Disclaimer: I don't own anything. A. N. Happy Easter, everyone! (If you do celebrate...if not, hope you can enjoy chocolate anyway. ;D) I know, I know, I had plans for this chapter, and they were smutty. Then I opened the file, and some angst happened. What can I say? Apologies.
Maybe Sherlock had fallen asleep. It would have made more sense than John...offering that, and then strutting to his room. Sure, in his dreams John usually was much more proactive. He didn't give Sherlock options and retreat, he went full Captain...or Alpha, maybe he should say - he definitely qualified as both - and Sherlock complied with any demand, because it didn't even occur to him not to.
A sharp pinch destroyed that hypothesis. Nope, not in Morpheus' loving arms. And even if he'd planted in John's brain the idea of taking revenge for Baskerville the other day, his flatmate wouldn't do this. Not even if he realised the truly Olympic torch Sherlock had been carrying for him from the start. His flatmate was many things, but he wasn't cruel.
But if his brain wasn't impaired...John did. John had. John was waiting for him.
Did he want his fantasies to stay as such? The John in his mind was never disappointed in him. From the man's own admissions, Sherlock had double the competition he'd ever imagined. Sure, John didn't require much of his lovers, or he wouldn't have so many. But they didn't last.
Of course Sherlock wanted a taste of John. But he had a feeling that, when his flatmate inevitably moved to the next pretty (or handsome) creature that caught his eye, he would be more miserable than during rehab. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't exactly tell John to stop an established pattern. Especially if he didn't manage to blow his mind (besides, or maybe through, other things).
Still, knowing John was willing and literally nothing was stopping him from turning his dreams into reality but himself - at least for a little while...Impulse control had never been Sherlock's best feature. There had to be a solution to his quandary. But first, he needed more data.
"John?" he called softly.
"Yeah?" The man peeked from the top of the stairs.
"Would you consider yours a standing offer?"
"Oh." His flatmate sounded despondent already, and Sherlock's intrusive whines were back full force. "Yeah, I guess." John sniffed pointedly. "Definitely yes. Can I ask you a question, too?"
The detective nodded.
"Something happened?"John was already coming back downstairs. "Or – you got news, perhaps?"
"Nothing. What made you wonder?" Maybe he could correct John's failed deductions. That, at least, would be familiar territory.
"You surprised me. Did I expect a difference from when I left to when you called? Sure. I wasn't sure in what sense, but I thought I had the different options pegged. I didn't think upset was one of them." A beat, and he added. "I was hoping it wouldn't be my fault."
"Of course not!" Sherlock's failings weren't John's fault. How could the man think that? "And I'm not upset -"
A stern look made him shut his mouth.
"Don't lie to me. Not anymore. You can keep all the secrets you want – I'm not that much of a hypocrite – but outright lying? How would you feel if I tried it with you?"
"Why would you do something so ridiculous?" Sherlock huffed.
"Exactly my point." John grinned at him, and damn, how could he be so gorgeous without even trying? It was unfair. "Anyway, I didn't mean to unnerve you or...you pick the synonym you prefer, if you still stand by 'not upset'. You can argue semantics, but I know your moods. They're as obvious to me as my career was to you that first day."
Sherlock sniffed in turn. Only...you could never smell yourself. He couldn't learn right now what anxious felt like, which was a pity, because it would be so useful on cases. Instead, he got a faceful of his flatmate. It would have been nice to read John even deeper that way, but all Sherlock could say at the moment was that it was lovely. Which was very, very unscientific. Also, distracting.
"You keep making these claims. You're going to have to teach me, I hope you realise," he huffed.
"Oh, I look forward to it." Another smile, but no, there was no smug lording of one's superior knowledge like anyone else (starting from Mycroft, the bastard) would have acted. John was unique, truly.
"Well, what are we waiting for, then? If your – our - peculiar perceptions are tied to the moon, too, every day that goes on is going to dim them a little." He had a whole new field of study. New experiments to make. A focus on something that could actually be helpful on cases. Since the offer was, indeed, standing, wondering about sex with John (and maybe more) could be left to simmer in the back of his mind. Give it enough time, and he'd figure out the best course of action. Possibly not the wisest, but wisdom was overrated.
"Well, if you want to go out immediately, we can."
"Can't we start here?" Sherlock didn't whine. He absolutely didn't. But he had hoped to start right from what he was...smelling, yes, but near-tasting right now. Both senses were tied, that was common knowledge.
"I thought you wanted more than one - or two, if we disturb Mrs. Hudson - data point. This isn't something you can bring back home from Molly's and play with to your heart's content in the kitchen. If you want to learn how people's state of mind (actually, mostly hormones) influence their smell, they have to be alive. And since you are in a rush to learn...Waiting to drive me and Mrs. Hudson round the bend and make us experience every single emotion in the world and back again is going to take time, even for you."
"Should I take that as a challenge?" Sherlock quipped.
"Don't you dare." John went stern, for just a second, and realising he knew exactly what that did to him... he might have to revise his opinion of his flatmate, and exactly how manipulative he could be. (Not that the detective would complain; he did the same all the time, if in different ways.) "You would regret having to visit us in an asylum."
That, he couldn't argue with.
