Chapter Text
"You’ve been smoking that stuff again." John sniffed, his tone accusatory but he didn’t really feel it.
He’d had an awful day at the surgery, annoying children, mostly with nothing but a sniffle, awkward tennagers with embarssingly (for them) puberty related complaints and mind numbingly stupid adults who couldn’t understand simple prescription instructions. God! He was starting to sound like Sherlock, at least in his head.
"Actually not guilty this time." Sherlock smiled pleasantly, "Mrs Hudson’s hip has been playing up apparently. Though I do have some left if you might be partial to some more?" He smiled again, even as he turned away, looking for the box that contained a rolling kit. Sherlock had rather enjoyed that little smoking session a week or so ago (eight days, two hours and sixteen minutes, not that he was counting). He still wasn’t sure if he should have done it but couldn’t deny he was glad he had.
John found himself considering it. It had made him feel better after all and the fact that Sherlock’s strangely intimate method of getting smoke into John’s lungs had led to that kiss… He mentally shook himself but then Sherlock had been so laid back, maybe another one wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Perhaps then they could finally talk about that kiss.
Neither had mentioned it since. A week or so and not a word, John was beginning to wonder if he had imagined it or if he’d been tripping. No, grass didn’t work like that. He shrugged off his coat.
"Yeah ok, why not? It’s not as if we make a habit of it." But I’d like to, he added silently.
They were soon settled in their respective chairs, pushed close enough together to pass the joint back and forth, with that big glass ashtray from Buckingham palace between them. John eyed it and giggled. An expanding cloud of blue grey smoke, swirled around him.
"I bet the queen never used it for this." John waved the smoking joint towards the ashtray and giggled again when a deep chuckle escaped Sherlock’s smiling mouth.
“No not her Majesty but I wouldn’t put it past Phillip.”
For once he looked less guarded, the taut line of his spine looser, relaxed. Now or never John.
John took in another lungful of smoke then leaned forward, clutching Sherlock’s knee as he swayed slightly and waved the joint in Sherlock’s face.
"Sherlock?" John sat back, when Sherlock finally relieved him of the pungent cylinder.
"Humm"
"The last time we did this….." John didn’t know how to continue, maybe he needed to be more stoned for this.
"Ah yes. I haven’t said anything because I thought you probably re…"
"If you’re going to tell me I might regret this, forget it. The only things I have ever regretted are the the things I didn’t do." John interrupted, he felt more than a little wobbly.
Sherlock seemed cool, calm, collected and incredibly attractive. The bastard.
"I see." Sherlock drew deeply on the joint, letting the smoke drift over his lips before sucking it down into lungs.
John steeled himself and gratefully accepted the joint, his fingers brushing unnecessarily over Sherlock’s as he took it.
"I’d like to ask you some questions. Personal questions. You must know that you are the most important person in my life and yet I know very little about you personally." The words just seemed to fall out of John’s mouth, all in rush, before he could stop them.
"I will answer anything you ask." Sherlock waved a hand, expansively.
His reply threw John for a moment, he was expecting to be brushed off. Maybe even ignored but not this open invitation. He took a deep breath and ploughed on.
"Ok if you really are open to this there are a few I have wondered about. Have you ever been romantic with anyone?" John didn’t bother to analyse why he’d asked that first.
”Yes.”
”When was the last time you were romantic with someone?” John ploughed on, afraid to stop now that he had started.
"Eight days, two hours and twenty four minutes."
John tried not to looked shocked and failed. He sat wide eyed for a moment. Was it possible that they both felt something extraordinary or was Sherlock just winding him up. John certainly wouldn’t put it past him but it didn’t feel like that. He had to keep asking questions, he would know sooner or later if this was as real as it seemed. He chose his words carefully now.
"What the er The Woman called you, the er virgin. Is that true?" John squirmed, it was the kind of question he would punch someone for asking.
"Strictly speaking, no."
“Strictly speaking?” John giggled, the schoolboy in him presenting his mind with inappropriate images. “What does that mean?” He asked and immediately regretted it. Sherlock stiffened, looked away.
“Scratch that, that’s not one of my questions.” John passed the joint again. “When was the last time you.. you know, was sexual with anyone?” God what was he 12?
“Ten years ago.”
John coughed. Smoke flew out of his throat, sending him into a fit of coughing and spluttering. When he could breathe again his mouth overtook his brain.
“Fuck! No wonder you’re so wound up.”
Sherlock turned factionaly to fix John with a cool look. John made a mental note to filter. A small nod from Sherlock encouraged John to continue.
“Any other times?”
“Twenty years ago. Give or take.”
Seriously? Luckily for him, John did not say this out loud. What he did ask out loud was what he really wanted to know.
“Were your partners the same sex? ...As each other, I mean?”
Sherlock exhaled and for moment his features were obscured by the billowing smoke, expelled from his lungs.
“No.”