Sherlock fandom
In the Closet
The second I met him, my life changed for the better. At least, that’s what I thought until his landlady started meddling.
“There’s an extra bedroom upstairs. That is if you need it.”
My hackles rose, which they always did when an innuendo regarding my sexuality was brought out for scrutiny.
“Of course, we will need it!” I exclaimed exasperated.
“Oh, we have all sorts around here, dear. Mrs Turner next door even has married ones.”
Sherlock murmured something under his breath, and I prompted him to speak up, which he refused. My legendary stubbornness got the better of me – again – and I urged him not to be shy.
“Very well,” he said haughtily. “I do not understand why you are so determined to suppress your bisexuality. You are obviously in the closet, but like Hudders just said, we have all sorts around here. No need to hide like you apparently had to in your childhood home and in the army.”
If I thought his deductions from the day before were amazing, this unwelcome disclosure just made me nauseous, and my intestines clenched painfully.
“That way,” Sherlock pointed.
I ran to the loo; I must’ve looked quite green around the gills for him to notice and vomited violently.
There was no way I could move in with him now; though I did contemplate to move into the bathroom on a permanent basis to avoid meeting that dazzling gaze ever again.
“She’s gone. You can come out,” Sherlock said calmly. “Tea?”
“Are you even real?” I wanted to ask.
I had never met anyone who took my deepest fear and transformed it into some trifle in just a couple of minutes. Maybe it was all fine.
“You’ve been a bloody soldier, Watson! Surely, you can cope having tea with the man.”
I had trouble lifting my gaze to his face when I finally emerged from the loo. A perfectly brewed mug of tea stood on the kitchen table. How he knew that I only took a splash of milk and no sugar, was beyond me, but apparently, Sherlock Holmes was some sort of weird magician who knew absolutely every tiny detail about me.
***
After I shot Jeff Hope to save Sherlock’s life, he took me to his favourite Chinese restaurant, and prattled on about the lower part of the door handle. I paid no attention to the actual words; too elated, giddy, and a tad bit frightened after I realised, he could’ve died if I hadn’t raced after him and brought the gun with me.
“Don’t do that again,” I said quietly after he had ordered for us.
“Do what?” he asked absentmindedly.
“Leave me behind like that. You couldn’t have known that I would follow you.”
“Oh, but I did know, John,” he said confidently.
“Whatever,” I sighed, knowing there was little use to argue with him. “Just…please, promise me.”
“Why?” he asked in a hushed tone.
The waiter brought our food and interrupted my speech. We were both famished and dug into the most delicious Chinese food I’d ever eaten.
***
Later, when the door to 221B closed behind us, Sherlock turned to me and asked again.
“Because now that I’ve found you, I can’t live without you,” I said softly.
The genuine smile I was rewarded with, sent electrical jolts down my spine, which only increased when his large hands cupped my face.
“Ditto,” he whispered and kissed me.
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