Sherlock Holmes

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow, silently questioning what the point actually was. It wasn’t as though it hurt anything, it was just part of doing what he did that resulted in glitter ending up pretty much everywhere.

He was sure that some complaints would crop up here and there, but this seemed far too trivial. He narrowed his gaze skeptically when John continued to complain, still quite unable to see why it would get to him quite so much. Of all the things for John to be upset about, why was a little glitter making him so terse? It was enough to pique his interest, his thoughts whirring away as to what it was that was getting at John so much.

He watched John seem to short-circuit once more, even going as far as to physically take the mug from him. His eyebrows raised in muted surprise before coming together again in a furrow of consternation. He just hummed at first in response to the question, resting his hands on his hips as he stared him down in interest.

“Perhaps. After you tell me what’s wrong with you,” he replied with a challenging gaze as if daring John to argue. “You’re flushed, and your speech pattern is obviously flustered, not to mention more frustrated than you would normally get about something so trivial. There are plenty of other things you could be angry with me about, and suffice it to say if you’re this upset about something so minor there’s no way you would have agreed to move in with me in the first place. So, what is it?”

So perhaps John Watson hadn’t thought things through as thoroughly as he should have when he had first agreed to move in with a stripper. Everything had simply happened so quickly that first night, Sherlock coming into his life like a whirlwind of feather boas and crime scenes, and wasn’t that a proper summary of it all, really? The man was unlike anyone John had ever met before. That had been the appeal to start with. It’s what had made him say yes to going with Sherlock to that first crime scene, what made him said yes to moving in with him.

Sherlock Holmes. The madman. The consulting detective. The bloody stripper. His flat mate. His incorrigible, impossible, brilliant, unbelievably gorgeous flat mate who got subjected to devouring gazes while John stood in a corner, looking out for Sherlock’s safety, and mentally murdering every single patron in the club. Which was not, in fact, part of his job description.

The answer was so obvious, literally right there, and John could feel the signs worsening while he stood there, glaring up at the unfairly tall berk. Of course he wasn’t upset over some glitter, he wasn’t that petty. But it had provided an outlet, hadn’t it? A brief reprieve from feelings that had been developing over the past few months, and were now threatening to spill over. Threatening to ruin the first good thing John had gotten in his life in a good long while. Of course he’d developed a bit of a crush. His gorgeous flat mate was an exotic dancer, for God’s sake. It was just chemistry. Chemicals messing with his brain. That was all. That was all he would allow it to be. He refused to be like the men and women at the club, ogling Sherlock, appreciating him for his looks alone. The man was so much more than that. He was remarkable. Amazing. Fantastic.

And John was hopelessly, completely besotted, and shit. Shit.

“ I’m not angry, ” and yes, saying it in an angry tone really helped make that point come across, well done, Watson, old son. Huffing out a frustrated breath, John clenched and unclenched his hands before looking up at Sherlock. For all intents and purposes, he looked nervous.

“ Look, I’m sorry for making a fuss about the glitter. You’re right, it— it really is rather trivial. I suppose I’m just… tired. Last night’s case was a little taxing, and I didn’t sleep very well. ”

Coward.

He frowned, brow furrowing as he licked his lips. Sherlock would see through that in a second, and then he’d think John was lying to him, and more incorrect conclusions would be made, and things would sour anyway, and it was all a right mess, wasn’t it? And he was just making it worse. Best to just get it over and done with.

Part of him was annoyed with himself, having tried to curb his stranger habits enough to at least not bother John too much. He had grown used to their arrangement and used to John, to the point that he wouldn’t want to upset him enough to make him want to leave. If something so minor had him so spun out, didn’t that mean that the ‘i can’t take this anymore, i have to go’ speech wasn’t far off?

He kept his expression impassive despite that gnawing worry, waiting patiently to hear John’s explanation. He simply raised his eyebrows at John’s assurance that he wasn’t angry, finding that statement contradicted by his tone. He watched John expectantly, his lips tugging into an unconvinced expression at the idea that this was all just because he was tired.

He stared at him, unblinking as John worked up to what was obviously going to be the real truth, John knowing too well that Sherlock would never accept such an obvious lie. John’s next phrase gave him pause, his brow furrowing a little in muted confusion. A crush? Was that really what was going on? Were all those unreadable little looks on John’s face recently really because he was feeling that little something that had been slowly developing in Sherlock too? Even Sherlock wasn’t quite so clueless about romance to miss the signs that there was something here, an electric charge in the air between them. He had thought it was all in his head, that he was making more out of this than he should simply because John was the only person he had felt such a connection with. If John felt the same thing, though, what did that mean?

All those thoughts and more raced through his head, at least until John continued and they all ground to a halt. Oh, of course. Of course that was why. John was just attracted to him because his profession was to spin on a pole half naked for money. His business was making sure people were attracted to him, it stood to reason it would affect even those closest to him. It had been stupid to hope that John was somehow set apart from all those fools in the audience at his shows.

He pushed back his growing disappointment, not even sure what he had been hoping for, though it certainly wasn’t that. He nodded in understanding, John not leaving any room for him to question anything he’d said.

“Of course,” he replied blandly, his mind working away to repackage all of those messy thoughts and feelings that had almost surfaced. “Makes sense. Obvious,” he added clinically, feeling and certainly looking as though he was miles away, lost in his own thoughts. He nodded absently to John’s offer to make him tea, his legs moving him automatically over to the sofa to curl up on it with his back facing the room.

He hoped in vain for the phone to ring to signal a case, feeling himself descending into dark thoughts almost immediately. Had John really only ever liked him because he found him attractive? Sherlock had been convinced that John liked him for more than that, but maybe that had all been just wishful thinking. He reminded himself of all the times John had complimented him, hoping that proved that that John wasn’t sticking around just because he was attractive. It didn’t work, of course, Sherlock having heard people say loads of things that weren’t true to people they were attracted to. He huffed a listless sigh, having had such high hopes for John, and feeling utterly lost in the face of the realization that John really was just like everyone else.

“Well of course.” A soft chuckle left his lips and his hands fell to Sherlock’s chest, fingers brushing gently over the material of his shirt, “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not sleep alone in the cold when there’s another option.” His smile was warm, caring, and he couldn’t even think to hear Sherlock’s response. The thought of them sharing a bed, even doing nothing more than the innocence of sleeping, made John’s stomach flip. He could only imagine the nights spent curl up with one another, the mornings waking up tangled together.

He leaned into John’s touch, his own hands squeezing John’s shoulders and stroking down his arms. He watched John intently, his expression that of anticipatory interest as John spoke. He smiled at the very idea of sharing a bed, wanting so badly to wrap himself around John and never let go.

He let John continue, snapping back to the conversation at hand when John suggested that Sherlock might not want to share a bed with him. His hands moved to hold John’s hands against his chest, nodding reassuringly. “Of course I do. Yes, definitely,” he blurted out, his excitement at the idea very apparent, halfway wishing they could go to bed right now.

Sherlock’s quick agreement was enough to bring John out of his introspection, a great smile breaking his features and urging him rather instinctually to lean up and press a swift kiss to the detective’s lips. Such an instinct had been suppressed for so long in the many times John watched Sherlock’s rare excitement, that he shocked even himself as he drew back with a chuckle, humming in thought.

He felt a rush of affection when John smiled up at him, leaning in to meet the kiss all too happily. He couldn't believe he could finally do this, recognizing now that this was what he had always wanted. He had always wanted something more with John, but he never knew what until he finally kissed him. That was when it all fell into place and he knew this was what he'd been searching for. He laughed along with John, pressing his forehead to his and meeting his eyes fondly.

John returned Sherlock’s smile as the boy stepped out into the corridor, following him out and gently closing the door behind them. The gaze they shared was broken only when John glanced down the corridor to check if anybody was coming, though his attention was quickly brought back to Sherlock as the boy spoke once more.

They exited the office, Sherlock similarly doing a visual sweep to see i anyone was nearby, grateful that the hallways were clear. John’s answer surprised him, momentarily confused by John’s teasing. Considering he assumed any moment that John would come to his senses and walk away, it wasn’t a huge stretch for him to believe for a moment that he really didn’t want to come by. He was relieved when John assured him he was kidding, smiling and nodding approvingly at his answer.

Walking quickly by Sherlock’s side, John was glad to notice his strides had grown more even, whether with lessened pain or with gained confidence; or even both, John couldn’t tell, though it was certainly nothing bad. “At least today’s a little sunnier, I’m always okay with a walk.” John’s smile grew and he glanced ahead of them, making sure Sherlock was always a little in front of him to fully ensure he’d know where to turn next. Inevitably, there was the same giddy excitement about John, realising just how quickly he had grown to be comfortable around the other boy.

He was glad to hear that John still wanted to come, feeling a pleasant feeling of anticipation at what would happen that night. Normally he could see through everything and predict it effortlessly, but this? An evening with a friend was something completely new to him, and he was ready to see how this went. He led John along, his pain all but forgotten as John and their new relationship became his primary focus.

He nodded to John's reply, glad he wasn't put off by intrusive parents. "Good. We can hide out in my room from most of the night, but I'm sure they won't be able to resist assailing you with questions whenever they can," he explained, hoping at least his parents could curb themselves at least at first so John might actually come by again.

“Well of course.” A soft chuckle left his lips and his hands fell to Sherlock’s chest, fingers brushing gently over the material of his shirt, “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not sleep alone in the cold when there’s another option.” His smile was warm, caring, and he couldn’t even think to hear Sherlock’s response. The thought of them sharing a bed, even doing nothing more than the innocence of sleeping, made John’s stomach flip. He could only imagine the nights spent curl up with one another, the mornings waking up tangled together.

He leaned into John's touch, his own hands squeezing John's shoulders and stroking down his arms. He watched John intently, his expression that of anticipatory interest as John spoke. He smiled at the very idea of sharing a bed, wanting so badly to wrap himself around John and never let go.

He let John continue, snapping back to the conversation at hand when John suggested that Sherlock might not want to share a bed with him. His hands moved to hold John's hands against his chest, nodding reassuringly. "Of course I do. Yes, definitely," he blurted out, his excitement at the idea very apparent, halfway wishing they could go to bed right now.

His thoughts wandered too as he got Rosie in the bath, already thinking ahead to that night when he could curl up next to John to sleep. He had always had a difficult relationship with sleep, feeling as though it was a waste of time. He often fell victim to insomnia, especially when a case was on, though he couldn’t help but wonder how being with John might change that. Maybe he would sleep through the night, lulled off by his warmth and steady heartbeat, his strong arms around him making him feel utterly safe.

The rubber duck bobbed in the water as Rosie splashed a little with her feet, moving her position as she took in the new object that had joined her in the bath, and John couldn’t helped but chuckle, enraptured by his lovely daughter and her lovely new father. Though the doctor did have to wonder if new was ever the correct way to describe Sherlock, as he’d never been new to Rosie’s life. He was always there, always helping, always of aid to their family even before Rosie was born and even whilst Mary was alive. Truly Sherlock had always been a figure in Rosie’s little world, just now he had a title, his title. The correct title.

“She’s a force to be reckoned with, for certain,” he said fondly, stroking John’s hand as he watched their daughter. He didn’t know how he’d gotten by on the fringes of this for so long. He had loved John for what felt like a lifetime, and then when Rosie came along he adored her immediately as well. He hadn’t known how to ask for what he had really wanted, so grateful that this had all finally worked itself out so he could be a real part of John’s family.

He smiled when John nuzzled him, squeezing his hand back affectionately. “Of course not. She’s become much too powerful,” he said, laughing softly along with his family. He watched their daughter continue to play, still holding John’s hand as he enjoyed every second of this. He let her play for another few minutes before he deemed her sufficiently clean and tuckered out.

Sherlock’s soft laugh along with John’s and Rosie’s made his smile grow and he hugged Sherlock’s middle a little tighter, pressing a small kiss to his jaw as he watched Rosie eventually begin to tire herself out, “Goodness me, peace is restored within the great seas.” John grinned at their daughter reaching out to lightly touch the end of Rosie’s nose as he added, “For now.”

He beamed when John squeezed him closer and kissed his jaw, unable to believe how he could be so lucky to have the love of this incredible man and their little girl. He watched John interact with Rosie fondly, storing away each minute in his mind palace to reflect fondly on later.

He let John go reluctantly to help Rosie from the tub, picking her up and holding her out for John to wrap the towel around her. He smiled and assisted John in drying her off for a moment before retrieving her pajamas from the counter to help her get into them. When she was dry and dressed, he picked her up to take her to up to what was now her room.

As he continued to speak, he smiled at the hand on his cheek, leaning into it as his words drew to a close, and Sherlock gave his soft reply. The gentle kiss was one that John accepted wholeheartedly, as well as the reassurance that he wasn’t overstepping with his declaration. He’d thought about it for a while, considered the possibility that his great interest in Sherlock had shifted to that of falling for the man, even so far as being in love with him. However for fear of such never being returned, he had pushed the thought’s to the back of his mind, and so hearing Sherlock return the phrase was enough to send colour to his cheeks as he tangled his finger’s into the detective’s hair.

He had always thought his feelings were misplaced, that he would be trapped in the limbo of wanting to admit to them versus the paralyzing fear of rejection. He had never felt for anyone the way he felt for John, but the fear of ruining their friendship kept his mouth shut until John’s sweet nature was too much for him. He grinned at the color flooding John’s cheeks, humming happily at the way John stroked his hair, finding himself liking that quite a lot.

He kissed him long and slow, his lips gently molding to John’s, exploring his mouth with interest. He could feel John’s enjoyment of this that mirrored his own, smiling against his lips and stroking his neck during the kiss. He could lose hours like this, already so addicted to the warm feeling of John against him and his kisd that made his stomach do little backflips throughout.

And that was where the lovely Holmes brother came in, the spark in his life that had brought with him not just a series of deductions but a whole new lease on, well, life itself. It was safe to say that without Sherlock, John was very sure where he’d be, and six-feet-under may have been a more literal phrase than being clad with stress.

John had opened Sherlock to a part of himself he thought had died a long time ago. A part of him that loved freely and spoke openly, a part of himself only John got the privilege of seeing because he had earned it. He had lied to John a thousand times in the past, but now he couldn’t imagine doing that again. John was an extension of himself, and anything that hurt John hurt him too. They were perfectly entangled and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He couldn’t help a pleased hum when John’s fingers found his hair, leaning closer until there was no space between them. He squeezed an arm around his middle, his free hand stroking his neck as they kissed. He smiled affectionately when the kiss broke and John returned his sentiment, loving the flush to his cheeks.

Now however, now it was real. And John was assured of that by his senses, the pressure of Sherlock’s arm around the small of his back, the warmth of his hand on John’s cheek. He could smell the mingled scents of both of their cologne, and see Sherlock’s eyes with their slight crease were he gave a happy expression. Sherlock’s curls were soft beneath his fingertips, and as he leaned up to press another gentle peck to the detective’s lips, the flutter in his stomach was very much there.

This was certainly not a dream, Sherlock having grounded himself with all his senses to make certain this was real and not an elaborate fantasy. He could feel John's warmth, smell his aftershave and see his eyes glittering with elation as he gazed at him. His fantasies were never this good or detailed, not by a long shot. He hummed in pleasure at the way John stroked his hair, flushing faintly at the sensation and how much he liked it.

He leaned in to return the kiss, grinning when they broke apart and John said those lovely words again. "I love you too," he said again, because he couldn't quite say it enough after holding it back all these years. He nodded to John's itinerary for them, feeling a giddy thrill at the mention of their sleeping arrangements. Did this mean he could finally sleep next to him, squeezing in close and letting his warmth and steady heartbeat lull him off to sleep?

John returned Sherlock’s smile as the boy stepped out into the corridor, following him out and gently closing the door behind them. The gaze they shared was broken only when John glanced down the corridor to check if anybody was coming, though his attention was quickly brought back to Sherlock as the boy spoke once more.

They exited the office, Sherlock similarly doing a visual sweep to see i anyone was nearby, grateful that the hallways were clear. John's answer surprised him, momentarily confused by John's teasing. Considering he assumed any moment that John would come to his senses and walk away, it wasn't a huge stretch for him to believe for a moment that he really didn't want to come by. He was relieved when John assured him he was kidding, smiling and nodding approvingly at his answer.

His thoughts wandered too as he got Rosie in the bath, already thinking ahead to that night when he could curl up next to John to sleep. He had always had a difficult relationship with sleep, feeling as though it was a waste of time. He often fell victim to insomnia, especially when a case was on, though he couldn’t help but wonder how being with John might change that. Maybe he would sleep through the night, lulled off by his warmth and steady heartbeat, his strong arms around him making him feel utterly safe.

The rubber duck bobbed in the water as Rosie splashed a little with her feet, moving her position as she took in the new object that had joined her in the bath, and John couldn’t helped but chuckle, enraptured by his lovely daughter and her lovely new father. Though the doctor did have to wonder if new was ever the correct way to describe Sherlock, as he’d never been new to Rosie’s life. He was always there, always helping, always of aid to their family even before Rosie was born and even whilst Mary was alive. Truly Sherlock had always been a figure in Rosie’s little world, just now he had a title, his title. The correct title.

"She's a force to be reckoned with, for certain," he said fondly, stroking John's hand as he watched their daughter. He didn't know how he'd gotten by on the fringes of this for so long. He had loved John for what felt like a lifetime, and then when Rosie came along he adored her immediately as well. He hadn't known how to ask for what he had really wanted, so grateful that this had all finally worked itself out so he could be a real part of John's family.

He smiled when John nuzzled him, squeezing his hand back affectionately. "Of course not. She's become much too powerful," he said, laughing softly along with his family. He watched their daughter continue to play, still holding John's hand as he enjoyed every second of this. He let her play for another few minutes before he deemed her sufficiently clean and tuckered out.

As he continued to speak, he smiled at the hand on his cheek, leaning into it as his words drew to a close, and Sherlock gave his soft reply. The gentle kiss was one that John accepted wholeheartedly, as well as the reassurance that he wasn’t overstepping with his declaration. He’d thought about it for a while, considered the possibility that his great interest in Sherlock had shifted to that of falling for the man, even so far as being in love with him. However for fear of such never being returned, he had pushed the thought’s to the back of his mind, and so hearing Sherlock return the phrase was enough to send colour to his cheeks as he tangled his finger’s into the detective’s hair.

He had always thought his feelings were misplaced, that he would be trapped in the limbo of wanting to admit to them versus the paralyzing fear of rejection. He had never felt for anyone the way he felt for John, but the fear of ruining their friendship kept his mouth shut until John’s sweet nature was too much for him. He grinned at the color flooding John’s cheeks, humming happily at the way John stroked his hair, finding himself liking that quite a lot.

He kissed him long and slow, his lips gently molding to John’s, exploring his mouth with interest. He could feel John’s enjoyment of this that mirrored his own, smiling against his lips and stroking his neck during the kiss. He could lose hours like this, already so addicted to the warm feeling of John against him and his kisd that made his stomach do little backflips throughout.

And that was where the lovely Holmes brother came in, the spark in his life that had brought with him not just a series of deductions but a whole new lease on, well, life itself. It was safe to say that without Sherlock, John was very sure where he’d be, and six-feet-under may have been a more literal phrase than being clad with stress.

John had opened Sherlock to a part of himself he thought had died a long time ago. A part of him that loved freely and spoke openly, a part of himself only John got the privilege of seeing because he had earned it. He had lied to John a thousand times in the past, but now he couldn't imagine doing that again. John was an extension of himself, and anything that hurt John hurt him too. They were perfectly entangled and he wouldn't have it any other way.

He couldn't help a pleased hum when John's fingers found his hair, leaning closer until there was no space between them. He squeezed an arm around his middle, his free hand stroking his neck as they kissed. He smiled affectionately when the kiss broke and John returned his sentiment, loving the flush to his cheeks.

He listened as John spoke, his expression that of apprehensive curiosity as he explained. He flushed a little and shifted uneasily when John mentioned his quick invitation, knowing it had been ridiculous and by all rights John should have said no to his offer.

It was only when John said he didn’t care about popularity that he started to realize they had more in common than he had originally thought. When he looked at John, he saw someone handsome and athletic with a blinding smile that made butterflies flap wildly in his stomach. When John revealed his sexuality, that’s when it all clicked. People their age didn’t get along well with people they didn’t understand, so John was an outcast too, just like him.

A small foolish part of him rejoiced in the information, just a whisper in his mind that he might actually have a chance at something more than a friendship with him. He pushed that feeling back, knowing it was premature and idiotic and they were just barely friends at this point.

He didn’t need to have his head clouded with distant possibilities when he was still coming to terms with this, with John in front of him telling him he thought he was interesting. Brilliant, even. He smiled shyly at the praise, seemingly unable to figure out what to do with himself when he was so unused to positive attention from his classmates.

John knew a fair amount about attraction, what it felt like and how to deal with it, yet something about Sherlock just left him befuddled, utterly halted in his tracks with an awkward sense about him. Nothing bad, though certainly out of his personal ordinary. It was like a sense of longing, or belonging. That even though they’d barely known one other for an hour or so, John felt more comfortable in the presence of Sherlock Holmes than he did with anybody else.

Days of roaming the school alone with a wonder if he’d ever make friends by the time he joined classes, and yet now he’d gladly never meet another person if it meant Sherlock would give him the honour of being his friend, best friend, more than that. Though John daren’t utter anything more than the first, he’d wished on false hope before and been stabbed in the back because of it, trust issues however were the least of his problems, and as he moved to open the door he stopped and leaned against it.

“Would you- I mean could I…” He tapped the cold metal behind his back, glancing to the floor before looking back up at Sherlock, “Could I sit with you at Lunch? I know that sounds utterly childish but I’m not sure if we’re in the same classes and I’m definitely not going a whole day without getting to speak to you again so-?”

There was definitely something different about John, a sense of familiarity even though they had only just met. A part of him was concerned for the day when he would say something insensitive, hoping he wouldn’t but knowing himself too well. Still, he was somewhat hopeful that John might understand, might give him a chance to grow with him rather than write him off like everyone else did.

He was deep into introspection when John began to leave, following after him and glancing up when he spoke. His heart thumped oddly in his chest as John tried to ask him something, not sure what he was hoping for but feeling excitement all the same. When John clarified, he smiled gently, unable to believe his luck that John wanted to be around him more often.

None the less, something in him anticipated the days to come, and maybe he was looking much to far ahead but if there was one thing John Watson knew for certain, it was that he was determined to befriend the brunet, and he very much doubted that anything, or anyone, could sway that decision. Not when it had already found a way to settle in his mind.

"I usually eat outside, if that's alright. By the big tree behind the school. We'd probably get a lot less stares out there," he offered, knowing that John didn't seem to care, but still wanting things to be perfect. He wanted to be with only John, and not have their time getting to know one another ruined by one of their insensitive classmates.

He smiled softly when John opened the door for him, stepping through the open door as directed. He waited for John to join him, meeting his gaze as they stood out in the hall.

His thoughts wandered too as he got Rosie in the bath, already thinking ahead to that night when he could curl up next to John to sleep. He had always had a difficult relationship with sleep, feeling as though it was a waste of time. He often fell victim to insomnia, especially when a case was on, though he couldn't help but wonder how being with John might change that. Maybe he would sleep through the night, lulled off by his warmth and steady heartbeat, his strong arms around him making him feel utterly safe.