Prompt 45: Crown
(Or: 5 times John touched Sherlock and 1 time he managed to touch him back)
A/N I'll be posting 3 chapters at once so if you think this is the only update, think again my friends!
1.
The first time John had his hands on Sherlock's body had been a bit of a disappointment seeing as Sherlock had been drugged off his face and could barely remember the incident at all, let alone with the type of clarity he would have liked. As far as first substantial physical interactions with the person you had rather strong... who's company you wished to enjoy, it wasn't exactly up to par. Or even vaguely near it.
For one thing, it was so very far from intimate even though there had technically been a bed involved in the proceedings, and it was a bit awkward knowing that John had had to bodily put him to bed, like some sort of helpless child rather than a potential romantic partner (not that John ever appeared to be willing to make good on that potential, however.). Then there was the fact that while Sherlock himself had little to no real memory of the event, John clearly did because when he mentioned it John had chuckled to himself at the memory. It was all The Woman's fault of course, naturally she couldn't help but be an utter nuisance for him. Though the chances of John lifting him from the front door to the bedroom without her little chemical interference had been slim (not impossible, and wasn't that a thought) Sherlock didn't appreciate the 'assistance'. He was perfectly capable of getting what he wanted. Eventually.
Aside from anything else, the real problem was that there was a complete lack of reciprocation on his part, and John, being dense, would need the clear indication that Sherlock too was interested in this new facet of their relationship. And also, though slightly less so, the fact that John may not actually be' on the same page' as it were. He'd have to figure it out and once he did-
"Sherlock? Are you asleep or thinking or dead, because I was planning on ordering in and if you're dead that'll be really hard to explain to the delivery man. Indian sound OK to you? Sherlock?" John asked again, wiggling his foot gently with one hand as it dangled over the edge of the sofa. The contact, while innocuous and friendly, lit something in Sherlock's chest alight, the warmth of John's hand travelling right through him. Sherlock opened one eye and nodded his agreement before slipping it closed again, relishing the two soft pats John bestowed upon the arch of his foot as he moved off to place the order.
2.
"Come on, the faster you let me do it the faster it's done. Give me your arm, you know I'm just going to put something for the burn on and then pop you in a tshirt so it can be exposed to the air and heal. No stitches, no antiseptic wipes, just some burn cream, promise." John soothed, his best doctor's voice in play while Sherlock attempted to dress his own burns something he was perfectly capable of and always had been, a fact he impressed repeatedly on John as he attempted to cajole him into allowing him to treat them.
"I'm fine, I'll keep the sleeve unbuttoned and that should be adequate." Sherlock attempted to swan past John and out of the bathroom but a hand, wrapped ever so gently around his uninjured wrist, held him back. He was frozen to the spot when a calloused thumb began absently swirling patterns into the skin there.
Everything was suddenly softer, the light, the skin where they were connected, John's eyes, his voice. "Sherlock. Let me take care of it, after all I am your doctor." He huffed a laugh and Sherlock, suddenly incapable of speech, swallowed hard and nodded his assent, allowing John's hand to lead him back inside and onto the edge of the bath.
Carefully, so as not to exacerbate the burn that marred his (left thankfully) arm, John stripped the remains of the shirt off, leaving it dangling from the right shoulder as he set to work. It was a marvel to watch as John fell into a state of complete control and confidence in his actions, for him, doctor or soldier were skins that fit like a glove. The quiet was overwhelming, yet neither man strove to break the tension that burned between them as John smoothed cream across his arm, every so often meeting his gaze with a half smile and then looking away again while Sherlock remained transfixed by him. His hand lingered for a moment when he was finished as he stared at the contrast between his skin, lightly golden from the sun, and the pale white of Sherlock's arm, and just as Sherlock had worked up the nerve to cover the hand with his own it was gone.
John stepped back and grinned, eyes locked firmly on his face. "Well, I trust you can get that tshirt on without too much trouble so I'm off to bed, see you in the morning." And then he turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, the creaking of feet on the staircase following soon behind. Sherlock sat on the bath edge for what seemed like an eternity, until the ghost of John's hands around his faded away and he was left alone to contemplate his apparent inability to function when John was touching him. Next time he'd be ready, and he'd do something about it. He was certain.
3.
The problem he was having with movement and speech was only amplified by the fact that he couldn't see a bloody thing.
When the lights had suddenly switched off in the middle of a fairly rapid getaway attempt, Sherlock had nearly leapt a metre at the arms that had shot out of the darkness and pulled him into an alcove, one finger placed cautiously over his lips. Once he had shown his understanding, John had slowly moved it away to rest with his other hand, which was to say that he wrapped it firmly around Sherlock's hips. In the dark, the distance between his back and John's chest seemed minute, buzzing like electrical currents ran in bridges between spine and sternum.
Neither of them breathed (The warm gusts of John's breath against his shoulder blade stutter and pause) as two hapless goons lumber right past their spot, completely oblivious of their presence less than a metre away. A minute or more of silence stretched out before John nudged him and they quietly made the originally planned quick and unnoticed exit, Sherlock thankful for the cover of darkness that hid his face from prying eyes.
"I think next time" John laughed when they were a secure distance from the building "we should probably try not to interact with the suspects in their own warehouse." Sherlock half bit back his answering smile as John looked up at him with a grin on his face.
"Well, where's the fun in that?" Sherlock winked, hyperaware of the adrenaline surging through them both, their close proximity, his heartbeat ratcheting higher as they locked eyes. Just as he felt the inexorable slide inwards begin, a gruff voice cut through their reverie and John jumped backward, deliberately looking away.
"Oi you two, how many bloody times have I said that you're not supposed to bait the suspects? How many times? It's like talking to a wall!" Lestrade ranted, and Sherlock tuned him out. A minute more was all he would have needed.
4.
In his defence the beating had served a very important purpose in the case, but he could see why it wasn't the best plan he'd ever had now that he was bruised to bits and aching. John's belligerent yelling wasn't exactly helping his headache either, although there was some small satisfaction to be gained from listening to Mycroft get a dressing down.
"..AND YOU ACTUALLY THOUGHT 'hmmmmm he can take them alone, I'm sure there are only a few men in there anyway so NO BACKUP REQUIRED'..." The miscalculation had been Mycroft's fault, a lack of solid intel and a very narrow time frame for the favour Sherlock owed him had forced his hand early, leaving room for mistakes.
"...HE COULD HAVE BEEN KILLED! I DON'T CARE IF HE STOPPED TEN BLOODY ASSASSINATIONS IT'S NOT WORTH HIS LIFE! Not to me, and I would have thought not to you either Mycroft. Clearly I was mistaken." The pounding in his head intensified, but Sherlock couldn't tear himself away from John's words. Of course he knew in an unspoken sense that his life was worth quite a lot in John's eyes but John was champion of the innocents, always willing to sacrifice to save the many. To hear him acknowledge that Sherlock was more important to him than that hardwire need to save was a revelation. If he wasn't bandaged to the nines the temptation to physically show John how much he too meant in Sherlock's life would have overwhelmed him, as it was all he managed was a wince from his place on the couch when John slammed the door.
"Sorry. You really know how to pick them don't you, years of saying no to your brother only to have this happen the time you say yes. I'm starting to think you do this stuff to me on purpose." John remarked dryly, seeming to notice for the first time that he'd been in pyjamas while berating the most powerful man in Britain. Sherlock attempted a shrug and John rolled his eyes, strolling over to his side with a sigh. Gently he lifted Sherlock's head up and quickly sat down in the space it had been in before letting it rest in his lap, hands running in soothing circles and lines over the crown of his head.
"Try not to do something like that without me again. I... worry." John admitted softly into the dark sitting room, already lulling Sherlock to sleep with his hands.
5.
Really he should have seen the hug coming. John was a tactile man, many of his emotions were physically expressed and happiness apparently was one of those that involved hugging. Sherlock. In a restaurant full of his peers and friends.
The party had been Mrs Hudson's idea, she was convinced that John would enjoy a proper celebration for his birthday and while Sherlock's idea of celebration was a nice case or a forbidden experiment, she had a point about the party. He spent a week collecting phone numbers when John wasn't looking, texting each one with the details of his planned surprise dinner in Angelo's. Most were all too keen to attend and by the day there was a sizable number of people waiting in Angelo's for Sherlock to bring John to them.
He'd been careful not to allude to anything all day, although the temptation to watch him puzzle it out had been immense. In fact he'd barely acknowledged the date at all, a small gift of a new shirt and tie from Mrs Hudson forced him to say happy birthday but apart from that he'd been studiously ignoring the significance of the day.
Convincing John to come to Angelo's for dinner was easy, and the new shirt and tie Mrs Hudson had chosen were put to immediate use (He'd called John a suck up, and John had laughed up at him, happy out.) and the three of them traipsed to their regular haunt in good spirits, with John completely unsuspecting.
The surprise on John's face when he saw the place full of his friends was priceless, and he turned to Mrs Hudson for an explanation whom simply nodded her head in Sherlock's direction, and suddenly he was surrounded by John, crushed up against him for a few brief seconds, just long enough to get a whiff of his hair and feel the heat of him sear to his bones. It was over before he could react himself, arms hanging limply at his sides blinking owlishly at the gesture as John moved into he room to greet his guests. Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat and realised quite abruptly just how far gone he truly was.
+1.
It was raining, a truly miserable downpour accompanied by gale force winds and a warning to stay in your home being broadcast on the news. Both inhabitants of 221b were warm and appreciative of the cozy atmosphere that they had created, warm yellow light flooding the sitting room thanks to an impromptu fire and both men in pyjamas and dressing gowns, enjoying tea and each other's company. Sherlock played soothing pieces on the violin to contrast the lashing of rain at the windows and the howls of the wind as it tried to enter their sanctuary. John read though his attention was stolen by Sherlock's fluid movements more often than not, until he gave up the pretends all together and simply revelled in the music.
The fire had died down significantly by the time John made a move to bank it, leaving them in semi darkness. Once he was standing John moved to be next to Sherlock and the window, staring out into the deluge with him and wondering what it was that he could see. The music faded out into silence and then it was just the two of them against the rest of the world. Thunder rolled overhead.
"That was beautiful" John uttered quietly as Sherlock placed his violin back in it's case at his side, and Sherlock turned to stare at him, silent. There was barely half a metre between them and John could not look away, Sherlock's eyes boring into him with something akin to confusion within.
Lightning flashed, illuminating them both, giving Sherlock an ethereal quality that stole John's breath. He forced himself to be still, to wait for Sherlock to be the one who decided if they were going to be something more, either way he was head over heels and in this moment he was sure that Sherlock could see it. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something and shut it with an audible clack, clearly conflicted. Another flash and his hand was moving, gently tracing the lapel of John's dressing gown. Lightning flashed again and Sherlock was standing inches from him, a questioning look in his eyes, and John smiled at him softly, allowing one hand to run through riotous curls as it had months ago, hoping Sherlock would not lose his nerve, that he knew how he was loved by John even answering smile on Sherlock's face was reverent and awed, and just when John thought his heart couldn't ache any more, Sherlock kissed him and lightning crashed around them.
A heart stopping, soul wrenching kiss, chaste and warm and terrified still, giant hands cupping his face and so desperately loving him sort of kiss. John was overwhelmed by him, by the desperation with which every part of him tried to show John that Sherlock wanted to be his even if Sherlock had never given any clear indication. He was shaking against him, and when they finally broke apart, John rested his forehead against Sherlock's and coaxed him into opening his eyes with a thumb sweeping across his lips, his cheek, his jaw. For this, he wanted his full attention.
"I love you"