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"Bored!"
The sound of a gunshot exploded against John's eardrums. Sherlock was at it again. He sighed rather angrily. Did his flatmate and best friend have any idea what manners were? Yes, but he doesn't actually care, he answered himself.
He walked into the room Sherlock was in. "Give me the gun, Sherlock. You can't just shoot the wall whenever you're bored."
A curly head tipped back and blue-green eyes stared at him. "But I'm BORED, John!" he protested.
"That doesn't give you an excuse to destroy things!" John shot back. He held out his hand for the gun.
Sherlock reluctantly relinquished the weapon. "What do you suggest I do instead?"
"I don't know, read a book?" John looked at Sherlock. "Why do you get this way when you're bored, do you know?"
"It's like I can't sit still. I have to do something. I can't be BORED like this, John! I can't stand it!" He certainly didn't seem to be able to sit still. He was just about bouncing off the sofa.
John's mind started going about a hundred miles an hour. If Sherlock were his patient, what would he diagnose him with?
While he was thinking, Sherlock did bounce off the couch. He spun around a few times and headed for the kitchen, spouting off and repeating a short list of chemical-related things in a voice loud enough to make John's ears hurt like they had at the gunshot.
John watched him in dismay. An explosion seemed to be imminent. But no. Sherlock came spinning out of the kitchen again, and- what exactly was his face doing? It looked like he was in pain.
"Sherlock?" John asked. "Are you all right?"
Sherlock was now digging his fingernails into his forearms.
"Sherlock!"
The whirlwind in question sat down explosively on the couch he had just vacated and hugged his knees to his chest, burying his head between them and rocking back and forth.
John's brain clicked onto an explanation. He had just had a patient a few days ago, a little girl, whose parents complained that she had tantrums frequently, was bothered by things other people weren't bothered by, and acted strangely. There had been other things, but those were what John remembered at the moment. The little girl was autistic. Once her parents allowed her to stim freely and remove herself from problematic situations, quite a few of the problems with her behavior had just vanished (or, once they understood them, they weren't problems any more). (Of course, obviously, she was still autistic. That wasn't about to change. But it wasn't like that was a problem, just something different from most of the rest of the world.) John remembered that the little girl liked to pressure stim, and that that calmed her down. A weighted blanket might work, or a tight hug.
Well, it was worth a try.
John sat down carefully on the cushion beside his best friend and wrapped his arms around him. "Does this help?" he asked quietly.
Sherlock uncurled enough to snake his arms around John's waist and bury his face in his shoulder. John took that as a yes and hugged him more tightly.
After a few seconds, Sherlock stopped rocking his knees back and forth, which John was glad of, since they kept hitting him in the stomach.
"Sherlock?" he asked quietly.
Sherlock made a snorting kind of noise to let John know he was listening.
"Do you know- are you autistic? Sorry if that's-"
He didn't manage to finish his sentence. Sherlock's hair got in the way as he nodded.
"Okay. Well, um, if you- um, want a hug again, I don't mind. I-it's fine."
Sherlock hugged John harder, and John thought he could feel him smiling against his shoulder. There was something wet there too. John hoped it was tears and not a runny nose.
"Are you feeling better now?" John asked, careful not to give any sign of wanting to move away. He knew that if Sherlock were to think that he was uncomfortable, he would probably let go, whether or not he needed the hug.
Sherlock nodded again and hugged him more tightly, obviously wanting to stay in that position.
"Are you... able to talk? Are you all right?"
One of Sherlock's arms pulled away and reached for his phone on the table. John's phone went ding! a few seconds later.
Nonverbal. SH
I did tell you when we met that sometimes I don't speak for days. SH
Should I text too? JW
No, I can hear you perfectly. SH
"Okay. So- you're autistic. You go nonverbal sometimes. A few minutes ago you had a- meltdown, right? Anything else I should know?"
Sherlock scooted a fraction of an inch closer.
You are very good at hugging. SH
John chuckled.
But seriously? No, I don't think so. I was diagnosed in my childhood. I've just dealt with it ever since. SH
"What do you usually do when this happens?" John asked, hoping he wasn't prying too much.
Cocaine. Or crime. Sometimes both. SH
"You mean solve crimes?"
No. SH
"O...okay then. I guess I shouldn't be surprised."
Possibly not. SH
"What kind of crime?"
Puzzles. Nothing that hurt anyone. I once completely baffled Scotland Yard by breaking into a jewelry shop, rearranging all the valuables including the ones in the safes but taking nothing, and leaving the door locked from the inside. Not that it's hard to baffle Scotland Yard. SH
"Well- okay then. Um- like I said, if you want a hug instead of doing that, it's fine. Just ask, I guess?"
Thank you. SH
Sherlock put his phone back on the table and snuggled up to John again like a particularly large and human-shaped feline. John smiled at the mental image and placed his own phone by Sherlock's so he could hold onto him with both arms.
They stayed like that for a while. Sherlock was warm and his hair was fluffy. John was just starting to doze off when his phone went ding! again.
Thank you, John. SH
A pause, and then:
I love you. SH
John, a bit startled, realized that they had never actually told each other outright that they loved each other. It was just something unspoken and obvious that both of them took for granted. "I- I love you too, Sherlock," he whispered back, and smiled.
John knew that he was important to Sherlock. He had made it clear through many things: being willing to basically go on a suicide mission to give John a normal life with the lying wife he had chosen over his best friend, for example.
But this? This just hammered it in. Sherlock was definitely not disposed to displays of sentiment. And that, what he had just said, voluntarily, without any kind of prompting? That was… a pretty big display of sentiment.
John was determined not to start crying. That wasn't a good enough reason to cry- that was ridiculous. No, his eyes were just leaking a little bit- okay. A little bit more than a little bit. Fine. He was crying. Just a little bit, though. And at least he was being quiet about it.
Luckily, Sherlock didn't seem to notice.
He was lucky to have such an extraordinary friend, John thought.
Sherlock was extraordinary in several ways. He was very good at solving cases.
He made an extraordinary amount of mess when he did experiments or attempted to make a meal.
He had an extraordinary mind. He was very good at thinking about stuff. John couldn't think of any stuff Sherlock was good at thinking about right at that moment but he knew there were lots of things. Something about blood.
He was extraordinarily annoying sometimes. But that didn't matter very much.
He was extraordinarily… warm, and his hair was soft, and it smelled like…? it smelled nice, and Sherlocky. A good friend, and a good pillow, John thought as he drifted off to sleep.
---
Sherlock's brain was spinning just a bit out of control. He had just told John he loved him, not really expecting a reply, and John had said he loved him too. He wasn't entirely sure what he had texted John in reply to his questions about something or other, but he was fairly certain he had given accurate information.
This was like the "you're my best friend" thing all over again, but more. Sherlock really had not expected this. He supposed he could probably have figured it out from various things, but he was absolute rubbish at deducing love. Attraction was easy enough- all chemicals, nothing that affected him- fun fact, did you know that the initial "falling in love" stage of a relationship lasts about two years on average?- but actual love? How exactly was one supposed to figure that one out?
Sherlock's arms tightened a tiny bit around his best friend, careful not to wake him. He couldn't even figure out love when it was him loving someone, for goodness' sake. It was completely irrational to be willing to give up so much for someone else. But Sherlock wouldn't have traded it for the world. There he went, being irrational again. Who would want to trade a planet for a concept anyway?
No one ever wanted to be around him when he was having a meltdown. Apparently John was the exception. John was the exception to a lot of things.
John had just come up to him, sat down on the couch beside him, and given him exactly the kind of hug he needed. And he was still hugging him, even though he was pretty sure John was asleep now.
Sherlock couldn't remember the last time he had been this relaxed. He was always scanning his surroundings with at least one sense, and even when he was sleeping, which wasn't a lot of the time, he would wake up at random times because there had been a noise.
But he felt safe now, wrapped up in the most comforting hug he'd had since his childhood. He knew it was irrational, but it seemed as if nothing could get to him. Actually, he didn't care if it was irrational. If anything happened, he was sure John could take care of it. John was good at taking care of things.
John was good at a lot of things. Shooting a gun, for instance. He was good at that, definitely. And, being safe with shooting a gun.
He was also good at making sure Sherlock ate enough to stay alive. Sherlock was glad to stay alive for him.
Another thing... that John was good at... was hugging.
He was comforting, and warm, and his sweater was soft, not scratchy, and he smelled like… he smelled like John. kind but ferocious when provoked; funny, responsible, amazing; he smelled like home.
There were probably lots of really interesting cases to solve, but he didn't care. He was staying right here, for as long as he could.
and he didn't really want to fall asleep, but he knew he would dream of friendship, so it was okay. he started dozing off, and adventures featured prominently in his dreams, adventures with his best friend beside him, running and laughing with him… those were the best kinds of adventures.