A/N: This is the second part of the relationship-building chapters. Sorry if John's feelings felt a little rushed, but I figured that they knew each other for a while. I will space everything out a bit more and write out the sudden feelings so that they make this chapter, Sherlock and John visit Boston and experience a role-play of the famous Tea Party that took place along with their trusty cups of coffee. Enjoy! Please R & R!
(Third-Person P.O.V.)
John kept his eyes glued to the road, his hands glued to the wheel, and his ears glued to the GPS he bought after Sherlock's insistence, but he kept his mind glued to the sore subject of his maturing feelings for his best friend. None of it made any sense to him.
Why would John date a bunch of pretty women he knew and drool over them and yet still have feelings for Sherlock, let alone a man? He couldn't possibly be gay! ..Could he? He often argued that he wasn't gay because he had feelings for women, but was that really an excuse?
Little did John know that some gay men had entered heterosexual relationships at least once in their life. He just figured that they knew who they were when they got older so they started dating guys right away. He never considered the possibility that those gay men explored their options throughout life. Even with a lesbian sister, he took them for granted.
There was another interesting little tidbit of information that John didn't know about. He had no idea that whenever a man reacted sensitively to being called gay it sometimes meant that he was. John had the tendency to get angry over being called gay, which allowed people to assume so with a supportive reason.
John completely ignored these secret facts that would later sneak up on him before pouncing like a tiger. There were two sides of him that appeared: the angel John and the devil John. The angel John represented the "good" side, telling him he wasn't gay and the devil represented the "bad" side, telling him he was. The poor clueless soul had no idea that it was actually the other way around.
"John, be a good young man and come back to reality. You do not love him. You love women. Remember?" Angel John said.
"Aw, don't listen to him! He's lying! You may 'love' women, but you are head over heels for this man! I mean, just look at him! Silky brown tresses, gorgeous eyes of blue, aquiline nose, hella great body structure...if I were you, I dunno what I'd be waiting for!" Devil John retorted.
"Excuse me, but that would be much more attractive on a woman! If he were a woman it would be attractive, but Sherlock is no woman. Right, John?" Angel John cut in. John was too busy looking in the direction Devil John was pointing in.
"See? Lookit how cute he is when he's asleep! Lookit those long eyelashes resting on his angular cheekbones and his curled-up position, and his soft breathing. Mmm...don't those lips just look kissable?" Devil John cooed. John stared at Sherlock, an evident look of longing on his face. He did look pretty adorable, he supposed.
"No, John! No he's not! There are other people, more specifically other women, who are adorable in their sleep!" Angel John scolded. John, having made his decision, was done with him.
"Hey, look! A hot lady angel!" he shouted, whilst pointing nowhere. Hearts appeared in Angel John's eyes.
"Where?!" he cried. Flick! John flicked him off his shoulder and he tumbled off. "You're dead to meeeee!" Angel John shouted, before flying away. John laughed and high-fived Devil John.
"You're right, Devil John! Sherlock is adorable. And it's not just his looks, either. It's his personality that made me first start falling for him. He has one of the most beautiful minds in the whole Universe and he's vulnerable in his own special way. I...I really like him," John admitted. Devil John thought a minute before nodding slowly.
"Yes, well, I must be going now. Catch you later!" he called, disappearing back into John's conscience. John waved good-bye before gluing his eyes back on the road. It felt so nice to get that heavy weight off of his chest even of he was technically just coming out to himself. It had been almost a year, and just now John realized that he loved Sherlock.
They stopped at a coffee place and John woke Sherlock up with hesitation. Inside the coffee shop, Sherlock ordered an espresso and John ordered a cappuccino. Then they continued driving to their destination. The place they were visiting was the site of the Boston Tea Party where the Americans rebelled against the British and their expensive income taxes.
"It's no wonder Americans drink coffee," Sherlock joked.
Once they got to Boston in the late afternoon, they parked near the Boston Children's Museum and walked to the great colonial ship, the Eleanor. There, many people were dressed up as if they lived in the 18th century and they were teaching children how to tie sailor knots. Adults lurked about with their friends. After sitting down and twiddling his thumbs for twenty minutes, Sherlock complained that he was bored. John was about to scold him when all of a sudden, a young man in a tricorn hat walked up to them.
"Excuse me, but are you both British?" he asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"That is none of your business, you ars - "
"Yes! Yes we are! Why?" John interrupted, keeping Sherlock from insulting the man. The man only smiled and said,
"Well, I've just never seen a British man drink coffee before. I just figured you were "tea" guys, what with being from Britain and all," he said. Sherlock fumed.
"Just because we're from England doesn't mean - "
"Excuse us a sec," said John, before dragging Sherlock to the far corner of the ship. "Sherlock! Would you tone it down a bit?!" he whispered.
"Look, I'm sorry, but that was just plain racist! I'm English, dammit, not British! There's no such freaking thing as a 'British' person! And anyways, I can drink what I damn well please! I suppose that idiot thinks we go around saying shite like 'tuppence' and 'pip pip cheerio'!"
"Sherlock! Look at me," John commanded, making him look by placing his hands on his temples. That got his attention. "It's okay. Sometimes people are idiots who don't look into other cultures besides their own. You know that. I know that. We both do. And while it stinks to be a victim of racism and stereotyping, it only makes us stronger in the end for putting up with it."
There was a sincerity to John's words that Sherlock hadn't often heard before. He quite liked it. John smirked and added as a side note,
And besides, he's only, like, sixteen. What the hell does he know about the cultures and traditions of every country?"
Sherlock chuckled and took a few deep breaths. When he was calm enough, they walked back over to the man.
"Ah, good! You're back! Hey, maybe you Brits can teach me how to speak your way! My impression's pretty good so far! *Ahem*...'Good day, mate! Shrimp on the barbie!' You like it?" he said.
"What a bastard," Sherlock whispered angrily. John whistled and led him to some other people by the hand. No need to spend time around one person.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it is now time to proceed throwing tea crates into Boston Harbor," a woman announced. "On the count of three, we shall begin throwing the crates. One...two...three!" Everybody grabbed some crates and began throwing them into the sea as if they were American rebels.
"Take that, King George!" a girl exclaimed, causing Sherlock and John to laugh. They came up with trash-talk of their own.
"Give me coffee or give me death!" John snickered.
"Drink coffee or die!" Sherlock cackled.
They watched the water surrounding the ship brown with tea ingredients and cheered. Next, everybody went to Abigail's Tea Room for supper. The refreshments available for purchase were water, iced tea, popcorn, beer, wine, clam chowder, pies, stews, sandwiches, cheese and crackers, and cookies. Naturally, everybody felt stuffed after the meal, so they went back to the ship to relax for half an hour.
Sherlock began to fall asleep when he whispered John's name. John knew what to do. He leaned against his shoulder and Sherlock wrapped an arm around his frame while resting his head against John's. They both began to doze off when the man from earlier came up to them.
"You know...you're a weird bunch. But I like you," he chuckled. Then he walked off to join some friends he knew and left the two men to nap in peace. They fell asleep sitting up and awakened once the half hour had passed. Some people dressed as famous Boston residents came on board. The "names" of these people were John Hancock, Paul Revere, and Samuel Adams. One by one, everybody asked their questions.
"Is it true that you were a silversmith apprentice at one point?" a girl asked Paul Revere.
"Didn't you own a large property?" a boy asked John Hancock.
"Are you related to the Addams family?" some twins asked Samuel Adams.
Every man said "Yes", except for Samuel Adams. The man dressed as Paul Revere walked over to Sherlock with his eyes widened in mock curiosity. He took his cell phone out of his hand.
"Hey - !" Sherlock shouted, but John held him back.
"Don't worry, he's just pretending. He'll give it back," he assured. Paul Revere held the phone in his hand, examined it, and pretended to be frightened when he took a picture of himself by mistake.
"Why...I wonder what this is. Hey John, do you know?" he inquired, handing the phone to John Hancock.
"Why...I've never seen anything like it," he breathed, stroking the cellular object. Sherlock bursted into a fit of giggles. Paul Revere looked up in sudden realization.
"Oh! I almost forgot!" he exclaimed. He swiped the cell phone out of John Hancock's hand and gave it back to Sherlock. "I beg your pardon, sir, it's just that we've never seen anything like this before." Sherlock smiled and played along.
"That's okay, son. Thank you!"
"You're welcome!"
Paul Revere and John Hancock walked off to some other people and Sherlock noted how good they were at acting. After the three men left, it was time to dance. A man began playing on his pocket fiddle and others joined him. Everybody else was waltzing to the music, but Sherlock observed and said,
"We could do better than that." John's face flushed with realization.
"Y-You mean..." he blubbered.
"Yes. John Hamish Watson, may I have this dance?" Sherlock queried, holding out a hand for John to take or ignore. John blushed darker before he nodded slowly.
"Yes. Yes you may. Heh heh," he chuckled nervously. They stepped onto the wooden dance floor and began to do the schottische dance. Everybody there could've sworn they were a couple because of the brilliant chemistry radiating off of them and their dance moves. A woman nearby scolded to her husband,
"Why don't you ever dance like that with me?!"
The liveliness of the music ended and so began the slow-dancing portion. Some of the men were gagging and making faces over their dates' shoulders. They were not paired with very good dancing partners, it seemed. John's face went red all the way to his ears.
"Um...Sherlock...I dunno if I actually feel comfortable with dancing any longer. I mean, what if they stare? And it's not just that, either. It's the fact that I can't slow-da - "
"Shhhh, John," Sherlock hushed gently, placing a finger tip on John's lips. John looked up nervously, his face heated up like the sun. Sherlock leaned forward so that his ever-sexy voice tickled John's ear with every word spoken. "I happen to be a slow-dancing connoisseur. Surely I could lead the way, could I not?"
"Well, I suppose so, but - "
"Then let me show you," Sherlock interrupted. He held out his hand once again, and John had the option of taking it or leaving it. Eventually, he decided to take it. After all, he would be doing it with the man he loved, not some stranger or a woman.
They started out with John's hands on Sherlock's shoulders and Sherlock's hands on John's waist. They stayed like that for a while until they both mutually decided to move closer. Then, John's arms were locked around Sherlock's neck and Sherlock's arms were wrapped around his waist. Finally, they closed the gap. John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock kept his arms around John's waist save his right hand, which massaged the nape of his neck.
This felt far from ordinary to John. He wasn't stroking him like he usually did. This time, it felt more affectionate and soft in a way. They barely talked, but when they did, it was about how the other was dancing beautifully. More often than not, they made eye contact. Sherlock's cyan lakes smiled at John's chocolate mud. Once again, everybody agreed that they were the cutest and best-dancing couple there. Little did they know that they still had a hell of a lot to admit to each other.
Once the dancing was finished, it was time to go home. Job was about to get into the car to drive to the nearest hotel when Sherlock motioned him to wait and grabbed both of his hands.
"I-I had fun. Did you?" he asked more shyly than usual. John blushed at the contact before nodding.
"Yeah, that was nice. I'd do it again if-if you asked..." He did not dare speak any longer when Sherlock tenderly planted a kiss on the back of his hand. In fact, they stood there like morons for about a minute until they couldn't help it anymore. They closed their eyes and started to lean forward, slowly puckering their lips -
BEEP! The car behind them honked their horn and they cussed before moving out of the way. They did not discuss what happened that night. They didn't even know that they were leaning forward to kiss each other. But later in the evening, as John was cradled into a sleeping Sherlock's arms again, he resolved to let him know exactly how he felt before it was too late.
A/N: Note to self: when I stay up late and write this while listening to "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri, I practically cry from the cuteness. Also, I wrote about Boston Harbor on Independence Day? Awesome! ...Augh, another long chapter!