Work Text:
Sherlock sighed and settled onto the couch, steepling his fingers under his chin for a long moment. A whiff of an unusual scent has him stirring and sitting up to look around the flat. What…is…he stood and walked towards the kitchen. On the counter, on the portion of the counter that was John’s was a small bouquet of Angelica flowers.
Angelica. Pure intentions. Often romanticized to look as though they are wings of angels. True intentions towards another. He trailed his fingers over the blossoms. They were aesthetically pleasing. He could understand why someone would find them endearing.
A moment later, his phone buzzed. He flipped it out of his pocket and lit up. A case! “John!” Sherlock shouted, valuting back over the couch to stand at the base of the stairs. “John, we have a case, hurry!” The sound of John grumbling, but rolling out of bed was enough to urge him into his room to change. At last!
John watched Sherlock race out the door and paused only a moment to glance at the flowers on the counter. He sighed. Perhaps he needed to be a little less subtle.
"John?" Sherlock sighed when he received no response. Boring. John was gone. Perhaps off on some mundane activity. Work. Or even worse, another date. He scowled. John, dating insipid women who would never be what he actually needed. Fool.
The violin would be a perfect distraction. Sherlock strode to his room to retrieve it. There was a small bundle of flowers laying on his desk. Odd. He sniffed and stepped closer. He did not recognize the scent, but sight was often easiest with…oh.
He stared at the bundle of Amaryllis. Why…? He frowned. Harmony.
Sherlock snorted. Harmony. He had never been the harmonious sort. Not with himself or with others. Conflict was interesting, conflict kept the boring at bay. A niggling thought kept him from sweeping them into the trash. There was something else.
Personal freedom. Magic of spirit and soul. Celebrating self.
Sherlock stared at the flowers for a much longer moment. His pulse was elevated. No reason. Ridiculous. Mrs. Hudson really must cease with her herbal remedies. He swept the flowers into the trash, striding out of the room.
John peeked into Sherlock’s room later and sighed when he spied the flowers in the trash. Well. Damnit. He’d have to try harder.
Sherlock knew what they were the instant his eyes caught on the color of the flowers. Delphinium.
"Sherlock, what is that?" John asked, looking over the edge of the newspaper at the flowers laying on Sherlock’s chair. "Did someone leave flowers for you?
"Delphinium. Infinite possibilities. Anything is possible." Sherlock snorted and looked down at the flower. "Did Mrs. Hudson leave these flowers John? She has been enjoying her herbal soothers too much lately."
"No…" John said, looking at Sherlock in surprise. He thought Mrs. Hudson was the one leaving him flowers. "Don’t know why Mrs. Hudson would be leaving flowers for you that talk about infinite possibilities." John tried to make his tone as dry as possible so Sherlock would possibly get the bloody HINT already.
"Again. Herbal soothers."
John watched Sherlock stalk to the kitchen and seat himself in front of the chemistry set, leaving the flowers on the chair. Fine. Bloody, well fucking fine. If that was how Sherlock wanted it…
Sherlock stared at John, standing in front of him with flowers bunched in his fist. He eyed them with distaste. Anthurium. Irresistible. Celebration of an arrival. Who would leave these for him? “Dispose of them immediately John. If this is you or Lestrade playing a joke, it has long grown-“
"It’s not a joke you bloody git!" John shouted, walking towards Sherlock and shoving the flowers into his chest. "They’re from me!"
Sherlock looked down at John, his eyes flushed, his eyes bright and his chest heaving. From…John? Pure intentions, harmony, magic of spirt and now, irresistibility…? He looked down at the flowers, cradling the crushed blossoms gently in his fingers. “They were from you?
"You like flowers." John grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have them documented on your website."
Sherlock pondered the thought. Just as well that John had not attempted to convey a message with types of tobacco. “I suppose.”
John stared at Sherlock, keeping his arms crossed. “Well?”
Sherlock blinked, his attention snapping back to John. “Well what?”
John laughed and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I know you know what they all mean Sherlock, so don’t try to tell me you didn’t get the message.”
The meanings flew through his mind again. Pure intentions, because John, John would never have an ulterior motive. John was simple and complicated. Would want and state it plainly. Harmony, no one else would give John the excitement he needed and no one besides John Watson would keep him grounded. Magic of spirit…the memory of John’s whispered words ‘Fantastic’ and ‘Brilliant’ and hundreds of others flew across his mind. And…he looked down at the Anthurium. Irresistible. “Oh.”
"Yes, OH, you bloody idiot." John stepped closer to Sherlock. "And unless you have any objections Sherlock, I am going to kiss you now."
Sherlock carefully placed the lowers to the side, leaving them on top of his laptop and looked to John. “Flowers John?”
John pointed an angry finger. “It took your four types to get the bloody message!”
Sherlock chuckled as he was pulled forward into John’s arms, his Doctor demanding he surrender. It had never felt so sweet.