Whooo, the holidays are exhausting. Here's a late Christmas gift!

Betting Pool

When did it happen? Was it when he was trying to convince John to become his assistant? Had John, who he had been trying to captivate, captivated him instead? It suddenly became very clear to Sherlock that he was in way over his head, and that he wasn't sure what to do about it. He was hyperaware of an ache in his chest, nearly swamped by joy and confusion and a sense of dread.

"Sherlock?"

At the sound of his name, Sherlock wondered how one learned to control himself hearing it spoken by someone that one loves. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do- only one thing was certain, though, and it kept clanging in his head like a cymbal:

I'm in love with John.

…Shitshitshitshitshit.

"Sherlock? You've gone all funny." John was looking at him oddly now, and Sherlock's hands tightened on the journal that had been given to him. He started noticing things, things he had chosen to ignore before, passing them off as ordinary- the weariness under John's eyes, the way that John's right hand was curled and cramping against his thigh, the way John's lips were too tight, the pages that still smelled like pen ink-

"…You hand wrote all of this last night," Sherlock realized, stunned. He flipped through the pages, which were numbered, and came to page 126. "One hundred and twenty six pages, John? What on earth were you thinking?" He noted with a quick scan that the same eloquence that shone through on the first page was still present on the last.

"I was hit with inspiration rather suddenly," John confessed, wringing his hands lightly. "I mean, if you don't like it-"

"Don't like it? Don't be ridiculous." Sherlock turned the pages lovingly. "John, this is the best gift anyone's ever given me."

"Thank heavens," said John, relief and happiness washing over his face. Sherlock's eyes fixed over his best friend's face and his stomach twisted.

…This isn't good.

And it wasn't good, really. Because he was Sherlock Holmes, and John's interest had always decidedly not been…in him. Because he would see John's eyes trail after the curvy assistant that Mycroft would sometimes bring to Bean There, or the young woman who always wore something pink and only ordered complicated coffees. Sherlock thought of his own angular, definitely male body, and his mood swings and peculiar habits and prickly nature, and staved off the crushing disappointment he knew would be crippling to him. John doesn't want me like that.

But he wanted John. Heavens, how long had it taken him to figure it out? With annoyance, he realized Mycroft had ages ago, and probably his mother as well. She was far more astute than she let on. He recalled her words to him: "I never would have married your father if I'd just stood on the sidelines."

He fought down a humiliated flush. Of course she knows. She knows everything. She'd known at least by that time that Sherlock had found John and Marian in the library.

Marian. Dammit, that was another embarrassment he wished he could have figured out faster. Why was he the least intelligent when it came to interpersonal relationships? That wasn't protectiveness, he realized, that was jealousy. I was jealous over John, and I took it out on my cousin. My favorite cousin, no less, who was just flirting innocently with him.

Sherlock felt the urge to slap his forehead. Really, he could be such an idiot sometimes.

"Are you two coming for breakfast or not?" called Mycroft peevishly, as he became grumpy without food in his stomach. "Hurry up."

"Coming!" John called back, getting off the couch and standing up with a stretch. He turned and reached down behind him, extending a hand to Sherlock. "Let's go, then."

Sherlock stared at John's hand, and then took it cautiously. John didn't seem to notice his hesitation, holding Sherlock in his warm grip and pulling him up off the couch.

"Let's go get some food. I'm starving."

It was like a game of musical chairs that night at the family party; Sherlock clung to John and always nabbed a spot next to him. Marian noticed immediately and stayed a safe distance from John, only waving to him and Sherlock when they arrived but sticking close to her brother most of the night. At one point, though, John was chatting with Anita and so Sherlock wandered over to Marian and Marco, ready to make amends with the younger of the Morstan siblings.

"I acted out of turn," he admitted quietly to Marian when she spared him a glance and Marco had turned to talk to his father.

She smiled slightly. "I'm not about to deny you your prior claim when I have other options."

He felt somewhat annoyed by the idea that she may have just been toying with John, but shoved it down. "I'm making a peace offering."

"I noticed. So did Marco. He was wondering why you seemed so hostile at first."

Sherlock winced. "Does he know?"

"Who doesn't? Your brother started a betting pool on whether or not you were going to bring John home for Christmas. There was a website for it and everything. Even Grandma bet. Now he's updated it. They've started betting on when you're going to start dating."

Sherlock's stomach dropped. "You must be joking."

Marian pulled out her mobile and pulled up a webpage to show him the proof.

"…I hope John doesn't find this."

"He wouldn't know what it was for even if he stumbled upon it; Mycroft only sent it to the family."

"My mother must be so embarrassed."

Marian gave him a look. "Your mother's bet more than everyone else, and you know it. You're just trying to make me feel guilty."

"You're right. How much have you bet?"

"Ten quid for within the next two months."

"I only just realized how I felt about all this this morning."

"About John? You're kidding. You were snarling at me to back off last night. You're telling me that you hadn't figured it out til now?" She looked put out. "I'm going to lose my bet then, if this is how slow you're moving."

Prompts were from CharmingKarma and Javien Deluke, and they were (respectively): musical and eloquence