Work Text:
Because John looks but doesn’t observe, it takes him some time to realize that there is something weird.
Passing by Sherlock's armchair, he notices the cup of tea he had made for him two hours before, untouched and now cold; he takes it, empties it in the sink and rinses. That’s when he realizes that he has been doing that gesture for several days, and that Sherlock has virtually stopped drinking tea.
He frowns, wondering why: it's the usual brand of tea they always drink, he makes it as usual, and the kettle is the same.
A tremendous doubt makes its way into his head: he returns to the living room and stops in front of Sherlock's armchair.
"Did you put something strange in the tea jar?"
"Where did you get this deduction from, completely wrong, by the way?" Sherlock replies with his usual calm, without looking up from the laptop.
"You stopped drinking it."
"It's because I'm drinking coffee, and I don’t think it's a good idea to overdo with the stimulants, for me and for our domestic peace."
"Oh..." a wave of embarrassment hits John, as he immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. But then he remembers that time when Sherlock made him leave the house at eleven o'clock in the evening, during a storm, to buy tea, because he categorically refused to drink the coffee they had at home. "You don’t like coffee."
"Ah!” Sherlock looks up from the screen, pleased, “this is a good deduction instead. It's true, but right now coffee is essential to reach my goal."
At that point John is convinced that Sherlock is conducting one of his usual, bizarre experiments, like that of last month with disgusting slugs (that are probably still crawling somewhere inside the walls of the old house) and decides not to deepen the subject.
Another few days pass before John asks himself another fundamental question (and this is the reason why Sherlock is the detective and John the blogger): the coffee maker has been locked in a cupboard for several months, since the aforementioned detective used it to boil pigeon blood, there is no smell of fresh coffee in the house, so where is Sherlock going to drink it?
Not at Speedy's, because when John comes out and back home, Sherlock is never there.
Not that John is checking Sherlock's movements.
Absolutely not.
Sherlock can go and drink his coffee in Brazil, for all he cares, he's just curious about his change of habits.
Nothing else.
What makes John admit that he is more than curious, is an episode that happens a couple of days later.
Sherlock has been out all afternoon and, in the meantime, a potential client has come to ask for help, telling one of those absurd and peculiar stories that never fail to capture Sherlock’s attention.
So John takes notes diligently, as he is sure that his best friend will accept the case.
When Sherlock returns, just before dinner time, John tells him everything.
"Today a man, Joseph Heinz, came to ask for your help. Listen to this: he has been married for seven years and claims that since last month, aliens kidnap his wife periodically and replace her with a clone. She looks exactly the same, but he claims she is not his wife."
"I suppose you've excluded drugs and alcohol abuse," Sherlock says absently, opening up his laptop.
"He didn’t show any symptoms."
"So why does Mr. Heinz thinks his wife has been replaced?"
"Oh, this is the best part, you'll like it for sure: he said that, the glasses are slightly wide to his wife's clone."
Sherlock stretch his lips in a smug smile: "Hm, finally someone who can observe."
"So, will you take his case?"
"No, I have more important things to do, and then the case is already solved."
"How?"
"According to this site, Joseph Heinz has made his way into the insurance world, putting aside a fair amount of money, so his wife, in agreement with her twin sister -who, clearly, Mr. Heinz doesn’t know- has decided to kill him, using the twin to get an alibi."
"Once you said that they are never the twins."
"Every rule has its exception, John."
"Good grief, we must tell Lestrade!" John exclaims, jumping up.
"Oh…” Sherlock frowns, as if the thought hadn’t even touched him, “you’re right. I don’t think the two women will act immediately, but it’s better if you go to Scotland Yard with Mr. Heinz."
"Wait, aren’t you coming?"
"As I told you, I have a more important project."
At this point, John has no problem admitting that he is dying of curiosity, also because, when the next day he offers to help Sherlock in this project, he is told that he "doesn’t have the necessary qualities to help".
John pouts and goes to sulk in his bedroom, and doesn’t talk to Sherlock all day, because he can do a lot of things, he is competent in many fields, but above all he isn’t happy to be put aside so hastily.
This project must be linked in some way to the fact that the detective spends a few hours away from home every day, and now John is determined to find out where he is going.
For his safety, John says to himself, and to check that Sherlock doesn’t get into trouble, because he knows how incautious Sherlock can be (which is true, but it's also a good excuse to follow him).
The first attempt of stalking fails, because Sherlock takes a taxi, and John isn’t prepared for that scenario, so the second time dusts off the bicycle from Mrs. Hudson's cellar, and follows Sherlock from a distance.
The taxi takes Sherlock to Broadway Market, the place with the greatest concentration of hipsters of London, and the detective goes into the Atmosphere Café.
John frowns: it's for a case, then? Is Sherlock following a suspect, or does he meet an informant here? But if it's a case, why did he decline John’s help?
They are John and Sherlock, and they always work together on cases, protests the most childish part of him.
John approaches the window of coffee shop, pretending to write on his phone, and looks for Sherlock.
He is seated at a table in a corner, his back to the window, and is looking at the other customers; shortly after, a barista approaches him, and puts a cup of coffee in front of him, but instead of going back behind the counter, he pats him lightly on the shoulder and sits down in front of him: they know each other.
The former soldier straightens his back and turns his full attention to the barista. Probably, if John were able to shoot laser beams from the eyes, now the poor man would be only a graceful pyramid of smoking ash.
'Victor' says the metal plate that the man wears on the green and beige striped apron; he is tall, perhaps more than Sherlock, has a remarkable body, blue eyes, brown hair and a dazzling smile, which he shoots towards Sherlock too often, for John's tastes.
The two men speak, and Sherlock seems really interested in what Victor has to say: he smiles, pays attention, nods, and John knows him enough to understand that he isn’t pretending.
So this is where Sherlock comes to get coffee every day, in a shop full of flashy hipsters, chatting with this amateur waiter who doesn’t know how to do his job, since he ignores all the other customers? How does he still have a job? And why the owner doesn’t do anything to amend him? Are there only blunderers in this place?
John notices that he is grinding his teeth only when he accidentally crushes the old decay he should cure, and takes a deep breath to calm himself. He relaxes the fists that he didn’t notice he had tightened and massages the base of his nose: why is he reacting this way?
"Are you jealous?" Irene Adler's inopportune voice makes itself heard in his head, and John walks away from the window, snorting.
Jealous... what a ridiculous idea! He and Sherlock are not together, they are just flatmates, Sherlock can see whoever he wants, and there isn’t any reason why John should be jealous of a barista who, in his free time, is probably the cover man for GQ.
He takes the bicycle and gets away quickly, before he starts feeling really ridiculous; but he doesn’t see Sherlock, who suddenly turns to the window and scans the passersby.
"Are you all right?" Victor asks.
"For a moment I had the impression that someone was watching me."
"I couldn’t blame them" he jokes.
"Your bad sense of humor hasn’t changed over the years," Sherlock snorts, shaking his head.
Once home, John does some research on the Atmosphere Café: maybe it’s involved in money laundering or prostitution, and Sherlock is there to unmask some criminal.
However, to his disappointment, he finds no clue about his theory, and the reviews of the coffee shop are all positive. He can’t even leave a criticism of Victor to get him fired (something that John never thought of doing), because the barista is not an employee, he’s the owner.
But of course.
Irene Adler appears sitting on Sherlock's chair, naked, her legs crossed, and a smug smile on her face.
"You're jealous," she says, and this time it's not a question.
"It's not true! And get up from there!" John barks at the empty room.
When Sherlock comes home, it's almost time for dinner, and John is about to shout in his face, "Where have you been?" like the wifey of a sitcom from the '50s.
The detective sits down in his armchair and immediately goes to work on the laptop, while John looks at him from the kitchen table: Sherlock looks relaxed and satisfied, and this makes him furious.
Probably Victor, after coffee, invited him to the back of the shop to offer him the dessert.
John growls to himself and closes his eyes to chase away that inappropriate mental picture, but he was less silent than he thought, because Sherlock looks up from the computer and asks him if he is fine.
"Oh, perfectly fine."
"Mh. What's for dinner tonight?"
"Nothing!" John bangs his fists on the table, then retires to his room, the imaginary voice of Irene Adler chasing him, and pointing out that if he were just a little more obvious, even a blind man would understand what goes through his mind.
"Shut up," hisses John, resentful, closing the door behind him: he’s just surprised that Sherlock is dating someone, because he is kind of allergic to human relationships.
"Every rule has its exception, John."
The words pronounced by Sherlock a few days before come back to him full force.
It's true and, after all, it's John the one who always explains to everyone that he and Sherlock are not together, so it's no surprise that Sherlock eventually found someone.
Someone else.
And John has no problem with it, indeed he’s happy for him...
God, he must remember to go to the pharmacy to buy an antacid, as he clearly didn’t digest well, he says, massaging his aching stomach.
"You didn’t eat anything since noon," observes Irene, lying on the bed.
"Get out!"
"Your loss," replies the imaginary woman, shrugging.
John's last hope is that Sherlock is not going only to that coffee shop, but that the case (whose existence he is desperately holding on to) takes him also to other shops.
This hope fades when the taxi leaves Sherlock again on Broadway Market the next day, and the next day, and the whole week that follows.
John stops the bike on the other side of the road, he watch Victor go to meet Sherlock, hug him, make him sit at the best table, bring him coffee and sit with him to chat, like every day.
John doesn’t need to hear what they say, he has already seen enough, and pushes his bicycle down the road.
There is no case, and those are clearly dates.
Sherlock turns to the window and observes the coming and going of people along the road: for a moment he felt himself observed, again.
"Here's your ticket, see you tonight at the airport," says Victor, handing him an envelope.
"Thank you for accepting to help me."
"You’re welcome. And I'm sure Madeleine will be happy not to have me around for a while."
John doesn’t go home immediately, he rides the city without stopping, hoping to leave behind the thoughts that beset him, and it’s only when he stops at a traffic light, dripping with sweat, that he understands that it is completely useless, and it’s better to face them.
Yes, he is jealous of that dandy barista, he's jealous because Victor and Sherlock are beautiful together, he's jealous because he doesn’t want intruders in the life he shares with Sherlock, he's jealous because he likes Sherlock, even if he never admitted it aloud and has a trail of dates with women longer than the queue to get on the London Eye, which probably convinced Sherlock that John isn’t interested in him. And now it's too late.
"Good job as always, Watson," he murmurs, tightening the brakes on his bicycle.
Now he should retire with dignity, offer Sherlock and Victor his congratulations and...
To hell with dignity! He has no intention of remain silent and letting Sherlock go without doing anything.
What to do to keep him, John has no idea, and nothing comes to his mind as he returns home; the only things he can think are inventive expletives for Victor, and calling himself a fool for never having come forward.
However, he thinks he will be able to tell something to Sherlock, at least until he enters the house and finds his trolley in the middle of the living room.
"Ah, here you are. I was afraid I couldn’t see you before leaving. Where have you been?" Sherlock asks, coming out of his room, holding a smaller suitcase.
John ignores the question and asks one in turn: "Where are you going?"
"I'll be away for three weeks: I'll be in Paris, Venice and Prague."
The most romantic cities on the continent, of course.
"Why?"
"For my project."
"Oh, project! Is it called like that now? "John snaps, crossing his arms.
Sherlock frowns: "Perhaps study is a more correct term, but why does a matter of semantics make you so angry?"
"And of course you go with Victor," John urges him, ignoring the question again. He bet that their only project is to test the mattresses of the hotels. A study in sex, that’s what they’re gonna do.
"How do you know Victor?"
"I followed you."
Sherlock shakes his fists in sign of victory: "Ah! I knew it! It wasn’t my imagination, when I thought someone was watching me. And I congratulate you John,” Sherlock looks pleased, “you're improving a lot, I didn’t realize it was you. Now, would you mind answering this question at least, and telling me why you did it?"
"Because you never told me anything, where you went to drink coffee, or what you were doing!"
"You didn’t ask me, so I assumed you didn’t care," says Sherlock, sincere and unperturbed.
John rewinds the tape of the events of recent weeks and realizes that it is true, he never asked any explanation, he had rather sulked like a child. But right now he doesn’t have time to feel like an idiot, he's too jealous.
"Why Victor? What's so special about him?" John asks.
"Well, he has the necessary qualities to help me with this project."
"And I don’t?" John exclaims, outraged.
"No."
Sherlock is so blunt that John is dumbstruck and doesn’t react, while the detective looks at his watch.
"We have a plane to catch at 11 p.m., I have to go. I will tell you about my project... sorry, study, when I come back."
Sherlock lifts his suitcases and leaves the flat, taking a taxi.
Only then John recovers from his shock: hell no, he can’t accept to be put in a corner like this, his pride doesn’t allow it, and Sherlock hasn’t even tried to be with him, it’s not fair!
He runs down the street, calls a taxi, too, and goes to the airport, looking for Sherlock among people waiting to board.
He is not far away and is talking to Victor.
"Are you lost in thought?” Victor asks.
"I was thinking about John."
"I should have guessed it," Victor laughs.
"Why?"
"It's not that hard, considering how much you talk about him."
"John was very strange tonight. Something is bothering him, but I can’t figure out exactly what. See, one of John's characteristics is to be absolutely unpredictable and... "
"Sherlock!"
John reaches him, making him turn around.
"Unpredictable indeed... John, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, you are John Watson!” Victor intervenes, extending his hand. “Sherlock always speaks of..."
"You, shut up! This is only between Sherlock and me!” John orders, pointing his finger at Victor, before talking to Sherlock again, “And you... you can’t... you don’t know..."
"What are you babbling about? Are you sure you're okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine, you're the one who doesn’t think straight anymore! What happened to your deductive reasoning, hm? You says that one should never theorize before knowing the facts, and then you say that he is better than me, without having any proof."
"Well… obviously."
"Obviously my ass! In the army they called me ‘Three Continents Watson’ for a very specific reason: I'm the best in this kind of projects , if you really want to use this metaphor, better than him and all the men in this airport. And you, Sherlock Holmes, don’t know what you're missing!"
"John, since when are you an expert in..."
Coffee shops.
Sherlock would like to end his sentence with that, but he can’t do it, because John pulls him by the jacket and kisses him, in front of an entire airport, fiery, desperate, because he doesn’t want Sherlock to leave, almost without letting him to breathe, because that's how John Watson kisses. He sucks and bites his lips, caresses his palate with the tongue, swallows his moans of surprise, and if he detaches his lips from his is just to find a better position and attack them again.
When he finally lets Sherlock go, he's breathing heavily, like after a marathon.
"Here, now you have a comparison for your project," pants John, looking down. Once the excitement of the moment has subsided, he don’t have the guts to look up at Sherlock and maybe read a refusal on his face.
"Er, sorry if I intrude once more, but I think there's a huge misunderstanding here…” Victor says, “also, I believe you broke him," he concludes, pointing to Sherlock.
John finally lifts his eyes: Sherlock is as still as a statue, the only part of him that is moving are the eyelids, that are fluttering at an almost alarming speed.
"Ah, yes... he does it when he needs to process an unexpected piece of information."
Victor takes an envelope from his pocket and hands it to John with a happy laugh, making him frown: John has just kissed his boyfriend and he smiles? There is something wrong here.
"I think that this will be more useful to you than to me. There's still time before the flight departure, why don’t you go to a coffee shop and talk?" Suggests Victor.
"I don’t want to go to a fucking coffee shop!" John growls. He will not put foot in a coffee shop ever again.
Victor raises his hands in a relaxing gesture.
"Okay, then go outside, before your screams alarm airport security."
Since John doesn’t want to spend the night at a police station talking about his jealousy, he puts a hand on Sherlock's back and pushes him toward the taxi parking.
Sherlock hasn’t said a word yet and John can’t stand the tension anymore: is he angry, perplexed, disgusted, confused, shocked?
"Say something, dammit!" John growls.
Sherlock has to clear his throat a couple of times before he can speak and, despite everything, John is secretly proud of it: in any case, Sherlock will not forget that kiss so easily.
"Did you think my project had to do with sex?"
"Of course yes: you're leaving for a romantic three-week trip with your boyfriend, what else should I think?"
"It’s not like that. And Victor is just an old friend, not my boyfriend, he's married. With a woman," he points out.
Oh.
Apparently there was really a huge, pantagruelic misunderstanding.
"And my project,” continues Sherlock, “is a study of the customers who frequent coffee shops. That shops aren’t the same everywhere, the English ones are different from Italians or Czechs ones, and even the customers are different for age, habits, social background and level of education: with my study I'm trying to determine if coffee shops are ideal places to plot a crime, and what types of crimes, looking for a correlation between the place and the customers. Victor is a former college mate of mine, he is a businessman who has some coffee shops around Europe, and has offered to help me in my study, because he knows very well the habits of the different customers. You never worked in a coffee shop: that’s why you don’t have the skills to help me, and you would have found it boring to sit for hours watching people drinking coffee, so I didn’t involve you in this project."
As Sherlock speaks, John feels like he’s dying of shame and embarrassment; he covers his eyes with one hand and waits for a bottomless pit to suddenly open beneath his feet to swallow him forever.
In vain.
"I'm an idiot" he sighs.
"But... hm... what you did…” Sherlock stutters, in an unusually uncertain voice, “you know, sometimes a wrong deduction can lead to... positive results..."
John lowers his hand slowly, looking first at Sherlock's lips, then at his reddened cheeks and finally at his eyes, while Sherlock nods almost imperceptibly.
This time John is more delicate, as he slides his arms around Sherlock's shoulders and buries a hand into his dark curls, but no less determined when he closes his eyes and kisses him again.
And this time Sherlock's arms close around his back in a possessive hug that leaves no doubt about his intentions.
A few minutes later, the angry sound of a taxi's claxon makes them jump and part.
"Oi, go elsewhere! This is the ‘kiss and ride’ zone, not the ‘snog and make out’ one!"
John's smug face tells that he's not ashamed, but maybe it's better to look for a more private place.
"Where do you want to go?" He asks Sherlock.
"I think Victor has given you his plane tickets for the romantic trip, as you called it."
"But… but I don’t even have a suitcase or clothes with me!" John protests.
"And who tells you that you'll need spare clothes?" Sherlock murmurs in his ear.
"Well... in this case..."
John pushes Sherlock towards the boarding gate.