kick you out?"
"It's only logical," Sherlock breathed, his voice hitching. "I asked you to do this as an experiment, and I was never supposed to love you. I'm sorry my feelings got in the way of the original purpose, they were never meant to."
"Sherlock..." John said, shaking his head. "Did you not catch the comment I made after Mrs. Hudson said you would run me out of the house?"
" 'I love him and his gorgeous body far too much to leave over a bag of spilled thumbs'? But you were just giving credence to our story!" Sherlock was very confused now.
John sighed, long and deep. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe I was telling the truth? You said it yourself, I'm a terrible liar. Why would I lie about loving you?"
"Because I already fucked it up once, and you were kind enough to provide fake reassurance concerning my lack of birthday aptitude," Sherlock answered blankly. He was past the point where swearing was undignified. Sherlock was so stupidly confused about the signals John sent that he could barely process the situation.
The doctor laughed almost hysterically. "Why can you not understand when someone cares very much for you?"
"I've only had one friend, and only one boyfriend. I don't know how relationships work very well." He really didn't, this was just one of the few times he would admit it.
John leaned forward and softly kissed Sherlock. "I love you." When the detective didn't reply, lips parted in his version of gaping, John continued, "I think I knew much earlier than now, but couldn't name it. You are everything to me: heart, mind, and body. It doesn't matter how we started, what matters is what we do right now."
Of course, Sherlock's eyes took that moment to begin streaming tears. The doctor kissed them away, but more and more kept forming and falling. "Shh, love, I'll take care of you, don't worry," John whispered as the two men began kissing for real. Sherlock tasted like saltwater, and John slid on top of him.
"I've loved you since...I don't know. Maybe the first time I saw you, or the crime scene," Sherlock murmured. He was telling the truth. He'd loved John since the lab, when they first met, or the pink lady's murder, or Angelo's restaurant, or when he realized John killed a man to save his life. Sherlock didn't even remember, because it was so sudden. "I love you, John Watson, more than anything."
John smiled. "Glad we're in agreement then." He made a move to slip off Sherlock, but the detective pulled him back down.
"You're not going anywhere." Sherlock slid his tongue across John's bottom lip, much like John had done with his fingertip, and threaded his hands through John's hair. The doctor made a little noise that vibrated through Sherlock's whole being, causing him to gasp out, "I want you."
John looked Sherlock directly in the eye. "I want you too, but not here. Can we go...?"
Sherlock pushed John off of him and stood up, guiding John by the hand behind him to their bedroom. When they reached the door and shut it behind them, Sherlock grinned. "You know I wore the t-shirt and jeans precisely for your benefit."
"See? One of the reasons I absolutely adore you," John replied, rising on his tiptoes to peck Sherlock's cheek.
"I adore you too."
John smiled back. "I know, darling."
When Sherlock woke up after the second time making love, he didn't feel like he needed to run. He didn't need to take a long walk through London to clear his head. His head was clearer than it had ever been. He wrapped his arms tighter around John, and fell back asleep.
John looked up to the top of the building and nearly dropped his mobile. "Sherlock? I don't care how you got up there, I'm coming."
"John, stop right there! Don't move!" John couldn't see Sherlock's face very well from this far away, and he hated it. He knew how this was going to end, he'd had this dream before, but now Sherlock was a part of it.
"Alright." He held up his hands. "Alright." John could feel tears falling already, and Sherlock hadn't even jumped yet.
"Since I obviously can't come down, we'll have to do it like this."
"Do what?" John asked, his voice failing him toward the last syllable.
"Ah..." Sherlock was crying too, but that was just part of the dream. Sherlock would be okay, this wasn't real. It felt pretty damn real, though. "This phone call...it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
"When what? That's what people do when what?" When they're going to leave you behind, John thought. The tears fell faster now, and John was very close to completely breaking down.
"Goodbye, John."
"No. NO!" Sherlock dropped his phone without ending the call, spread his arms like wings, and stepped off the roof. John ran forward, but he knew what he was going to see when he reached him. The wind, the coat, the body of the man he loved.
"Please don't leave me," he whispered.
How'd I do? Read + review please!