Work Text:
Galehault has been the book and who wrote it.
Dante Alighieri - Hell - V Song - verse 137
Sarah knocked on John’s office door, but then entered the room without waiting for an answer.
"Are you busy? I should talk to you about a pressing matter," she said, sitting in front of him.
Surprised, John closed the file he was reading.
"Yes, sure."
"You know that we hold you in high esteem you: you are a good doctor, even an overqualified one, for this job."
"Thank you, I guess, but I have the feeling there’s an objection coming."
John began to feel nervous: it seemed like the kind of speech that usually led to "I'm so sorry, really, but you’re fired."
"Well, because you're a good doctor, you know we have a strict policy regarding doctor-patient relationships."
"Yes, I know. Why, is someone accusing me of misconduct?"
"No, quite the opposite.”
“Really, Sarah, I don’t understand.”
“Ms. Sullivan is here again, and I've heard her talking about you with the nurses in a very intimate way, in my judgment.”
“What? She’s just a patient, I swear. I have never laid a finger on her!”
"But you have seen her often, more than other patients."
"That's true, she’s always very anxious about her health," John conceded, "you know, she’s probably slightly hypochondriac."
Sarah shook her head and sighed.
"No, John: she's in love with you."
"WHAT?"
"She is in the waiting room, calling you ‘John’, and speaking as if the two of you were romantically involved."
John was upset.
"I didn’t notice anything."
"This doesn’t surprise me," Sarah muttered.
"Did you say something?"
"No."
"Sarah, I swear I didn’t do anything inappropriate with Ms Sullivan, and we’re not dating."
"After our talk, I believe you. However, you have to be careful, because I think she has other ideas.”
John cursed under his breath: he had no idea why this had happened, but he didn’t need that nuisance.
“Please Sarah, tell her I’m too busy. Could you take care of her?”
“Yes, of course. But I think it would be better if you talked to her. To clear the air, you know.”
John frowned.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Sarah. I examined that woman only two or three times, and that’s all.”
Sarah looked at him as if she felt sorry for him.
"Not talking, why am I not surprised by your decision?" she muttered again.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Nothing, nothing, I will deal with her," she sighed, getting up.
John was troubled: Sarah had just accused him of avoiding confrontation, not only in that case, but well, in general. Was she referring to their past relationship? It didn't make any sense: it had ended years ago, and she had never seemed to hold a grudge. Moreover, it sounded like she was talking about something (or someone) else.
Anyway, it didn’t matter, because she was wrong, right?
And if she was wrong about that, then maybe she was wrong about Ms Sullivan, too.
After his shift, John sent a text to Sherlock, asking what he wanted for dinner, but he didn't get an answer: Sherlock was probably engrossed in some experiment and didn't even hear the phone ping, so John left the clinic.
He was headed toward the Tube station, when he heard a woman calling his name.
"John? Please, wait!"
He turned, facing a woman in her forties, with long brown hair, who was clutching her purse.
“Ms Sullivan, what a surprise,” John said, without smiling.
“I was waiting for you. And please, call me Laura.”
She smiled her best smile, trying to elicit the same response from John, but he just grimaced.
Shit, apparently Sarah was right.
“Why are you still around here? The clinic is closed now.”
She raised a placating hand and sighed.
"Look, I'm sure your colleague is a good doctor too, but I'm afraid she took my symptoms too lightly: I'm not feeling well and I need help. That’s why I came to the clinic today."
She looked increasingly agitated, and John couldn't avoid feeling worried.
"What symptoms are you experiencing?"
“My heart rate is abnormally fast right now, and it’s never like that.”
“Chest pain, too?”
“No.”
John put two fingers on her wrist and counted: over 100 beats per minute. It was abnormal, indeed.
And it meant she wasn’t lying.
Feeling guilty for having doubted her, John called an ambulance: a fast heart rate was something to be investigated thoroughly.
"Oh god, is it a heart attack?" she cried.
"No, no. I don't think it is something so serious, probably just an episode of tachycardia, as you don’t have a history of heart disease. They will take good care of you at the hospital," John said, seeing the ambulance approaching.
"Can you come with me?"
"There's no need for me to come. I'm just a GP, and you will be in good hands."
"But I feel like I'm about to die! And I'm so scared" she screamed, bursting into tears and clutching John's arm.
“Okay, I’ll come with you,” John consented, trying to calm her down.
On the ambulance, John’s phone pinged: it was Sherlock, who had finally answered his previous message.
"Whatever you like.
Or we can go to Angelo’s.
SH"
John sighed heavily: he would have liked Angelo’s carbonara, but first, he had to make sure his patient was fine.
He replied to Sherlock’s text anyway.
“Sorry, change of plans: I’m taking a sick patient to Barts.”
“Couldn’t you call an ambulance?
SH”
“I did, but she almost had a panic attack, so I had to go with her.”
“Will it take long?
SH”
“Yes, I’m afraid. Paramedics gave her a green code.”
“John!”
John raised his eyes and from the phone, and saw that Ms Sullivan was looking at him sternly.
“I feel worse than before!” she cried, grabbing his hand, and therefore forcing him to put his phone away.
John looked at the heart monitor, but there were no variations in the parameters.
“You’re fine,” he reassured her.
“You were smiling,” she said, and her voice sounded vaguely accusatory, “who were you texting?”
“Sherlock: he’s my… er… flatfriend… friendmate… I mean, he’s my friend and my flatmate.”
Christ above! Why was he always so awkward when it came to describe his relationship with Sherlock?
Well, maybe because lines were slightly blurred between them, and "friends" wasn’t a proper definition for their relationship.
Ms Sullivan squeezed his hand so much that John winced.
“I’m feeling really, really bad.”
“We’re almost there.”
Once she was admitted to the A&E, she was taken away for some exams, but the doctors didn’t seem overly concerned.
Anyway, John waited for the results, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room. His stomach grumbled with hunger, but the food in the vending machines didn’t look appetizing at all.
He was about to fall asleep, when someone gently shook him by the shoulder.
“John?”
It was Sherlock.
“What are you doing here?”
“I thought you wouldn’t leave before you knew that your patient was okay. You said it would take long, so I brought you something to eat."
Wrapped in tinfoil, there were two perfectly shaped triangle sandwiches, with ham, eggs, salad and mayonnaise. All the ingredients were positioned with maniacal care, and not a drop of seasoning was dripping out.
They looked like something out of a sandwich commercial.
Sherlock didn’t cook often, but when he did, he took the task with utmost diligence.
"Thanks, I was really hungry."
“I guessed. Do you like them?”
John chewed with gusto, and licked his lips.
"They're perfect. Thanks again, Sherlock."
Sherlock smiled, his face liting up, and this time John was easily infected, and smiled back at him.
“Oh, boys, uhm, hi!”
Molly waved at them.
“Molly, what are you doing here?” John asked, getting up. She worked at the morgue, not at the A&E.
“Our lab examined Ms Sullivan’s blood sample, and when my colleagues said you are her GP and that you brought her here, I thought I’d come and tell you the results.”
“Oh, thank you. So, did you discover the cause of her fast heart rate?”
“Yes, it was a Laroxyl overdose.”
“What?”
"That's not what she says, of course. She says she had a strong migraine, took some pills, but didn’t know that Laroxyl had side effects."
"But you don’t believe her," Sherlock intervened.
"Well, no. First of all, she doesn’t show any symptoms of migraine, and then the psychologist thinks it was a deliberate act to get someone's attention. Finally, she claims it was not her doctor who brought her here, but her boyfriend," Molly said, biting her lips.
"Shit!"
John was furious: the woman had tricked him and manipulated him to get him to spend time with her. Did she believe that John would fall in love with her? Just because she was in distress?
She was completely crazy.
"She has a crush on you and you didn’t notice," Sherlock deduced.
“Exactly. What should I do, now? Beside telling her I’m not interested, of course.”
“Considering how far she has gone to get your attention, I'm not sure words will be enough," Sherlock pointed out.
"Well, what do you suggest I do then?"
“John!” Ms Sullivan walked toward him, smiling, and designedly ignoring Molly and Sherlock. “I am terribly sorry I have wasted your time… God, this is so embarrassing! I swear I had no idea that this drug had side effects, next time I will be more careful. As an apology, can I invite you to dinner?"
“Ms Sullivan…” John started, fuming, but the woman interrupted him: “Laura, remember?”
Sherlock slipped an arm around John’s waist and pulled him to his chest, smiling amiably.
"Thanks for the offer, but John and I have other plans."
And, before John had time to realize what was going on, Sherlock put two fingers under John’s chin to make him raise his head, and kissed him.
Thoroughly.
Yes, Sherlock kissed as he made sandwiches, with extreme meticulousness. A shiver ran down John’s spine as Sherlock sucked lightly on his bottom lip.
John’s eyes closed on their own volition, and he barely registered the two shocked gasps from Ms Sullivan and Molly, with only one though in his mind: “Sherlock is kissing me, he’s kissing me for real and there’s nothing chaste in it, our tongues are touching, and when did I open my mouth? Sod it, I don’t care, it’s good, he tastes divine, and his hair are so soft.”
John tightened the grip on said hair, making Sherlock moan loudly. It was then that John came to his senses, and broke the kiss.
He was the first one to open his eyes, and for that he was blessed with the sight of Sherlock, flushed and breathless, with his eyes still closed and those sinful, luscious lips parted.
A moment later, panic flooded his system, and he pushed Sherlock away.
Both Molly and Ms Sullivan were gone.
John covered his still tingling lips with his left hand, and licked them, catching the last traces of Sherlock's taste.
"Why the hell did you do that?" He bursted, "was it only to chase Ms Sullivan away?"
Sherlock furrowed his brow but didn't answer. He looked troubled and confused, as if that was his first intention, but then something had gone terribly wrong.
"Shit, Sherlock! You can't go around kissing people!"
"I didn't kiss people, I kissed you," Sherlock finally answered, his voice still breathless and rough.
John ruffled his hair and looked away.
"Is that all you have to say? Fuck Sherlock," he cursed again. "You-you can't... you shouldn't have... this is a mess!"
John shook his head and walked away, needing space and time to reflect.
The rational part of him knew he was overreacting over a kiss that, deep down, he had really enjoyed.
But that was exactly part of the problem: Sherlock’s kiss had opened a Pandora's box that John had kept closed since that first night out at Angelo’s, when Sherlock had informed him that he was flattered by his interest, but he considered himself married to his work.
So John had put away those fantasies and had done his best to think of Sherlock only as a friend, and nothing more, because he was pretty sure that Sherlock hated sex or human touch. Hell, he hadn’t flinched in front of a very naked Irene Adler, and John perfectly remembered the expression of deep disgust on Sherlock's face as he kissed Janine.
John put his hands on his hips and sighed. Yes, that was the truth: Sherlock didn’t like kissing people, and earlier he had forced himself to kiss John only to help him to get rid of the annoying Ms Sullivan.
John didn’t want to force Sherlock to do things he hated, but how was he supposed to forget about that mindblowing kiss?
Had it only been a quick peck on the lips, maybe John would have been able to laugh at it and forget, but that kiss...
John touched his lips again and cursed.
Dammit! How was he supposed not to want to kiss him again every time they were in the same room?
Christ, what a mess, what a mess…
Besides, he was a poor actor: Sherlock would read right through him with just a glance, would know that John wanted him, and he would reject John again.
It was going to be terribly awkward, wasn't it?
Anyway, it was late, and he was tired and cold. He couldn't stay out all night long: sooner or later, he had to go back to Baker Street and face Sherlock, as scary as it was.
After all, Sarah was right again: he did avoid talking, as much as he could.
Well, if he was lucky, Sherlock would had already gone to bed, postponing the confrontation to the next morning.
But John wasn't lucky, he had never been, and Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, watching him walking on eggshells on the threshold of their flat.
“Uhm.. hey… er, listen, about earlier, I…”
“Oh, for god’s sake!”
Sherlock exploded - John had no other way to describe it. Sherlock jumped up from his armchair and threw his arms in the air.
"Don't worry about your precious heterosexuality, John! If you want me to make a post on my blog about how straight you are, I'll do that! I'll even write an epic poem about your womanizer skills. Happy, now?"
"What... where is this fucking nonsense coming from?" John sputtered. Sherlock's words made no sense to him.
“It comes from your spectacular escape after we kissed. I bet you wouldn’t run so fast even in front of a bomb.”
Was that what Sherlock thought of him? That he was disgusted by his kiss? How could have Sherlock missed the truth? He almost painted John as a homophobe asshole, and this made him mad.
“No, you’re completely wrong, you cock!”
“Then why are you so upset?” Sherlock yelled.
“Because you didn’t mean it!” John yelled back, without thinking clearly, otherwise he'd have realized that he had just admitted he wanted a true love kiss from Sherlock. “Listen, I know you just wanted to help me out with Ms Sullivan, but you can’t kiss me like that and expect me not to be affected by it.”
Sherlock gaped at him, completely dumbstruck, and then tried to speak, “Actually, I…”
But John cut him off and went on talking, afraid he’d lose courage if he stopped.
“Besides, I know you hate kissing people, I remember how disgusted you were by Janine. You don’t have to do something you hate, not for me, not for anyone else, understood? You make me feel like a right bastard.”
Sherlock mumbled something in a so low voice, that John had to ask him to repeat.
“As I have already told you in the A&E, you are not people, and you are not Janine.”
“What does this even mean?”
Sherlock's face looked almost pained, and John was under the impression he had just been silently called 'idiot' .
“Kissing you was different. It was good.”
“I thought it was just a play for Ms Sullivan.”
“That was the general idea at the beginning, to show her that you’re taken. But then…” Sherlock lowered his eyes and blushed so much that John's eyebrows skyrocketed to his hairline.
“Yes?” He prompted.
“When my lips touched yours, my body reacted on its own volition. I liked it, then I realized that I…”
“You what?”
“I meant it.”
John cautiously moved a few steps into the room. He was deadly serious.
“Please Sherlock, tell me this is not a joke.”
“Why do you care?” Sherlock barked. “You’re the one disgusted by my kiss, since you fled.”
“Wrong again.”
“I saw you running away with my very eyes, John.”
“Not about that, but about the reason I fled,” John nervously licked his lips. “If I had stayed, I would have snogged the living hell out of you, and I fear that’s quite against the hospital policy.”
“You… you…”
“I still want to.”
“Then do it.”
John didn’t wait any longer; he tackled Sherlock down on his armchair and crushed their lips together, licking his way into Sherlock’s mouth.
“I’m an idiot,” Sherlock murmured, when their lips separated.
“Oh, don’t worry, a very smart man once told me that we’re all idiots.”
Sherlock smiled, and peppered John’s face with soft petal kisses.
“Besides, you were partly right.”
“About what?”
“I am taken,” John said, and then kissed him again.