Sherlock Loves John

“Sometimes I think about you.”

John looks up startled.

They’re sitting across from each other in their respective chairs; John reading and Sherlock staring quietly into the fire set up before them.

It’s been quiet the last few days. John suspects something will come up soon; it’s been snowing nonstop since yesterday evening and people in close quarters are dangerous.

As evidenced by Sherlock’s statement a moment ago, apropos of nothing.

But it is Sherlock, so perhaps he didn’t mean it the way John heard it. He can be dense like that sometimes. John decides to respond with levity.

“I would appreciate it if sometimes you would think of the dishes.”

Sherlock looks up at that and furrows his brow.

‘Ah' John thinks to himself, ‘He’s serious.’

John can feel his pulse pick up. He’s been studiously avoiding this conversation ever since they moved back in together. He suspected that there was something building between them, something reminiscent of those final months before Sherlock ‘killed’ himself and left John for three years.

But.

Sherlock said he doesn’t feel things like that and John suspects that whatever it is growing between them is more instinctual on Sherlock’s part and less a deliberate choice. More a response to the increasing fondness John has been directing his way. Mirror neurons and all that.

However, John can’t help himself.

The increased touches. The small shared smiles. God, some days John can’t help but stare at Sherlock, just so damn happy he’s back and more so that he chooses to cohabitate with John.

John stiffens his spine, puts his book down, and resigns himself to Sherlock explaining how he’s realised John’s affections and he needs John to tone it down. That it’s impeding his ability to think or whatever.

John focuses on Sherlock’s face and feels a familiar swoop of affection at Sherlock’s currently perplexed look.

“Why on earth would I think about the dishes?”

John smiles tightly, “Nevermind. How do you mean you think about me sometimes?”

Sherlock sinks back into his chair, frowns and looks away from John. “I mean romantically.”

“Romantically?”

John watches in amazement as he witnesses something his never seen before: an embarrassed Sherlock.

Sherlock’s face turns a cherry red high on his cheeks as he whispers to the floor, “Sexually.”

John is caught off guard. He wasn’t expecting Sherlock to actually elaborate on his thoughts of John and certainly he had never expected Sherlock to admit to thinking about him sexually.

After all, it’s just transport to him, isn’t it?

“Oh.” Really, it’s the only response John can manage. This is unchartered territory, outside the normal bounds of their conversations.

Sherlock swallows and John watches, waits, but Sherlock’s words seem to have dried up. Sherlock looks at him and John’s heart breaks a little at how young and lost Sherlock looks.

John swallows and feels his throat constrict drily. It appears his words are dry too, but he’s a soldier and where Sherlock can’t press forward, he will.

He takes a deep breath, “I’ve thought about you too.”

This seems to spring a small well in Sherlock. “You have?” he whispers.

John nods. “Romantically. Sexually.”

Mirrors.

Sherlock clasps his hands together and looks down at them, “I-I don’t know what to do next,” he laughs wryly.

John gives a small smile, “Neither do I, really.”

Both of them sit quietly for a few minutes. The conversation will unravel itself in due time.

Their conversations always have.

*******************

A new short story I’ll be posting three parts. This is part 1. Part 2 is them having a very important conversation and part 3 will be where the story earns it’s E rating.

Can be found on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882054

“I’ll make us tea.”

John watches as Sherlock gets up and escapes to the kitchen.

John doesn’t follow.

They both need the moment to decide how the conversation will go from here. They’ve both admitted their big secret. Now it’s all a matter of logistics, so to speak.

Where they’re going to go from here.

John hopes it’s a good thing they’re headed towards.

Sherlock comes back into the sitting room with a full tray, complete with biscuits.

John sees it for what it is. Sherlock is nervous and he’s falling back into habits. Posh habits for keeping a stiff upper lip.

John watches as Sherlock places two sugars into his tea and stirs slowly.

“Thank you.”

Sherlock gives him a tight smile and takes a sip of his tea. “We’re English, John. Can’t have a serious talk without tea.”

John let’s out a bark of laughter at that, “I suppose we can’t.”

John picks up his tea and stares into it’s murky depths. No help from the tea leaves for this. He’s on his own.

Or rather, they’re in this together.

“You know. I wasn’t actually hitting on you that first night.” John sets his tea down without taking a sip.

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, “Really?”

“Well, not consciously. I mean looking back on it,” John leans back in his chair and scratches at his chin idly, avoiding eye contact with Sherlock, “I suppose I was attracted to you, physically. You’ve always been handsome to me. Beautiful even, sometimes. But, that night, I hadn’t been saved by you yet. Going along with you, to a crime scene and then dinner, at that point, it was all still a bit of a lark to me. So, no, really, I hadn’t been asking you out.”

Sherlock listens to him with a placid look, sipping his tea. He waits until John finishes what he has to say before setting his tea down and responding, “Then when did you know? When did you want…?” He trails off before finishing firmly, “When did you want?”

John wrinkles his forehead and quirks his lips into a half smile, “Want? For a fairly long time, but I didn’t really consciously acknowledge it until…” John coughs awkwardly and continues roughly, “Until you. Um. Died.” He looks down at his hands and frowns.

It still hurts to think about that period of time. He’s long since forgiven Sherlock. He knows it was necessary, but it still hurts.

His grief was real, even if Sherlock’s death was not.

“John?”

John jerks his head up and sees Sherlock watching him intently, worriedly. “Sorry. It. It still hurts to think about that time.” He takes a deep breath and smiles sadly, softly, “We’re past that though. Let’s not dwell on it. How about you? When did you know you wanted, um, me?”

Sherlock gives him an inscrutable look, then takes a deep breath, “I’ve always wanted you John. I just didn’t realise for a long time all the different ways I wanted you were really the same. I wanted you to move in. I wanted you to like me. I wanted your attention. I wanted your presence. Then, like you, when I no longer had it, I realised exactly what kind of wanting it was.”

“What kind of wanting is that?”

“I realised I wanted your love.”

John’s smile starts small and then grows until he’s grinning. His heart is racing, but he feels so light.

“Me too.”

“That’s. That’s very good.” Sherlock blushes again. “I also realised I wanted all the affections that come with it.”

“What kind of, um, ‘affections?”

“I wanted to hold your hand. I know it sounds so simple, but. I.” Sherlock swallows tightly. “When I…died. The last thing I did was hold your hand before they took me away and I just wanted to feel your hand again, warm and in mine.”

John scoots forward in his chair and grabs Sherlock’s hands.

“John?”

John looks down at his smaller hands in Sherlock’s larger ones. He grips Sherlock’s hands tightly and looks up into Sherlock’s face, meets Sherlock’s eyes with his own moist ones, and watches as Sherlock gives him the biggest smile he’s ever seen before whispering, “Thank you.”

John smiles back at him, “I’ve wanted to hold your hands too.”

They sit there quietly, looking into each other’s faces. John revels in the closeness of Sherlock. He knows what he wants next.

“Can I tell you of an affection I’ve wanted to share with you for a long time now?”

Sherlock makes a questioning hum before nodding his head for John to continue.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you. But not just on the lips. I’ve wanted to share with you forehead kisses and nose kisses. And kisses on the back of your neck where that little patch of skin is exposed between your collar and hair when you’re bent over your microscope.”

Sherlock chuckles and raises both eyebrows at John. “That’s awfully specific. Thought of it much?”

John gives a short laugh of his own, licks his lips, and bites his lower one slowly, “Only a few thousand times. Give or take.”

John can feel that they’re slowly moving towards each other. They’re almost close enough to kiss.

Sherlock lowers his voice, “John? Would you be amiable to a kiss, on the lips, right now?”

John can feel the breath of Sherlock’s question across his face. His gaze drifts down to Sherlock’s lips and then slowly back up to his eyes.

“I believe I am.”

********************

Sorry this took so long to write! I hope it lives up to expectations.

Also on AO3: https://https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882054

They lean in together and it feels like a revelation.

An answer to a prayer he hadn’t known he’d made. John’s lips meet Sherlock’s and he’s shocked at how soft they are, cool and dry beneath his.

This is their first kiss and it is so gentle.

John’s eyes are closed as he pulls back from Sherlock’s face. He feels like his heart is cracking open as it beats an erratic tattoo against his ribs. The kiss was so sweet, so tender, he feels his face tighten as if he’s eaten a sour candy.

It’s almost a physical pain, the love between them.

John opens his eyes slowly and feels his chest tighten at the look on Sherlock’s face. He’s never seen him look so unsure before.

He watches as Sherlock bites his lower lip and then whispers carefully, “That was okay, yes?”

“Yes. God, Sherlock, yes.” John can’t put into words how perfect this moment is to him. He doesn’t have Sherlock’s mind palace, but he knows that he will never forget a second of this. It is crystallized in his mind.

John is rewarded with his answer by Sherlock’s face slowly shifting from uncertainty to a cautious joy. Sherlock ducks his head, but John can see the blush reaching the tips of his ears. John squeezes Sherlock’s hands in his and gently questions, “Sherlock?”

“I truly never thought I could be this happy John. When I brought all this up earlier, I was prepared for you to walk out. To run away. To leave. I told myself that the best outcome I could hope for was you just saying it was ‘all fine’ again and dismissing the subject. I didn’t want to hope for more. I couldn’t.” Sherlock looks up at John, his eyes piercing in that way of his and yet softened by the glassiness of unshed tears, “But as always, you surprise me John Watson. In the best of ways.”

John feels a need to hold Sherlock and so he gives in. He slides from his chair to his knees, slides his hands up Sherlock’s arms and around Sherlock. He tucks his face into Sherlock’s neck and breathes in the smell of him. The odor of slightly sweaty skin and home.

Sherlock smells like coming home to him.

He feels Sherlock’s hands encircle around his torso to his back and clasp behind him. Sherlock’s face is pressed to the side of his head and he can feel little puffs of breath tickling his ear.

Sherlock gives a great sigh and John feels it as Sherlock melts into him. All the tension leaves his body and he leans into John as if John was the whole world.

They embrace each other tightly and John never wants to let go of him.

After a while John’s knees begin to hurt and he shifts and they both separate slightly; John to lean back on his calves and Sherlock to lean back slightly in his chair. They don’t let go of each other though, their hands are clasped once again.

John stands and notes the time. It’s late and they’ve unravelled a lot. Honestly, he’s exhausted. He looks back to Sherlock and Sherlock smiles.

“I can hear you thinking and, yes, I’m rather exhausted at this point too. Shall we head to bed? We can continue this in the morning?”

John knows Sherlock meant to say the last bit decisively, but has betrayed himself by trailing at the end like a question. John’s heart aches to have Sherlock still so convinced that John will revoke this at any moment, as if John had the power to stop himself from loving Sherlock.

John knows that he can’t bear to be separated from Sherlock right now and so he blurts out without thinking, “I want to sleep with you tonight.”

Sherlock turns the darkest shade of red John’s seen yet and starts blinking rapidly, his mouth falling open, clearly speechless.

John is confused by Sherlock’s reaction for a full second before he replays what he said in his head and feels himself blushing hard, “Ah! No, I didn’t mean that. I mean I would like to. Eventually. But-uh-,I mean-” he’s floundering for the right words, absolutely lost in his mortification at how rude he just sounded.

His floundering is stopped in it’s tracks however when Sherlock stands and soundly kisses him again. This kiss is much less chaste, though still tender.

John thinks about the two of them standing there. Red faced from blushing, absolutely ecstatic at the turn of events, and completely ridiculously in love. So much so he’s gone completely stupid with it.

After a couple of moments kissing silently, enjoying the intimate press of each other, they separate.

John let’s go of one of Sherlock’s hand and reaches up to caress Sherlock’s face. “Let me try to say that again. Sherlock, if you’re okay with it, I would very much like to sleep in the same room as you tonight. I don’t think I could bear to be separated from you.”

“I would be delighted to share my bed with you tonight.” Sherlock says this with an exgerrated posh tone, before continuing much more sincerely, “ I’d much rather have you near as well.”

John drops his hand from Sherlock’s face and gently pulls Sherlock’s hand to lead him to Sherlock’s own bedroom.

“Shall we then?”

*******************

Ahaha…ha. So I was crazy talking when I said this would just be 3 parts, lol.

Can be found on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882054

Super sorry if I forget to tag you!

John calls Sherlock ‘git’ about 87 times for some reason

Sherlock is always crying

Big bro Mycroft saves the day

Mary who?

Mrs. Hudson is convienietly visiting her sister so Sherlock and John can frick frack

Sherlock has never touched food in his entire life

John Big DickTM Watson

Irene is Sherlock’s badass lesbian bff

Sherlock never sleeps. He waits

Everyone hates Anderson.com

John is always at the pub

John: “Oi!”

If Sherlock eats he picks from John’s plate

Walks through regent’s park preferably in dizzly weather

In the flat (and only in the flat) Sherlock flounces and John pads

Curls are invariably ruffled/smoothed/carded

Punks at home.

johnlock meme  » 5 sassy moments ⁴/₅ bonus: 

I can only help you if you completely open yourself up to me.

we were shown images like this:

And like this:

Making Sherlock himself appear as a stand-in for the busts,

Alluding to the idea that he (as a person) or he (as a historical figure) has a secret inside somewhere and through the breaking down of layers will we finally find what’s been hiding there all along,

BUT THEN you remember there are six busts that are owned by only five people, the fourth victim owned TWO,

And the fourth victim is the only one who was murdered

And now we’re shown that the person hiding the information in the busts was desperate, so desperate they would kill the holder of the busts to keep their secret from escaping, they would kill the fourth owner who had two busts

So here we are noticing this doesn’t follow The Nix Napoleons, Harker didn’t own two busts in that one but this Harker does, and she is the fourth

It makes no sense for Ajay who’s looking for the busts to wait until the second-to-last person to attempt to smash two busts at once. Harker should have been his very first stop, since there was a higher probability that she had the flashdrive. She was the fourth stop. Changing the order doesn’t affect the show at all, Harker could have been first, Welsborough second, Hassan third, and so on to make the episode still make sense. But why include a character that owned two busts at all? Why add that detail? For time, perhaps, but they didn’t need to do that, they could have had six people own six busts and follow the trail the same way. 

No.

They gave the fourth owner two busts, then killed her.