A Bit Not Good | By : VulpineBeesKnees Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 2924 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3 |
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In the past three days everything that could possibly have changed had and now, for the first time, John had begun to honestly consider that his feelings for Sherlock were something real.
It wasn’t something he had let himself think about before. He had questioned his own motives, given into his desires to an extent, but he had not let himself consider the fact that he might want the very thing that terrified him. That he might want whatever transformation their relationship was going through to continue. The more he thought about it though, the less frightening it became. He had always clearly identified as straight, but the only reason he had become so boisterous about it was because everyone had begun insisting he was with Sherlock. At the time it made sense to protect their public image, at least that’s what John told himself. So what had changed since then? Why was he honestly considering what they could become? He thought back to the night before he’d left for college, him and Harry had been up most of the night marathoning their favorite episodes of Doctor Who. They knew it was the last time they would be together like this. “I’m telling mum and dad tomorrow, after you leave.” She was sprawled out across the sofa, John sat on the floor, his head leaning back against the cushion of the seat. He paused the TV and turned a little so he could look at his sister. “Why don’t you tell them while I’m here. They might take it a little better.” John knew they wouldn’t, but at least then she’d have someone by her side. “Oh Johnny,” She ruffled his hair sweetly, “They are going to hate it, not gonna matter who’s there or how it’s said.”“What are you gonna tell them anyways?” She had tried explaining it to him once, didn’t quite make sense to him still.“Well, I seem to be more attracted to women, and I think one way or the other would be easiest for them to understand. So I’ll tell them I’m gay and that’ll be that.” Her voice was strong, like it would be the easiest thing in the world, but she bit at her lip nervously, the same way John did at times. “If I end up with a bloke, well then they can just think they were right all along, I really don’t care what they think.”“Do you think that’ll happen? That you’ll find a guy you want to be with?” This is what confused John the most, she seemed so ambivalent on the subject.She sat up, pulling her legs into a criss crossed position she leaned forward, her elbows digging into her knees. “John love is very complicated, and sometimes, if you get it right, it doesn’t matter who you’re normally attracted to or what they have going on downstairs. Sometimes you just fall in love and there is nothing that can explain it.” She had been so very serious when she said that, then it was gone. She hopped from the couch in one swift movement promising to fetch the wine from her secret hideaway.He had never really given Harry’s words much thought, but as he hung his clothes in Sherlock’s closet resolutely he considered how much they spoke to him now. He’d have to thank Harry one day. But of course as far as John saw it, this acceptance was a useless exercise. The physical relationship that they had entered was one of convenience, to help them both make it through each day and night. No matter how much John wanted it to be more he couldn’t see it happening. ---------------------------------Sherlock slipped through Mrs. Hudson's back door with a quick kiss to her cheek and a muttered no thank you to tea and biscuits. Outside it was raining, a freezing December rain that cut through even the leather of his new jacket, so he stole down the alley swiftly, avoiding the few reporters camped out at their front door, and took the nearest tube downtown where he could easily get into the sewers through a loose manhole cover. The cotton hood made him feel like a teenage hoodlum looking for trouble, so once he was under the cover of the underground sewers, he removed it. The maze like sewer system was eerily quiet, not even the rats were making any noise. Perfect, the silence would make his thoughts easier to sift through. Sherlock walked for a while until he felt no one would stumble upon him, and he finally allowed his legs to give out as they'd wanted to in the flat, but he'd refused. Now he collapsed against a wall, sliding down, pulling his legs to his chest, balancing his elbows on his knees. Frustrated, he let his hands run through his lack of hair, and tugged at it, as if the motions would make his brain easier to clear. How could he be harboring sentiment towards John? John "Three Continents" Watson who dated the most annoying women and had a bad habit of licking his lips when it wasn’t the least bit appropriate? Caring about him as a friend had been different than this. He'd wanted John's company before, but the craving for physical touch hadn't been there, and now he'd started finding ways to keep the doctor close. It had become a sort of game with himself, seeing how far he could go, how much he could touch without driving the blonde to pull away. In hindsight he worried that he might have been exchanging his addiction to drugs with an addiction to John. How could he have let this happen? Letting out a long breath to steady himself, Sherlock began examining everything in his mind, starting to speak out loud, fingers gripping his hair tightly. He needed to figure things out and the best way was to lay out all the facts."Before Moriarty forced me to jump from Bart's, John made some hurtful comments. My phone call was probably a bit dramatic, but I had to make him believe. It was to protect him. It wasn't his fault he got mixed up in all of this. He should have just given up on me, accepted that I was dead. If he had, things would have been easier. While I was gone, I thought about him many times. Was it because I had gotten used to his presence?”He quickly pushed that thought away. He’d gotten used to plenty of people, Lestrade for one, and he didn’t feel this way towards him. Perhaps it was because they lived together. Or was it because he was Sherlock’s one and only friend. “Of course I thought of him. He's the only person that's ever looked past my sociopathic quirks. The only one who has stayed despite everything that happened, or any offense I might have caused him. Is that why? He can see me so completely, so honestly. And he still stays by me, even at my worst moments." He stopped talking and just let his mind fill with images of John.So he cared for John, but how did he care for him? He had called himself jealous when the doctor had run to Mary's aid. The jealousy and need for physical contact suggested something more than just a friendship as he understood it. Is that what he wanted with John? Did he want more than a friendship, something physical and more intimate than what they already shared? Letting the seldom used creative imagination of his brain, he allowed small snippets of possibilities between the two of them to play out in his mind to see how his body would react. Thinking back to his time in university, he brought the memories of all the sexual relationships he’d had, and imagined John in place of his other partners. John’s strong calloused hands gripping his hair and pulling him in for a kiss. John’s warm body against his cool one. The tanned skin in comparison to his own ivory pallor. John, on his knees before him, taking the detective’s length in his mouth as he fisted himself to completion. Their bodies pressed together in the cold nights, sweating as they rocked together in a motion of pure passion. After only a few moments, his face was flushed and his breath was short as dancing waves of pleasurable shivers plagued his body. Opening his eyes, he touched a slender hand to his lips as if he could still feel the pressure of the doctors lips from his imagination there. That was new. He’d never reacted so strongly to the thought of sex before. Although he’d told John that relationships ‘weren’t his area’ or that he was ‘married to his work’ it wasn’t for a lack of experience, but rather that he always ended up being the antagonist when he would grow bored of someone. Therein lie the answer to his questions. He could never get bored of John. The thought of John's warmth surrounding him, doing some of the things he'd done to others, having John do those things to him. It set his body on fire and made him feel higher than any drug ever had. He was still feeling the shockwaves of his earlier imaginings and had to bite down a wave of arousal. Suddenly the pit of his stomach gave out, quelling his excitement as a thought crossed his mind.John didn't feel the same...or did he? Thinking back, Sherlock saw the emotion he could plainly read in John's eyes when they met his, the one he'd never been able to decipher, until now. And the look on John's face before he had left, it had been just as hurt and confused as he had felt himself. Standing, he looked at the time and saw that he had been gone for almost an hour already. Hopping to his feet his pulled his hood back up and sprinted off in the direction of the tube. He needed to make it up to John. He needed to show him, even if he wasn't ready to accept it yet, that Sherlock cared for him. He would take it slow, ease John into it. They were already further along than he could hope now that they were so comfortable touching and sleeping all curled up with each other. Yes, he would have John Watson acknowledging his own feelings before either of them knew it.At half six, after a quick run to Tesco, and a glance to make sure no reporters were hiding in their bushes Sherlock stood on the front step, digging around in his pockets for his keys. Cursing under his breath, he realized he'd left them on his bedside table. Reaching for the knob, he turned it. Locked. Mrs. Hudson must have gone out, and as a force of habit she had locked the door behind her. Sighing and thinking that this had put a damper on his surprise, Sherlock raised his fist and knocked a little impatiently on the door, folding his arms and the sack of supplies he'd bought on his way home behind his back.John had toyed with the idea of texting Sherlock to check on him but decided against it. Sherlock had left obviously chuffed, he didn’t want to talk to John. Settling on the novel he had still yet to finish John fell into his armchair and attempted to focus on someone else’s problem for a little while. It wasn’t long before he heard the rap on the door. Leaving his book face down on the armrest John made his way down stairs, and was rather surprised to see Sherlock waiting on the stoop.“Uhm, forget your key?” John hadn’t been expecting Sherlock to return as soon as he’d promised, but he offered a small, sort of sad smile and stood aside for the detective to come in. Sherlock felt a stab in his chest at the sad smile on his face. He just looked down at the smaller man, his eyes flying over his face deducting.He's been thinking. Sad smile, he's made a decision. He accepts it but he doesn't think I'll accept it. And that makes him sad... Oh John, things will be better soon, I promise....Sherlock couldn't stand that sad look on his face though. Determined to change it, he took a step inside, but instead of going further into the flat, he slid his arms beneath both of John's and wrapped him tightly in a hug, his forehead falling forward slightly so that his cheek pressed against the doctor's temple, and his jacket opening up and sapping the warmth from the smaller man. John froze for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, his arms hung awkwardly in the air before he conceded and let them fall around Sherlock’s shoulders. “Uhm, hello.” He muttered into the collar of Sherlock’s jacket. Sherlock’s entire body felt icy against his own, cold from being outside in the frigid December air. The change in temperature sent a small shiver down his spine. "I'm sorry about earlier." His voice was soft as he pulled the doctor's body flush to his own, relishing in the full contact after such a long day, "I just needed some time to get my thoughts in order."Long fingers tightened in the doctor’s shirt, he smiled knowingly against his hair. His next statement would both confound the other man and please him. "No rats to be found, but I have a surprise for you." He pulled away slightly to look down into John's azure gaze.The complete turnaround in Sherlock’s attitude was startling to say the least. John smiled freely, unable to suppress his emotions after the start of having the lanky detective throw himself around him. No rats, that was a bit good, but a surprise was very new. “It’s fine Sherlock, I’m fine.” He wasn’t really, but the sudden appreciation spilling from Sherlock was helping a bit. “A surprise? What kind of surprise?” There was a hint of apprehension in his voice as his arms slipped from Sherlock’s shoulders.Sherlock could feel the tension racing through John’s body from the places they touched. He let his arms slip from John’s waist. He can’t decide what to think. Keeping up this constant barrage of affection could possibly achieve his relaxation... more data needed to be positive.The detective brushed his hair out of his face with his free hand and held the bag aloft for John to take. “Since we’re having a night in, and I noticed that you haven’t been keeping your favorite brand of tea in the cupboards, I bought some. And some of those biscuits that you like. I figured we could watch some of that terrible telly you enjoy so much and you could make some tea.” His smile was warm as he spoke. “Frankly, the stuff you’ve been making recently is complete shite.” He raised his eyebrows and turned, moving up the stairs, leaving John to follow in his wake.John stared after the detective for a moment, his mouth agape. Once he had collected himself he closed the front door and hurried up the stairs after Sherlock. As he reached the last few steps he slowed, a little confused at what to expect from Sherlock tonight. Once inside the flat he headed for the kitchen, hitting the switch to start the electric teapot before turning to face Sherlock, leaning back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “Wait a second,” a wry smile pulled at his mouth as he teased Sherlock about his earlier comment, “You don’t like my tea?” Moving to set the bag on the counter just behind the shorter man, he stayed fairly close, not letting John have a real break from their nearness. He wasn’t trying to overbear him with the invasion of space, merely keep him on the edge and make him aware of the fact that something had obviously changed, and that it wasn’t just going to go away. He had to prove to John that he couldn’t just ignore this. “It’s not your tea I don’t like. It’s the brand.” He pulled the box out of the bag and handed it to the man, “Yours is the best tea I’ve had.” His face flushed a bit and he looked away. There was something wrong with his brain to mouth connection, because it felt as though it was literally short circuiting around his blogger. He, of course, totally blamed John.Damn right, John found himself thinking as he took the box from Sherlock with a smug smirk. His gaze flicked up and down Sherlock as the man looked away, trying to understand what the detective was playing at. Turning away John began gathering the rest of the supplies for their tea as the water began to boil. “What’s on the Telly tonight? Do you know?”“No idea, you can choose.” John answered as he set out the milk and sugar. Sherlock may have been willing to watch crap telly, but between the two of them he was without a doubt the picky one. Not to mention John was enjoying Sherlock’s happy and relaxed demeanor, he wasn’t going to do anything to ruin it. Not tonight. They had spent too much of the past three days fighting.Sherlock pushed himself away from the counter and moseyed into the sitting room where he folded himself up in his chair, in a strategic position where he could watch John, but snap his attention back to the telly if he needed to. His right leg was folded underneath him, the other tucked up against his chest. It was strangely calming watching the smaller man move about the kitchen, doing something as normal as making tea for the both of them. Wondering how many times he’d taken John making tea for granted, he started flipping through channels until he found the tail end of a scary movie. The banner across the bottom boasted another one up next. “Up for a screamer?” he asked with a smirk. Glancing over his shoulder John chuckled a little darkly, “Fine by me, but there’s not much that can actually scare me any more. Not in those movies at least.” He could hear the tell tale scream of some b-list actress. Giving the two cups of finished tea one final stir John gathered their supplies, the tea and the bag with the biscuits, and moved them to the small table in between their arm chairs.John was still wearing the clothes he’d worn to dye Sherlock’s hair, and it showed in the small splatters across his chest. “I’m just gonna go change real quick.” Then looking Sherlock up and down again with just a quick flick of his eyes he went on, “I’m just throwing on pyjamas though, if you want to lose the skinny jeans.” He half teased before turning back towards his own room. His head was swimming a bit by the time he made it up the stairs to his room where his pyjamas were still kept at least. Had he really just said that? Desperately he hoped Sherlock hadn’t taken it as any sort of innuendo. At least if Sherlock said anything he could write it off as teasing Sherlock about his new attire, which wasn’t a total lie. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the joke, but once he was sure John was in his room, he sprang up from his chair and started moving furniture around. He pulled the coffee table towards the windows and shuffled the chairs and couch around until the couch was slanted diagonally across the room, and the chairs occupied the space where the couch had been previously. Scampering into his room, he changed into his dressing gown and pyjamas, and high tailed it back to the sitting room. Tucking one leg beneath himself again, he spread his arm over the back of the couch in a relaxed fashion and leaned back against the armrest, completely at ease. The small table was on his side and he sipped the tea John had given him. Green eyes slipped closed and a small groan left his lips at the taste. Best tea in bloody England.John stopped just inside the doorway, looking about the room curiously. Taking slow languid steps he stopped just behind the couch, his head fell to the side in question as he studied Sherlock’s relaxed form. He wasn’t sure what was going through the detectives head, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to not read into his actions. “You rearranged?” There was barely a hint of a question as he moved around the to sit next to Sherlock, leaning carefully against the opposite arm of the sofa. “Feng Shui.” he explained simply, “I felt we needed a change.” He shifted trying to get comfortable in the corner of the couch. “Biscuit?” he passed over the bag to John, his eyes lingering as he did so. Once the bag was taken from him, he settled back, and turned the volume up on the horror movie on the telly.Muttering his thanks John tore into the biscuits, nibbling at one for a moment before he pushed off the arm of the sofa to sit up, nudging Sherlock’s left foot with his right. His lips pulled to one side, hiding a smile.“Uhm, you want to pass over the tea Sherlock?” His tea still sat next to Sherlock’s on the small table. Snagging a few extra biscuits he held the bag back out to Sherlock as if to trade.
Sherlock let his foot slide to the floor and sat up, reaching for John's mug. He took it and passed it over, waving off the biscuits. As the other reached for his mug, their fingers brushed on the handle. An electric shock ran through his body, making all the hairs on his body stand on end. Pulling his hand back, he settled down on the couch again, wondering if John had felt it too and trying to calm his nerves.John set the bag between the two of them before gripping the cup with both hands. He stared pointedly into the mug, trying not to act as ridiculous as he felt. He felt like a bloody teenager again, trying to guess just how close they were supposed to sit, what the other wanted. Taking a sip of the tea John tried to steady himself. Sherlock had had no problem with physical contact the entire time he’d been back, in fact he’d quite encouraged it, so maybe he was reading into things too much.Convincing himself that he was just shaken by Lestrade’s earlier comment, and that perhaps nothing had changed between the two of them basically leaving them in the same half way intimate friendship they had somehow fallen into upon Sherlock's return, he relaxed into the couch. He still wasn’t quite touching Sherlock in any direct way, but he could feel the warmth of his arm draped across the back of the sofa. Focusing his attention on the movie John snacked on the biscuits as he drank his tea and barely a quarter of the way through the movie John’s tea was gone. Setting the empty cup on the floor John pulled his legs under him, leaning his head back into the sofa. Despite the fact that the movie was meant to be a thriller John slowly began nodding off.Unbeknownst to John, Sherlock had begun scooting closer. By the time he had finally nodded off, they were practically side by side. He smiled at his flatmate's sleeping form. John looked younger, happier in sleep. Sherlock let his arm drape lower on the back of the couch as he turned back to the movie, yawning into his free hand.An explosion rang out from the TV and John, in his sleep addled mind, was wrenched awake letting out a rather embarrassing yelp of his own as he toppled towards Sherlock. Somewhere between dreams and reality his mind had wrapped a nightmare around the sound, leaving him shaking and disoriented. Blinking rapidly, trying to remember his surroundings John realized he had all but jumped into his flatmate’s lap, his hands were gripping at the blue dressing gown desperately. Quickly letting go John sat up, leaning forward on his knees to bury his face in his shaking hands. It was a horrible feeling. He still felt slightly disoriented, even though he knew it had been a simple triggered impulse, a deep rooted fear. Wiping one hand across his face, pinching his the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, John let out a heavy breath trying to relax. When he felt an arm drape over his shoulders tentatively he completely forgot about being wary of personal boundaries and leaned into the nook under Sherlock’s outstretched arm, muttering apologies for his reaction. The shout had legitimately frightened Sherlock. He had been halfway dozing himself when John practically jumped into his lap. Worried green eyes catalogued his reaction as he tried to calm down. There was a small victory when involuntarily he leaned into Sherlock’s embrace, but he took that as knowing he was safety.“Shhhh...” he whispered in response to John’s mutterings and pulled him closer so that they were touching from hip to shoulder, “Don’t apologize, just relax.” He reached over and flipped the telly to a channel that played mostly music. Tonight it was soft classical. “There that’s better...” He drew small patterns on John’s back as he tried to comfort him. Glimpsing a piece of his past that vividly made Sherlock yearn to make everything in his present alright. He never forgot that John was a soldier, but lull they’d had the past few days had put him into a false sense of security. Sometimes the fact that John had such a carefree attitude helped him forget that the doctor was just as broken as the detective himself. He took a few scoots towards the armrest incase they wanted to lean back for a while. Eyes clamped shut, John visibly relaxed when the channel was changed. Sherlock’s comforting touch slowed his breathing and soon enough he didn’t feel like all his nerves were on edge. When he had found his bearings John looked up at Sherlock, finally processing everything that had just transpired between the two of them.. “Thanks.” He said softly, his eyes dropping to his hands, resting in his own lap, the tremors gone. John had been in Sherlock’s position many times, but seeing the other man step up to care for him only made his feelings for Sherlock that much stronger. Sherlock waved the thanks away before returning his hand to John’s back, tracing comforting circles there, “Here, lay down just for a bit, and then we’ll go to bed. You seem tired...” He pulled them both so that he was lying against the corner. Lifting one leg onto the seat so that it could run along the back of the couch, he settled the relaxed soldier against his chest and between his legs. Wrapping both arms around him to try and fight off the rest of his nightmares. John was tired, exhausted actually. He put up no protest as he was pulled in between Sherlock’s legs, instead he worked with him, scooting up against the detective and burying himself in the man’s thin chest. Sherlock had barely finished situating the two of them on the small sofa before John was out again, his sleep pleasantly calm after the sudden start.Sherlock let out a stifled yawn and wiggled his shoulders into the cushion to get comfortable. His own head tipping forward and to the side so that his cheek rested on top of John’s head, his own weariness getting the better of him too. Still asleep, John nuzzled closer to the pressure as Sherlock leaned into him. Rolling slightly John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist, his arm nestled inside of the open dressing gown. ----------------------------------------------------------------------The next morning, Mrs. Hudson came bustling up the stairs to check on the boys and make sure Sherlock was eating breakfast, but when she reached the top, she stopped. The furniture had been rearranged, and her boys were laying on the couch. Sherlock was leaned back against the arm, cradling John in his arms, face nuzzled into the man’s hair. Her smile was wide, she’d always had a feeling they would get together at some point. She and a few others could see what the boys had been so blind to three years ago, and she hoped that those things were becoming apparent to them too. The both sorely deserved to be happy.Padding downstairs, she found the number for the clinic that John had given her for emergencies if she’d needed him, and for the early times when staying in contact with his employer had been best, to keep her updated of his condition. There had been days he could work and days that the grief was just too much. Picking up her wall phone to call the number, she listened to it ring for a few moments before a pleasant sounding woman answered at the other end.“Sarah dear, it’s Mrs. Hudson, I’m calling in for Doctor Watson, I believe he will be taking a personal day today.”“Been awhile since I heard from you... All the stress of Sherlock coming back getting to him?” She asked.“Like you wouldn’t believe....”“That’s fine, in fact, tell him to take the rest of the week off, he can come back after the holidays. I was going to wait and see how today went and talk to him after hours, but it doesn’t seem like Sherlock’s popularity has done much to aid the clinic. We’re still fairly busy, and half of the patients that are lined up outside don’t even look sick. Perhaps if he’s out on leave it will discourage people from coming in just to see him.”“Alright deary, I’ll tell him. Good Morning.” She hung up at Sarah’s goodbye and made her way back up the stairs. She found Sherlock slowly waking, opening his eyes and blinking against the brightness. When he calculated the time, he moved to wake John but she stopped him. Coming closer she leaned down, and explained her conversation with Sarah. The smile on his face was brilliant and he thanked her, settling back down on the couch, running his fingers through John’s hair, trying to mentally prepare himself for the way John would distance himself once he woke. For the moment, he just relished in the warmth coming from the doctor in his arms, and the utter feeling of home that came with it. The thought was jarring at first, something he hadn’t thought of before, but the more he examined it, the truer it felt. John felt like home.Mrs. Hudson smiled, gave Sherlock a wink, and retreated back downstairs to call her next door neighbor and gossip about her not quite married ones.Exhausted from the night before, John slept on for awhile longer his subconscious mind soothed by Sherlock’s presence and touch. When he did finally wake he was a little surprised to find himself tucked neatly between Sherlock’s legs. Retracting his arm from around Sherlock he used it to prop his head up off of Sherlock’s chest. Essentially breaking the full body contact without ripping himself away, something he really didn’t want to keep repeating.“Morning,” he deadpanned, his eyes jumping about as his sleep addled mind tried to process every detail. Last night they had fallen asleep like this, Sherlock had been comforting him. The movie, John remembered his volatile reaction to the rather unimpressive horror film. It was almost embarrassing, but Sherlock had been there for him. A small smile crept onto his features as he looked up at the mess of ginger hair. He had a sudden overwhelming urge to run his finger through the wavy tuft at the front that fell into his eyes, but stopped himself. Suddenly he realized just how much light was streaming into the sitting room. with a little more of a start, he practically fell from the couch trying to scramble to his feet. “Shit, I have to get to work.” Sherlock grabbed his wrist and pulled him back down on the couch a little forcefully. "Relax. Mrs. Hudson called Sarah, told her you needed a personal day. She gave you the week off. Apparently she thinks its a good idea not to have you in the office for a bit while the excitement dies down." His expression had been a little bored when he spoke, but his lips twisted in a small smile now. "Sleep alright? You seemed dead to the world there for a while. You must have been exhausted."Falling back into Sherlock a little less comfortably John didn’t make any sort of move. He didn’t adjust himself so they were closer, more comfortable, nor did he pull away. John was still at a loss when it came to Sherlock. He’d accepted that he had his own feeling for Sherlock, some sort of transcending bond that defied John’s normal parameters for love and relationships. This was not the part that was upsetting John, he’d even come to terms with the fact that Sherlock had no need, time, or desire for such a relationship. They both needed the physical comfort from each other, to Sherlock everything else was transport. But, with Sherlock insisting upon holding him so closely John was finding it difficult to think straight. “Yeah,” He breathed, shifting slightly. “Thanks, for last night, that could have been a lot worse than it was.” That was true, had he gone to bed on his own after a start like that he would been sucked back down into his own nightmares. John was laying against Sherlock’s chest still, his arms tucked close to his own, his body pressing against the back of the couch and Sherlock’s outstretched leg. He only stayed for a moment before sitting up on the other side of the sofa, “Tea?” He hoped the offerer sounded natural. Sherlock could feel the tension radiating through John's body and relinquished his hold as the man sat up, feeling a bit awkward due to John's reaction. "Tea will be fine." His voice was flat once more as he sat up and clicked the Telly off.Just as he was about to stand and retrieve his violin, his telephone rang from the small table where he'd sat it last night. It was Greg. Frowning he took up the phone thinking he needed something exciting to spruce up his otherwise disappointing morning."Sherlock Holmes." He answered. The other man spoke for a moment and Sherlock stifled the smile that wanted to spread across his lips, "Very well, we'll be there presently." He him up and sprang to his feet."Forget the tea John. The victim is awake." Sherlock half shouted in excitement as he disappeared into his room to change.John was halfway to the kitchen when the phone call came through, and he could tell there was a break in the case before Sherlock said anything, the excited smile said it all. He shook his head, trying to hide his own excitement as he followed Sherlock down the hall towards his room. He was just about in the doorway when he remembered that he’d went ahead and hung up his new clothes with Sherlocks. Slowly he stepped into the room as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth waiting for a reaction.Sherlock stood in the doorway to his closet. There were few things left in this world that surprised the consulting detective, but his older flatmate managed to do it more often than not. His eyebrow raised questioningly as he looked at all of John's clothes right alongside his own. He composed himself after a moment and reached inside, pulling out a long sleeve green shirt."Glad to see you've decided to make the matter permanent." He couldn't stop the smile that crossed his face as he pulled out a pair of dark jeans and moved to retrieve some pants and socks from his drawers. With that done he whisked his way into the bathroom for a quick shower.As the door clicked shut behind the consulting detective John let out a sigh of relief. So even if Sherlock didn’t seem to have interest in a relationship whatever they were doing, it was something Sherlock wanted to keep up. Gathering his own clothes from the closet John went back to his room to change, he’d need to move the rest of his clothes over when he had the chance. There was a sort of acceptance as John changed into his new clothes for the second time. If this was all Sherlock was interested in, John would take it. It sounded pathetic, even to himself, but having this much of Sherlock was better than none.After he had changed John hurried down stairs, in hopes of making up some tea before the detective was ready to leave.Sherlock was out of the shower and dressed in record time. He pulled on his clothes quickly, and was sitting on the couch lacing up his new high tops, watching John make tea out of the corner of his eyes."We've no time for tea John..." He said a little exasperated, "come! Let's go." He stood, both shoes now on, reaching for his jacket and grabbing his phone. "Moriarty isn't going to wait for tea!!" He called up from the bottom of the stairsAbandoning the cuppa John threw on his jacket and chased after Sherlock, muttering under his breath about Moriarty waiting long enough for someone else to shower. Reaching the bottom of the steps he tried to glower up at the detective, but his excitement for the whole affair was a bit contagious. John rolled his eyes as they stepped outside. “Business as usual then.”
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