A/N: So, I've decided that these upcoming chapters will be a bunch of silly little "stories" that build up Sherlock and John's relationship until it becomes as strong as possible. This is the first of these, in which the two men decide to go camping (or rather, John decides and Sherlock grudgingly goes with it) in America. Enjoy!
Please R & R!
(Third-Person P.O.V.)
"For the last time, John! No means no! I don't want to go frolicking off in some woody wasteland, I have better things to do!" Sherlock scolded. John raised an eyebrow at him as if he were saying, "Oh, really?".
"Aw, come on, no you don't! Please?!" John begged, pouting his lower lip and bringing out his best puppy-dog eyes. Sherlock tried not to look into those eyes and give in to the forces of cuteness. You can do this, Sherlock! You must resist at all costs or else you'll get sucked into his manipulative trap! Oh, but those eyes, though! They're so cute and innocent, and - dammit, I just can't say 'no'!
"Ugh, fine. ...But on one condition!" Sherlock requested, trying not to sound like he was being submissive.
"Okay, shoot," said John. As long as they got to go camping, he would gladly kill a man if he were told to. A sly grin appeared on Sherlock's face that filled John with slight dread.
"You have to share a sleeping bag with me," he taunted, watching with jubilation as John's face turned crimson and he looked away. Sherlock did almost anything to make John blush. He adored how well it suited him. Poor John bought the plane tickets while Sherlock kept being a weirdo and stroking his hair.
They got on the plane that day and landed at midnight, EST. This was because they had to cross the Prime Meridian. Exhausted out of their minds, they decided not to bother with booking a hotel and they slept on some chairs in the airport. Sherlock whimpered in his sleep, because he couldn't reach John and cuddle him. John looked over to him and rolled his eyes.
"You have got to be kidding me," he sighed, before shrugging, getting out of his seat, and laying down in Sherlock's arms. The taller man breathed happily and smiled in his sleep, wrapping his arms around John's frame. "Teddy...you've come back!" he sleep-yelped, referring to John once again as his teddy bear. John closed his eyes drowsily, allowing the warmth to surround him.
The next day, the two men rented a car. Sherlock insisted upon driving, much to John's concern. He didn't quite trust Sherlock's road skills. ...Okay, fine, he had no faith in him. He kept driving on the left side instead of the right side, he ignored traffic rules, and he kept looking for non-existent round-abouts. At one point, they had to swerve out of the way of a van approaching from the left side. Their car drove down the hill before the emergency brake was pulled and Sherlock toppled onto John. He lay on top of him, just inches away from his face.
"Hi," Sherlock greeted ever-so-innocently before the air bag activated above them. John blew a fuse and pushed Sherlock off of him.
"That does it! I'm driving now, and you're going to like it!" he fumed. Sherlock held up his hands in resignation.
"Geez. Yes, Mum," he replied. John got behind the wheel and let out a huff of air like a bull in a tournament. Sherlock chuckled to himself and leaned his head on John's shoulder. So cute when he's angry, he thought. John drove for quite a while before he realized that they had already passed that sign...and that bush...five times.
"Wh-What's going on?!" he panicked, running his fingers through his hair. Sherlock sighed tiredly.
"We're lost, you idiot," he camp site was nowhere to be found, so they decided to screw it all and go to a random place in the woods. Sherlock did not approve of the situation. "Where are you supposed to take a piss?!" he exclaimed, when they got out of the car and observed their surroundings. John pointed everywhere and Sherlock followed that finger with a disgusted face.
"Moron, they're everywhere. They're called trees and you go behind them. And no, in case you were about to ask, they do not have toilets behind them." Sherlock was, in fact, about to inquire as to whether there was a toilet behind every tree. There were more questions he had as well, such as -
Where's the bath tub?!" John did not want to know why a thirty-something-year-old man still bathed, but he answered the question anyways.
"Over there...in that lake." Sherlock's right eye twitched.
"In that thing?! There's snakes, snapping turtles, bacteria, and it's cold as hell!" he complained. Even so, he asked another question. "How come I don't have Wi-Fi?!" John answered that question as well.
"There is no Wi-Fi. Just us and Mother Nature. Sorry, buddy." Sherlock's eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted. John sighed and mumbled something about "melodramatic idiots" before dragging him to the car and splashing water in his face. Then, the two of them began to set up the tent. Or rather, John did most of the work and Sherlock got annoyed by the poles poking his face.
Eventually, he got so annoyed that he let out a roar and snapped the poles in half. He turned to see John's stern face and moped immediately.
"Well, hopefully there will be no rain tonight. I guess we'll just have to sleep under the stars," he said. Sherlock could feel his eyes glaring daggers at him. Later day, they were hiking up a mountain.
"John, I'm tired! Can we stop?!" Sherlock whined.
"Oh, you poor baby! You ride on my back halfway up the mountain and now your poor widdle legs are tired! Your life must REALLY STINK!" John snapped. Sherlock's eyes expanded before he stroked John's hair.
"You're a grumpy old man," he chuckled. John fumed silently. Next, they went bird watching.
"So exciting," Sherlock criticized sarcastically, making jazz hands.
"Hush, Sherlock. I just found a red-breasted robin," John whispered, observing the creature with his binoculars. Sherlock sulked under the pine tree branches before coming up with an idea to kill off his boredom temporarily. John continued to watch the birds, naming them off. "There's the yellow-breasted Warbler. And there's the orange-breasted Oriole. And there's the Sherlock. And there's the - wait...Sherlock?" he looked back to where he mentioned his name.
Sure enough, Sherlock was out in the open, flapping his arms and twittering.
"Ca-caw, ca-caw! Lookit, John, I'm a bird! Ca-caw, ca-caw!"
"Sherlock! Sh! You're scaring away all the birds!" John scolded, but it was too late. They all flew away. Then, he decided to take Sherlock for a canoe ride in the lake.
"Borrrring~!" Sherlock announced for all of Canada to hear in a singy-song voice. John laughed whilst rowing the boat.
"Now, Sherlock, why don't you give camping a chance instead of keeping such a closed mind around everything you encounter? Who knows...maybe something eventful will happen soon," he said a little more mischievously than usual. Sherlock perked up immediately at that.
"Really? Like what?" he asked eagerly. John smirked.
"Like this!" He pushed Sherlock over the edge of the canoe and he toppled into the water, screaming. SPLASH! Bubbles floated up to the surface before he emerged with a huge breath, soaking wet. He treaded water with an open smile for a second before he threw his head back with laughter.
"Oh, you are so dead!" he shrieked, his laughter still audible. John laughed at him a little more before he felt a tug on his arm and he, too, was dragged into the water. Once he resurfaced, they laughed and splashed water at each other like young children in the summer. Sherlock glided like a dolphin, and John floated on his back. Both of their clothes were soaked.
Later that evening, John and Sherlock built a fire and they were snug and warm in their pajamas, cooking hot dogs. Sherlock had a look of deep thought etched across his face.
"What are you thinking about?" John asked curiously. Sherlock sighed exhaustedly.
"You know, John, I was thinking about how I complained almost all day about how horrible camping was and yet...in the end, it's not so bad. Dare I say it, I may actually fancy it." John looked over to him and smiled genuinely.
"I knew you'd come around. Cheers," he said, holding up a beer and clinking it with Sherlock's before drinking. They both spat it out at the same time.
"This is disgusting!" Sherlock snickered, wrinkling his nose.
"Well, it's definitely not a Copper Dragon," John agreed, chuckling and squinting his eyes.
That night, both men were tucked safely into the single sleeping bag they shared and watching the stars up above. John pointed out a few constellations and Sherlock listened with mild interest. Crickets chirped their symphonies and a gentle night breeze whistled through their hair, occasionally nipping at their ears and noses.
"You know...this is nice. If nothing else, I like the serenity and beauty of this place. It's a wonder that man doesn't come into contact with nature more often," Sherlock remarked.
"I figured you would come to like it eventually. It may be a little out of your comfort zone, but at least it's a great way to spend a vacation," said John. Sherlock smiled sincerely.
"Nothing's out of my comfort zone when I have a friend to experience it with." John felt the sentiment in that message and blushed heavily before yawning.
"Well, it's been a long day for the both of us. We should probably get some sleep. Good night, Sherlock."
"Good night, John." The two men curled up and Sherlock once again wrapped his arms around John. Except THIS time, John didn't mind. He never knew it, but he secretly longed to be held that way by such a hot, amazing man like Sherlock - wait...what? That night, it took longer than usual for John to sleep.
Even with Sherlock's rhythmic breathing pattern and the warmth of the sleeping bag, John was still kept awake by the battle in his head as to whether he was gay and had a crush on Sherlock, or not.