Note: so this is the beach scene I had imagined. If it exists in England, let me know. :)

12.The Beach

He hadn't planned on sleeping. Sherlock woke up feeling a bit disoriented, having just heard John walk out of the room and softly close the door. Looking at the clock, he realised John must have come in to get his bathers, after having lunch with his friends. He gathered Max and him would be at the beach by now. He felt an urge to join them. It pleased him to watch John in those small shorts and Max was not annoying. He walked towards the beach and soon saw a glimpse of light blue in the distance. They were sitting side by side on the sand, arms wrapped around their knees, talking and staring at the sea. Sherlock stayed on the pavement above them until he was directly behind them. Suddenly, Max turned his head to look at John. His face showed concern and surprise. Sherlock frowned and maintained the distance, waiting to determine whether or not he should join them. They stayed like this for a while, not moving, staring straight ahead. Max seemed to be only listening, occasionally turning to John with an alarmed look on his face.

Then, they got up and started to stroll on the beach. The beach was quite crowded, being a perfect Summer day. People paraded up and down the shore, children played on the sand, and the pavement where Sherlock followed was busy. John is already getting tanned.

After about twenty minutes, they were approaching a rockier area of the beach. Not many people around, as there were no places to stretch and sunbathe. Some of the rocks were large, as tall as a one-story house. Both men climbed up and down, and progress was slow. Sherlock couldn't see them well, so he decided to go down too. The rocks were weathered smooth by higher tides, so he decided to go barefoot, just like them. When he rounded a large boulder, he stopped on his tracks and his breath caught at this sight.

About ten meters away, John was leaning against a slanted, black and smooth rock. His head was tilted towards the sun, eyes closed. His t-shirt was tucked into his waistband, hanging over his hip and his flip flops were dangling in one hand. One of his legs was bent, resting on the boulder behind him. John's skin looked golden against the black rock, and a sheen of sweat made his skin sparkle in the sunlight. He almost forgot himself, thinking of nothing but to approach and touch him.

Then Max came into his field of view.

Max had a different look in his eyes this time. Usually he guarded himself against the outside world, keeping his feelings away from prying eyes. This time his eyes showed a deep and barely contained emotion. They showed desire. With his chest heaving with passion, he stretched out a hand and touched John's face, caressing the cheek under his thumb. John opened his eyes. Max approached slowly, roaming his eyes back and forth between John's eyes and mouth, his hand traveling towards the nape. Sherlock felt like rushing and pulling Max away from John. He won't like that, get away from him. But before he could utter a sound or take a step forward, Max leaned in and touched his forehead to John's. Sherlock's stomach dropped at this sight and his own breathing quickened. Max dropped what he was holding and brought the other hand to cup John's face, pulling slightly away. They looked into each other's eyes, and Max whispered something. John just stared at him, brow creased. Then, he nodded. Max let go of his face and, after a pause, they turned and started their way back. Sherlock hid and followed them.

….

They put their t-shirts and sandals back on before leaving the beach, then walked into Max's hotel.

Sherlock lost track of how long he stood there on the pavement, his mind whirling. Time had simply stood still. He came back to his senses with a start, and walked as quickly as his feet could carry him back to his hotel. He sat on the armchair, hands trembling.

He couldn't understand why this time it hurt so much. He had been annoyed at John's girlfriends before, but not even listening in that night a few weeks ago had been this painful. He tried to control his breathing, clasped his hands together, and retreated into his mind to deeply analyse what he had seen and his reactions to it.

Sherlock understood, for the first time in his life, what it felt like to have a broken heart.

…...

By the end of the day John returned, to find Sherlock sitting on the armchair, staring into space. To his surprise, Sherlock didn't ignore him.

'Sherlock! Have you been outside? You're terribly sunburned! Are you in pain right now?' He approached and touched Sherlock's forehead and cheek with the back of his hand. 'Your skin is really hot. I did bring some cream for sunburn, I think you should put some-'

Startled by the touch, he blurted 'Where have you been?'

John's ears turned red as he answered, rummaging for the cream. 'I told you earlier. Just walking on the beach with Max, enjoying the sun.' Then he turned, 'The wedding is in two hours, we should probably get some food now. Dinner won't be until 9 tonight. Come on Sherlock, let's check out the hotel's tea room.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Hungry or not, you need to eat. At least a snack. I bet you didn't have lunch today, did you?'

John noticed something wasn't right. 'Sherlock, what's wrong?'

'Nothing, John.'

'Is it Mycroft's case?'

'Yes. Yes, it is.'

'Don't worry. You'll solve it, I know it. Now, just put some of this on your face, it'll bring you some relief...'

Sherlock was distracted and seemed to not have heard the bit about the cream. John sighed. Shaking his head, he took it upon himself and applied some cream to Sherlock's face and neck, in quick strokes, walking around to reach the nape. Sherlock was distracted because he was surprised. For one thing, the shock of John's hand on his face. Had the touch been a lingering one, he might've been unable to contain himself and not lean against that hand. But, more importantly, he slowly realised he couldn't smell anything different in John. His breath smelled like he had had something to drink (non alcoholic, too early in the day and too hot - which means, he remained in control of his senses), and his skin, only of sun cream, sweat (his own) and sand. No foreign smells that indicated an intimate encounter or a shower to mask it. He felt relieved and slightly confused. He hadn't noticed his own sunburn before, but now with the coolness of the cream he realised it did make his skin feel good. He couldn't help but notice how gratifying it was to feel John still cared about him and feel his hand on his face and neck. Professional strokes, nothing sentimental about them. Yet, it brought back some of the warmth that had been absent in his chest for the past few hours.

He still didn't eat, but accepted some tea. 'John, I had breakfast today,' he protested.