CHAPTER SIX
Two months later
They were watching TV.
Better said, Sherlock was watching TV, and John was watching Sherlock.
Actually, Sherlock's neck — one of the first specific part of Sherlock's anatomy John had felt physically attracted to since the start of this new predicament of his: maybe because it was the origin of that damn voice; maybe because its tendons were sharp as violin strings, and therefore somehow symbolic Sherlockwise; maybe because its long thin yet emanating strength lines reflected Sherlock's whole figure; or maybe simply because it was one of the few parts of Sherlock's anatomy that was nearly constantly visible, at least at home, (those always open collars or PJ tops) yet regularly concealed enough (that scarf, and the turned-up coat) to feel still like a mysterious privilege to behold.
And to be truly specific, right this instant, John was watching that particular mole on Sherlock's neck. It had felt strange, weeks ago, when John had noticed that he had been starting cataloguing his friend's freckles — an old kink, but one he hadn't expected to experience about moles he had already seen for years — but he had grown accustomed to the idea and by now just went with the flow whenever it happened. He had developed a particular fondness for the 4 points galaxy by the collar, but that large one was fascinating too, especially from profile, like now, as it lined up with the detective Adam's apple, or got framed between it and the neck tendon whenever it moved…
A whisper, in place of the more usual clap from his fingers when in the Yarders' presence, but it resonated loudly: "John, you're staring."
Oups. "Sorry. I'll back-up from being an open book from now on if it makes you feel uncomf—"
"No, it's fine."
Surprise. The self-consciousness won though and John went to make some tea (meaning temporarily fleeing to the kitchen to recover).
"John?"
"Huh huh"
"You should kiss me."
The spoon fell from his hand and clattered to the floor without him noticing as he turned. "Excuse me?' (meaning WTF?) "I thought I had made it clear that—"
"John, I know you actually have more than two neurons, so do use them. It's the only logical course of action. We need more data's. Either you find out you definitely went through some change, or the appeal at once goes away. At least, you'll know."
"Well, maybe I don't want to know. And anyway, I don't need to know. It's fine all the same."
"Well, John, I say I need to know then, because it might be contaminating and I have no time to lose puzzling over — I've always appreciated to be watched upon, you know that, but lately it feels… different. Annoyingly tingling yet strangely enjoyable."
John couldn't contain his growing irritation anymore. "I won't buy it, Sherlock, so just drop it and let's finish the movie."
"John—"
"I said cut it. We both know anyway that if you actually wanted it, you would have just done it instead of debating about it. You do have serious leading tendencies."
Sherlock kind of groaned, but it sounded more out of despair than out of the usual annoyance about people always missing the obvious: "But I can't allow my total inexperience on the matter to influence the results of the experiment!"
John's heart missed a beat. Then accelerated, and not to compensate. Damn that prehistoric alike possessive instinct...
"But I was quite sure—" John stopped his rhetorical thinking aloud mid-sentence. He had sworn to himself never to mention The Woman again in Sherlock's presence.
Sherlock though easily completed his trail of thoughts. "Oh, she tried, indeed."
John closed his eyes, now feeling guilty.
"John. Irene Adler — by any name she might go by nowadays — is fine, and I could locate her in a few days if I bothered."
"What?"
"I helped her out. Organised everything, from the kidnapping to the fake execution. Remember the days off you said I might need and which I agreed upon? No one knows, not even Mycroft. He had his doubts, obviously, which is why he came to you, as a final test. He might one day soon now reconsider though, knowing I was able to hide from you — Anyway, the point is, if I wanted to be with her, I could be. I do not, so stop wondering about ever being second choice or whatever, it's insulting, for the both of us." Realising John was heavily breathing through: "John, are you hearing any of what I'm saying?"
"I just need a minute not to punch you in the face again I guess. Why do you always have to fool me around… And come to it, why this latest folly of yours should be any different then..."
"Well, if it helps with the not punching… You can't lie, John. That's why I hadn't told you about my plans, not then and not… later on. Besides, you would have want to help—"
"Of course I would have—"
"And I couldn't use the distraction—"
"Definitely not helping with the not punching"
"But nevertheless, you tried to lie to me, John. In the silly hope you might fool me, and in order to spare my supposed feelings. You, the most honest person I know, of all people. It meant something John, and that's actually why I wanted the phone as a memento."
John could now only sigh. "Ok, not punching it is then for now."
Sherlock then turned the TV off then turned back towards John expectantly: "So, please John. For the data's."
John chuckled at his stubbornness, but they both knew it was surrender. Damn the man. He always got his way, right. Silence fell as Sherlock waited patiently while John calculated how to ensure he'd be able to read Sherlock's reactions without any filter. Then John cleared his throat. Battle time.
NO SMUT ENDING (COMPLETE) – read next part.
SMUTTY ENDING (IN PROGRESS) – jump over next part and read on from part 12.