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The sofa felt empty to John. The reason escaped him, he had no clue why he felt so alone, he was after all cuddled up with Claire, watching one of her favourite films- something to do with zombies. With the screen flickering from explosions, she held John even tighter, as if she hadn't seen the film before.
Although he knew that he should be, and wanted to be, content with this, John undeniably knew that something was missing, he didn't know what but he had a good guess, however delusional it may be. He thought to himself, trying to zone out the film as much as possible, was he happy?
Yes.
No.
How am I supposed to know?
John hadn't felt Claire's continuous pecks at his cheek, he squeezed her at her waist before wondering- had she noticed a troubled expression on his face; he was renowned for being able to be read like a book, and not just by... him. Sherlock. He forced back tears, why? He had no idea.
"John," Claire whispered, "are you alright? You seem a bit off with the fairies." Concern was written across her small face. Her red hair fell across her features, her hair pins weren't a match for the wildness of her hair.
"No, no. I'm fine, just thinking," he managed a small smile before being whisked away by what she called fairies, he called troubles. He wasn't sure what Claire said next but the film finished a while later. She planted a soft kiss on his lips before turning off the TV and murmuring words of encouragement to John, as if he were having a breakdown, which, mentally, he was. Sort of. Whatever she was saying, John wasn't listening. He was indulged too deep in thought to be fished out of this pool for a long time.
What was wrong with him? He had everything a man could want but he was still sulking to himself. He was usually ok, why wasn't he over it. Him. No, he was over it- it had been four bloody months! He had, however gone a great deal longer earlier on, when he thought he was dead. The possibility of finding the missing piece of the jigsaw was increasing but decreasing at the same time, he knew what it looked like but couldn't find it, he had other jobs to do than complete a stupid mental jigsaw of his life.
He couldn't believe himself. So long, and nothing. He was happy, having just settled down and could maybe, just maybe, start again and have a family- a life. But of course, nothing was simple. Thinking about the thoughts brought them back to his head, unsupervised and roaming freely, attacking every sane part of his mind with the same basic message;
'You'd be happier with him'
He was tired, it meant nothing. He got up and got an ice cold glass of water before following Claire to the bedroom. Sleep, at last! But the thoughts kept coming back until he couldn't control it just in his head, "Shush, John," he said to himself, but it was true. Everything. However much he said no, fought it away, it would stay there. Fixed to his mind like a tree to the ground. The truth; Gently hugging him at first, before tugging at him. Then poking him like a child. Before long, it was tackling John like a rugby star.
Another thought rushed into his head, what about Claire. They had been together 11 months, lived together for 4. He had to tell her, but how? What would she do, how would she react? Did she already know? No, that was impossible. At least their relationship wasn't really serious yet, 11 months was a long time, or was it? Most of John's belongings were still at Sherlock's house, he hadn't gone back since he moved away. He had to confess sooner or later, whether his feelings were genuine or not.
As if on queue, Claire turned and wrapped her arm around John's.
"What's wrong, I know I asked you earlier, but tell me. Please, " she began, before realisation crossed her face, "oh." She silenced herself, if John wanted to tell her, he'd tell her. If he wanted to try and move on, he wouldn't. Simple. However, she wished that he would do the former. His happiness was most important, whether he was with her or not.
"I'm afraid you might hate me for it," it came out as a whisper.
"No, I won't," Claire breathed gently and squeezed John's hand as encouragement.
"Ok, I'll just have to face the consequences," John said, mostly to himself.
There weren't any consequences to Claire, she understood, whatever it turned out to be as she wasn't completely sure.
"I love you, Claire, you should know that," John began before sighing sadly. Claire was sure now.
"But?" She edged him on, trying to get him to say it. She knew what was happening, and was urging for John to admit it. She also knew that he wouldn't unless he thought it completely necessary, for her, it was. She wanted for him to say it now, to clear his system and take the weight that had been crushing him for the past few weeks to be lifted from his chest.
"But, I love you like a sister. I- I," he didn't carry on. His face was red from embarrassment and anger that he couldn't just say it. He had to.
"It's ok, I understand, John, don't worry yourself about it." He drank a swig of his water before continuing. He wished it was alcohol.
"No. You don't. Let me finish," his voice wavered, he knew what he was going to say, even it was a bit harsh, but he couldn't think of a way to put it other than bluntly. Claire knew what he was going to say too, she held his hand tighter, perhaps a bit too tight. She grinned to herself.
Just hurry up and say it already!
"I love you, very much, but," he paused to look at Claire, she was smiling but he ignored her, "you're not..."
"Sherlock," they said in unison. John gasped. Had he been that obvious? How had she known? Claire simply laughed and embraced John.
"Relax, I'm just a genius! Now leave me alone and go find the love of your life," she mused.
"But-" John began. He was going to mention the time, out of all things.
"Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, just find him!" Claire laughed at John's puzzled expression, "I'm fine with it, I love you too, brother," she patted his back, "oh, but get dressed first".
John left the room in a daze. She had known. She was ok. At last! Now he wished he'd brought it up sooner, but that thought was quickly replaced with what he would do. He'd find Sherlock and explain. As he stepped outside, he sent Sherlock a message asking if he was awake but sent it before he finished typing the full message accidentally, he sent another stating that he was coming over. It would take him roughly an hour to get to 221B Baker Street, he called a taxi- surprised that one actually came, seen as it was 1:30 in the morning. Nevertheless, he gave the driver the address and was on his way.
He didn't care what Sherlock was feeling at the moment, he hoped he felt the same, but whatever happened, to John they'd live happily ever after.
- - - - -
Sherlock was thinking. How could he overcome this hurdle, John wasn't interested in him- that he could tell- why else would he move away? He hadn't come to visit in 4 months, they hadn't even exchanged emails or texts. To add the final layer to his conclusion, John was with Claire.
Perfect. Little. Claire.
He growled under his breath. His fists clenched and he felt hot but, however intriguing this was, he wasn't in the mood for an experiment on emotions.
He stood and decided he needed a nicotine patch. Or two. Maybe four. This kind of problem wasn't solved easily, he nodded to himself as he made his way to his dresser, he hid the patches away from John and everyone else so they couldn't take them away. It was empty.
Before long, he was in his coat and scarf, he turned up his collar- to add mystery, as John had always put it- picked up enough money to buy a shop's contents and went outside to call for a taxi. By the time that one was near enough to see him, he decided against it and began his walk to his preferred store.
After 20 minutes, he had reached the shop, the reason he lied it was it open all day, all night, every day of the week. By the time he was done in the shop it was 2:07. He decided against going home just yet and made his way to the nearest park and made himself comfortable on a bench. Rain began to pour but it didn't matter- Sherlock thought about his current situation. Soon he got bored of not being able to answer his own questions and began to read the occasional night wanderers that passed him by.
Woman in shop:
Steals drugs from pharmacy. Twice divorced and engaged. Family either dead or abandoned her, probably the latter. Lives alone and spends time drinking.
Man in pond:
Trying to find fish (he won't succeed as there are no fish in the pond, obviously). Homeless. Tries to sell the fish that he doesn't catch. Has a wife, no other family.
Sherlock was enlightened that he could get such facts from people, but soon got bored once again and checked his phone. 4:17. He had spent 2 hours sat there, not that that was very long for him. Just as he was about to put his phone away, he noticed that he had 2 messages and a missed call all from... John? He opened the messages, they read;
'are you awake? of course yo'
It ended there, he'd obviously sent it before he meant to. Uncharacteristically, Sherlock laughed at the mistake. The second said;
'oops, I have something to tell you. it has to be now & face to face so I'm coming over to talk to you. see you soon.' Sherlock couldn't move. John? Coming over? It would take him an hour to get to his house. Sherlock checked the time they were send. 1:32. Crap. That was 3 hours ago, John could have been, waited and gone in that time.
Sherlock began walking home, he had lost some of his excitement due to the fact that John was probably not there anymore so was walking slowly. After 5 minutes, he remembered about the missed call and opened it, hesitating before clicking play. It was sent at 2:41. John's voice sent happy shivers down Sherlock's spine.
'Hi, Sherlock' he paused and took a breath, 'I'm at your place now; well, outside. Are you in? You didn't reply to my texts... If you're not then that's absolutely fine, just call me back or something. You won't, knowing you. But oh well. I'll come back later if you want, but I wait here for a bit to wait for a reply. I'd like to apologise, wait, no, I'll wait until you get back to talk about it. I'm just rambling now, do voice mails have time-' it ended there.
Sherlock couldn't help but laugh. He replayed the message at least 3 times before realising that his walking pace had increased, maybe John was still there! He began to sprint, making sure not to drop the bag full of patches. If he carried on sprinting, it should only take him a few more minutes to get there.
At the end of Baker Street, Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. What if John had come to tell him that he proposed to Claire. Or she was pregnant. Maybe they were moving further away. What if? What if... he quickly regained himself, he knew he was acting out of character but that didn't really matter. None of those things mattered, at least he would see John.
He straightened up his coat and scarf to make sure he looked presentable and not like he's just run through London to see John. He had completely forgotten that John probably wasn't there.
He walked casually to his front door. John. He was there. Asleep at his doorstep, waking at Sherlock's presence.
"Hello," he whispered.
- - - - -
John didn't know what was happening. His back hurt, he was cold, and he was staring right at Sherlock. Wait, what?
Sherlock stood in front of John, waiting for him to wake up properly. When he saw him, a grin lit up his tired features, before it disappeared and confusion took it's place. Sherlock shuffled past John and unlocked the door before going in. He turned around when he noticed John wasn't following,
"You should really come inside, it's cold," Sherlock's voice echoed around John's head before he realised what the words were. Slowly, he got up and followed Sherlock in.
"It is you, Sherlock?" he hadn't expected for him to actually appear.
"Yes," was all Sherlock said before making his way up the stairs to his living room and sitting down. He stared at John as he entered and did the same, his eyes were so perfect; green and beautiful. He was acting uncomfortable though, sharing his stare with Sherlock, but much more intense.
John was wondering if Sherlock could see straight through him, if he already knew what he was here to say. He began anyway,
"Sherlock, you might already know what I'm here to say," he paused and sighed, rubbing the back of his head, contemplating whether he should confess to his feelings or not. He knew that they were staring at each other, Sherlock seemed transfixed on his face, but it was probably just John's mind messing with him. Sherlock's face was so perfect, with his cheekbones, his brilliant hair, his gorgeous eyes. His eyes... John mentally slapped himself to get back on track, "but, I'll say it anyway, Sherlock, you know about me and Claire,"
Sherlock sighed deeply and looked down at the floor; John was still talking but, as he had always used to, he zoned him out. He really didn't want to hear about Claire right now. When John had finished, Sherlock looked up to see John's face flushed red, what had he said? Sherlock wished he had been listening but didn't want to ask John to repeat himself as it had obviously been hard to say it. A pang of guilt shot through Sherlock. Trying to avoid having to face humiliation, Sherlock stood up and made his way to his room, grabbing the shopping on his way.
'Oh no, he hates me. Why did I ever say it?' John knew he was glowing red but he didn't care, he's just lost his friend and his secret love at the same time, nothing could be worse. "I'll be off then," he said as he stood up and began towards the door.
Both of them had their heads down, neither of them noticed the other before they collided.
"Ouch, you-" was all Sherlock said before realising that John was in his arms. He let go quickly but they both stood, staring at each other, dumbfounded but secretly glad about their encounter.
Earlier, Sherlock had noticed that John was acting strangely. He was pretty sure that friends didn't stare at each other for minutes, not saying anything. A blush was creeping up John's neck, making it's way onto his cheeks again.
'Wait a minute,' Sherlock thought as he stepped closer to John, 'Blushing, Eyes... dilated, heart...' he grabbed John's hand which earned a small flinch from John, he put two fingers on his wrist and his eyes widened 'elevated!'. Of course! He drew back his hand and studied John's face again.
John wasn't sure why Sherlock had suddenly grabbed his hand, but with the way he reacted and drew his hand back, John was pretty sure he's just figured out how John felt. Although he was slightly annoyed that Sherlock hadn't been listening when he's confessed it earlier, he was glad and scared that he knew now. He wished that he could know what Sherlock was thinking, but he thought that he should go before Sherlock got spooked by it all.
"Sh-Sherlock, I should- I should probably-" John was cut off by Sherlock's lips against his. His eyes widened and his face grew hot. He never thought this would happen. Ever. He stood there, shocked for a moment before quickly kissing back.
Sherlock never thought he would kiss someone. Much less another man. He didn't know what had come over him, but he figured that John liked him and was about to leave so he made his move. Although it was a strange sensation, he rather liked it. John was the one to deepen the kiss.
He tangled his fingers in Sherlock's black curls, he tried to pull Sherlock as close as humanly possible. Before long, he felt Sherlock's arm around his neck, pulling him closer. John was astounded that Sherlock was actually doing this.
'He is human after all' John thought.
Sherlock tried to form an intellectual thought, but he couldn't. All of his thought's merged together, even his Mind Palace, which was always open and ready, couldn't be reached. Only one thought, one word made sense.
'John.'
It was all he could think about, the word repeated itself, over and over. John. John. John. That was all he wanted to think about. He felt John's free hand wind it's way around his neck, pulling him down closer to him. Sherlock moved his hand from John's neck to his waist and embraced him. He ran his other hand through his sandy blonde hair.
'Definitely human' John thought. Unfortunately for them, humans need to breathe every now and again.
Sherlock pulled away first and gazed into John's eyes; those perfectly green eyes. His sandy hair, the little wrinkles by his eyes. He looked at his lips and noticed that the corners were turned up ever so slightly. Sherlock couldn't help but smile with him. He didn't try to hide it the way John did though, he smiled wider than he ever remembered doing.
John started to laugh at Sherlock. It wasn't mocking. It was... pleasure. He never thought that the great Sherlock Holmes would have such a genuine smile. Or show any emotion. He was glad that he was the cause of it though. He ran his hand through the taller man's curls.
When John stopped laughing, Sherlock took his hand from around John's waist but continued to play with John's hair; John didn't seem to mind at all. He took a deep breath, which Sherlock assumed was a suppressed yawn.
"You need to sleep," Sherlock whispered, before taking his hand and guiding him to the bedroom.
John yawned again. He tried to hide it so Sherlock wouldn't make him go to bed but, as usual, he did. "You need to sleep," Sherlock whispered, an edge of concern in his voice. John looked down, disappointed that they would be apart for a few hours, and turned towards where he suspected his old room to be.
Before he had a chance to go further than two small steps, Sherlock quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him backwards before grinning cheekily,
"Won't you be cold by yourself?" John could help but crack a smile; was Sherlock saying this? He was pretty certain that he was. Sherlock, once again, wrapped his arm around John's waist and pulled in, planting a soft kiss on John's forehead, allowing John a few seconds to play with his hair again. "Come on then,"
They didn't let go of each other as they made their way to the bedroom, John's head was on Sherlock's chest, he could hear the detective's heartbeat. It was comforting but made John all the more tired, which he didn't want to be at the moment.
Sherlock pushed open the door before John separated himself from their warm embrace. After a few seconds, John flung himself onto the bed and scrambled under the covers, fully clothed. Sherlock knew John was tired but he had still hoped he could last a few minutes so that they could enjoy each other's company. He decided it would only be fair that he changed John into his night clothes, whether he was actually asleep or just lying still, enjoying the rest (it was obviously the latter as his breathing wasn't at the same speed as a sleeping man's would be).
He quickly retrieved John's clothes from his old room (he had kept a few when John left) and was relieved to see that John had turned and was smiling at him widely. Sherlock lay down next-to John and pecked his lips lightly. "Care to get changed," said he, "Or will I have to do it for you?" John got up reluctantly, only realising that if he had stayed still, Sherlock would have done it. Would he? It was probably a joke anyway, but John would still have enjoyed the experience. He laughed at himself.
He grabbed the pile of clothes from where Sherlock left them and undressed quickly before pulling on his bottoms and shirt. He was surprised to find that Sherlock had already changed and was lying on the bed.
Shirtless.
John laughed, soon joined by Sherlock who beckoned him over beside him. John climbed under the sheets with Sherlock and put his head onto his chest. It was more muscular than he expected it to be, it certainly didn't look the way it felt. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's body and pulled him in closer.
"I love you, John," Sherlock whispered into Jon's ear, squeezing him slightly. They fell asleep together, still cuddling, smiles plastered across both their faces.
John and Sherlock were happy, together at last. It had worked out!
Strangely, although John had just drifted asleep, he felt like he was waking up. He was waking up.
John reluctantly opened his eyes. No. No!
His glass of water was on his bedside, he was above the covers and in a strange bed. It wasn't strange, it was the one he had been sleeping in for the past four months. He couldn't believe it. A lone tear eased it's way down his face, followed by many more.
He couldn't believe it. It had all happened in the blink of and eye.
It hadn't happened at all.