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"Sherlock, there's a whole bunch of packages for you at the door! They're bloody heavy!"
Sherlock ignored Bill's voice floating from the stairwell, not moving from the sofa. John gave him a look from his armchair and sighed as Sherlock stayed in his spot. He could hear Bill struggling and went out to help him instead. With John's help, Bill made it to the top of the landing. Trying to juggle the mail and groceries at the same time was a recipe for disaster. John helped by taking the groceries and went back inside the flat. Bill dropped the his bag off by the door, tucking the mail under his free arm.
He put the delivered packages on the floor before making his way to the sofa where Sherlock laid. He dropped the mail onto the coffee table and folded his arms.
"Did you even move from that spot today?"
"No."
Bill rolled his eyes and picked up the stack of letters that he carried up. Seeing that they were all for Sherlock, he dropped them on the detective's chest as he sat down on the arm of the sofa. They were going to have to teach John how to do the shopping soon. He was sick of having to rush to the market from a long day of working at the MSY.
"Why are you still getting so much mail? The case ended months ago. Even my inbox doesn't get flooded with how much mail you get. "
Sherlock didn't answer as he sat up, sorting through his letters. There were plain envelopes mixed with tied up rolls of parchment paper and orgami pieces that somehow were not crushed in travel. It would have been surprising months ago, but now it was a common occurrence. Fan mail turned up on Baker Street regularly in general; he got magical letters more often now for saving a part of the world he admittedly was still getting used to. He organized the letters as ones he needed John to translate, hate mail, information for Bill, research for experiments and potential interesting cases.
"Strangers want to thank me. At least I get data from this. Thank you, John."
Sherlock sat up as John deposited the rest of his mail on the coffee table. He pulled the biggest cardboard box into his lap, huffing as John ran his hand through his curls as he slithered past. John's behavior was confusing and he made a note on the action to analyze later. He opened the box and sifting through the peanuts to see what it was. When he finally saw it, he raised an eyebrow at what was inside. He had thought it would be another piece to experiment on like the arm of a leprechaun he was gifted last month. Instead, it was a case of new metal stands and Bunsen burners for his chemistry set. He took out one of the burners-rectangular and thin in shape-and flipped it in the light.
The metal gave off a faint blue sheen and showed the runes carved into the underside. They were completely different than the ones John showed him. For one, they were intricate and had an unknown language inscribed on it. Sherlock grabbed his magnifier off the coffee table and examined the flat metal piece. He couldn't make out any of the words, but he noticed they moved in a circular pattern throughout the rune itself. He couldn't tell what kind of metal it was made of either. The craftmanship was obviously not human.
He couldn't find a single flaw in the work. A light tap with his magnifer on the piece made the metal give out a soft hum. If Sherlock could describe it, it was like the metal sang out from the tap. John peered over his shoulder and let out a faint noise. He turned his head to see what was wrong and instead became curious of the look of amazement on his face. John reached a hand out to touch the metal except he pulled it away instead. A nudge from Bill's shoulder got his attention and he found him reading a parchment from his letter pile. He made his own noise of amazement and wandered off to the stack of boxes. Sherlock wondered what was so surprising.
"What is it? Is this some special ceremonial gift for my bravery or some other nonsense again?" he asked.
John shoved his shoulder as he slid into the empty seat next to him. "No, you idiot. No one sends that stuff after the post on your blog. That was made specifically for your use by fire dragons. Only fire dragons can get that blue sheen from their fire. They were even nice enough to make it rune powered. It will never break."
Sherlock stared at John as he explained the gift. At least he had something useful. A smaller box marked fragile was handed as Bill sat back down. He handed Sherlock the parchment and let the detective read it.
"So Sherlock has a magical chemistry set now? Is he closer to being a wizard?" Bill said with a laugh.
Sherlock rolled his eyes and blocked out the two as John groaned at Bill's joke. John was correct when he said fire dragons sent him the gift, explaining that they saw he had a chemistry set from a picture on his blog. These particular dragons were glad he was an advocate of the sciences. It also explained how he worked the burner since they were not sure humans could use magic anymore. Apparently, the second box he was to look in was a gift from a tribe of light elves. They were grateful for saving their once captured princess. He opened the box on his lap and pulled out glass beakers of various sizes. He raised one up in the air, wondering how they gave off a golden glow when the light bounced off it.
"That's elven glass. They were truly grateful." John did something with his hand and script started to appear on the outside of the glass. "This is high quality and they even spelled it to not break."
Sherlock would figure out how John did that in minute. He knew John created glass from whatever magic and sand he had on hand. Quality and craftsmanship never came up in the discussion until now. He stared down at the beaker in his hand with a frown. He couldn't read this one either. Either he needed to brush up on his dead languages or figure out what languages he needed to know with all the creatures running about.
"How can you tell, John? You didn't touch it or conduct a extensive test." he said.
"I'm not a Creator, but you pick up things and ask for help when building homes underground. Also, elves only make glass for ceremonial and special purposes."
"I can hear the emphasis on the word, John. Explain."
Bill raised his hand from his seat. At some point, he got a piece of paper and was jotting down notes. "Why don't elves make glass anymore?"
John sighed, seeing that he would have to educate his humans again. He got up and slithered over to the bookcase. He grabbed a glass bottle filled with sand and came back to sit next to Sherlock. It was one of the many possessions he brought to the flat when they moved. Uncorking the bottle, he dumped a handful in the free space on the coffee table. John inhaled deeply and let out a soft sigh. He repeated the motion until thick orange mist seeped from lips. It oozed over the sand, lifting grains off the table in a lazy fashion. John used his tentacles to move the grains into a circular shape.
Before their eyes, the sand started to crystallize and glass formed. As the pliable glass pooled into a bowl shape, John used his hand to smooth it out. The mist tapered off from his mouth and instead of a pile of sand left on the table, he was left with a clear delicate bowl.
"Being a Healer gives me a bit of creativity when it comes to glassworks, but I can't create sprawling statues or intricate works. If I try, it will most likely wear me out before I could finish. Creators have more magic in their blood to create things with glass that I can only imagine and are able to bring some to motion."
He then brought his thumb to his mouth, biting it until turquoise blood welled up. A drop hit the bowl and thin cracks radiated along it. The bowl crumbled into glass shards, starting to disinergate back to sand. Sherlock grabbed a piece of the disintegrating bowl, getting up to place it in a petri dish. Bill looked at John who shrugged in return. That was typical of Sherlock. As much as the man was a genius, he had a short attention span. Bill scooted into Sherlock's empty seat and nudged John with his shoulder. A tentacle slid loosely around Bill's waist as John made more space for him.
"As much as I love listening about your culture, about those elves?" he asked.
"Glasswork was a drain on their already slim resources."John answered, pushing the remaining mess into a loose pile.
Bill nodded and focused on his paper, writing a shorthand version for the mytholog. "Mm...what about those glass baubles you keep giving Nancy Drew over there? I'd love an explanation for that."
John let out a huff and leaned on Bill's shoulder, closing his eyes for a brief moment. "They're just gifts to say you appreciate a person. He did save my life, even he is a pain in the arse sometimes."
Bill wasn't stupid. Really, he might not be a genius like Sherlock or filled with centuries of history like John, but he knew pining when he saw it. He hummed and put his paper down, grabbing one of John's tentacles. He let it twine around his hand and squeeze his fingers. It brought a small smile to his face and he gave a returning squeeze. He was completely clueless about sandfolk's habits, but he would have to be stupid to not notice John's gifts were a sign of courting. Sherlock probably didn't figure out the intention behind the gifts, but noted the strange behavior.
"You should just tell him." Bill said, using John's native tongue to keep some semblance of privacy.
He must have been half decent because John let out a snort and lifted his head from his shoulder. John pressed his fingers lightly to the bottom of Bill's jaw.
"Your pronunciation is terrible, but humans will have a hard time with my language with your thick tongues. You've been practicing." John said in a pleased tone, his forked tongue flicking out between his teeth.
"Stop changing the subject."
John grumbled and pulled his coils onto the sofa. Bill was so nosy and he want going to let up until he told him. Was it really that obvious that he was smitten with Sherlock?
"I can't! I'm following my rituals and we mate for life, not to mention he's human. You humans barely have any will to do magic now. Also, you don't live long compared to my people." John stared at the floor and waved a hand in the air. "Our auras are already intertwining and the detective is clueless."
Bill barely understood what John said he was talking so fast. He gave the tentacle latched onto his hand another comforting squeeze. He spared a glance to the kitchen to see what Sherlock was up to. He was surprised to find himself on the end of a penetrating stare. Normally, this wouldn't bother him as Sherlock was prone to staring. This time, the stare had a feeling of jealousy to it. Did Sherlock return John's feelings?
He had to on some level. He wasn't that blind to emotions. To test his theory, Bill freed his hand to squeeze the back of John's neck. He moved his fingers in a gentle motion, careful of the nubs where John's carrier had been attached. He knew the place was sensitive and still healing. Bill worked the muscles there and let John grumble annoyed words at him as he helped him relax. He could feel the stare on his face, knowing that Sherlock was not happy.
Thank goodness the detective was human or he was sure his head would no doubt be off his shoulders. Turning to meet the now anger tinged glare, Bill gave a weak smile. Sherlock frowned and looked away first, turning a knob on his microscope. Bill hoped he didn't break it with how hard he was turning it. Really, Bill wondered how he got himself into things like this. Sherlock was going to be pissy with him for the rest of the day. The man was unbeaable when he got like that. He was getting out of this one way or another, even if John was going to hate for his way out. He dislodged himself from John and picked up his notes as he headed for the stairs.
"You don't have to explain everything, but at least say what the baubles are for."he said, switching back to English.
John's head whipped around and a hiss rang in the air as Bill retreated up to their room. The statement made the already thick tension in the room to feel damn near suffocating. John glared at the entryway before sneaking a glance at Sherlock. Of course, the detective was staring at where Bill once stood before looking up to where a large jar sat on top of the fridge. Glass balls in various shades of orange and red filled the jar a quarter of the way; each one was a gift John gave to Sherlock over the last month.
In John's culture, it was a sign of courting. It was to show off his abilities to the intended and to ward off potential suitors. If he was dealing with another sand person, he would explain the etched runes on each ball. Ones that were praises of different skills, of being able to provide, complimenting looks and the marks on their spines. The intended would break the balls and the mist inside would form to give his message. The main problem was Sherlock was human. A brilliant, curious and amazing human, but not one of his species.
He didnt know his people's runes-no matter how quickly he was picking things up-and he didnt have a grasp in magic at all. Inwardly, John was going over all the ways the discussion could go wrong. Sherlock would be offened, no annoyed that his gifts were due to something as silly as a crush. He found himself sqeezing his own tentacles to tamp down on his panic. He didn't even notice Sherlock coming back to the sofa with the jar tucked under his arm. John jumped once Sherlock sat next to him, crossing his legs and settling the jar onto his lap.
John wrapped his tentacles around his waist and found that no words would come out his mouth. He tried to look at Sherlock to see what the detective was thinking, but his face was blank. He clenched his hands together in his lap and turneed his gaze to the jar. Sherlock stayed silelnt as he took the lid off the jar and pulled one of the baubles John gifted him with. It fit neatly into his plam, the sunset color of the glass making the detective's skin look rosy into comparsion. The ball had one large rune on it and orange mist swirling within and making the surface foggy. Sherlock held it up to his face to examine it beore turning his full attention to John.
"I believe that you have not explained to me what the purpose these hold. They are a...lovely gift, but you are not telling what they mean, Am I correct?"
"Good deduction. I-I might have left out what the exact purpose they are used for. I'll tell you, but you have to answer my question. What do you think your aura looks like?"
His aura? What a strange question that was for John to ask. He was curious about the baubles John gifted him, but the sandman looked extremtly tense and worried. John's hands were balled into fists and his tail was still. He didn't look up from the floor as he talked to him. The talk they were about to have was more serious that Sherlock figured. He stuided the bauble in his hand, a look of contemplation on his face.
"I'll take a guess and say that it barely shows from my knowledge on the subject. A dim glow around my body that is of secondary importance."
John huffed out a laugh at Sherlock's dismissive answer. "Your aura is just as important as breath is for your lungs. For Strangers, especially those who are intertwined with magic, auras can do many things. They can show the people you care deeply for. Like, when Seraphim left that kiss mark on Bill. She left a temporary visible strand on him for her to track him later. Their auras were linked for that brief period."
He realized that he was starting to ramble and went silent. He had Sherlock's attention but that was not the point he was trying to get across. He took a deep breath and decided to take the risk.
"For my people, auras strands show up as tattoos on our spines. W-When we find a mate, our aura intertwine akin to chains that are not easily broken. The more complicated on the chain, the bigger the tattoo is." John let out a deep breath with flushed cheeks and finally looked at Sherlock. "Seraphim told me that we have chains between us already. I noticed myself since I have a faint outline of a tattoo already for you."
The look on Sherlock's face was a mix of bewildered and confused. He stared at John and let the words process in his head. John didn't need to say that was in love with him. He remembered the tattoo conversation from when they were getting to know each other. Also, it made him realize that this was the feeling that was perplexing him the last six months. It was easy to deduce that the baubles he was gifted was some kind of courting ritual for John's people. Sherlock couldn't deny that John fascianted him from the first time he ever saw that picture of him.
Getting to know him and living with him for the past year made him grow to appericate him. John was a calming presence in the flat that could easily rein in him in when Sherlock got bored. Having discussions and the exchange of knowledge easily became a highlight of his days. He ran his fingers over the bauble in his hand before putting it back and closing the jar. He placed it on the floor and reached to take one of John's hand into his own. John's face turned a delightful shade of red and he stuttered on his words. Sherlock found a soft smile working onto his face at the reaction.
"You don't have to say anymore, John. I understand what you are trying to say and I...recropiate your feelings. I do have to tell you that I am asexual. I do not know if your people have any equvi-" He found himself cut off as John leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
"I know what that means and its perfectly fine! I go through a mating cycle and it doesn't happen for a while. Is kissing and cuddling okay?" John asked.
Sherlock found a soft chuckle escaping him and nodded. The discussion of what they were both comfortable with could come later. He tugged John until he was sitting in his lap. He found that this must be his favorite activity as John practically melted into chest. John nuzzled his throat and tugged him down for a tender kiss. Sherlock could feel John's smile against his own and and wonder why they waited so long to confess if they could do this.
No gift that he could ever recevie would be as perfect as having John's love. Nothing could ever compare.