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It was nine in the evening. Sherlock stumbled on his steps from a protruded rock as he walked the shortcut to an alley towards his apartment.
"Rocks. Why are you always under my feet?" He muttered under his breath as he kicked a gravel and the poor rock suffered a great distance of stumbling on the corner. Thanks to his long legs.
The night breeze blew and he shivered as it touched his curls. He turned his coat collar up by instinct and continued walking. His thoughts slowly calming and veering away from the gruesome murder of a mother and child.
He walked on until he was about to round the said corner when a soft rustling of something being stepped on behind him caught his attention.
When he turned to look, he found no one.
The lamp posts are only able to illuminate a certain distance from one point to another. And it didn't help that the sky was cloudy and the moon was hidden.
A warning of an impending rain.
He started walking once again and after a minute, as he passed an old boutique, there goes the rustling sound again.
His heartbeat went crazy with anticipation.
He slowed down on his steps, feeling his surrounding.
"O—kay..." Sherlock murmured to himself.
Still looking around, his sharp gaze surveyed the dark alleys like a hawk while his left hand groped inside the right pocket of his coat for the only thing he trusted his life with.
His medium sized bottle of pepper spray.
He never went on cases without one.
He took a deep breath and stopped on his tracks. He knows that it's the good time to panic for the steps behind him aren't stopping at all.
When a loud crack on the pavement pulled him out of his reverie. Sherlock whirled fast, his coat flailing behind him as he sprayed the bottle with all his might to his stalker's face.
Thunder then started to sound in the sky followed by an award-winning British curse by his stalker. When the first raindrops fell, the stalker cursed again and faced him.
And in the middle of that dimly illuminated alley, amidst the rain, Sherlock had a glimpse of soft looking blue eyes from a small built of a man with short blonde hair.
Realisation hits him and that's when he panicked.
"Oh my God! I know you!" Out of his usual multi-coloured attitude, he practically squealed.
The man tried to blink at him and Sherlock held his breath at the sheer beauty of it.
"Jesus—you're more beautiful in person." The man murmured weakly he almost miss it.
But that—does it.
Sherlock grabbed the man's wrist guiding him down the alley to the corner where his flat stood lonely. He tried to ignore his heart beating calm from the moment that he held the man's wrist (he'll probably ask someone at Barts, for science or maybe turn a whole library upside down for the most complex ones? Human emotions?)
When they neared the door, Sherlock fumbled on his pocket once again, for keys this time. The man beside him kept on squirming. He does know the effects of pepper spray on people.
"Stop moving—don't rub on your eyes—"
He muttered under gritted teeth. Why, this man was as stubborn as his Nanny before.
The door clicked open and again he grabbed the man and lead him slowly inside.
What a blessed day it was for his landlady was nowhere to be found. Probably out visiting on her cousins again.
Sherlock felt the man's breathing escalate as they trudge up the stairs towards his haven. He produced another set of keys and unlocked his door.
Once inside, he slipped off the man's mailman's bag as he did so to himself. He left him standing near his couch as he flicked the lights open, turned the heater on in a comfortable room temperature and walked to the bathroom to turn the tap on. Cold running water kissed his fingers and he shivered from it.
He then went back to the man who's still standing, eyes now closed. He almost hesitated to grab the man's small hands again. But as if sensing his hesitation, the man offered his hands.
Sherlock took them and he guided him to the bathroom. Feeling guilty of himself very much, he stopped talking. He just watched as the man cleansed his eyes expertly.
It was then that the man spoke.
"How did you know I wasn't a stalker then?" The man gurgled some water and spit it down the tub.
With the room illuminated brightly, Sherlock can now see the man properly. He was wearing a white long sleeved polo. Said sleeves were folded right up to his arms accentuating firm muscles. Black jeans and a simple yet presentable slipped on.
The man was living three apartments from his. He knows this because he goes to the park to visit his homeless network early everyday at six usually for suspect leads. He often sees the man walking on his way to the tube station wearing the same set of clothes, a stethoscope draped on his shoulders and a white clinical robe on his right arm. Blonde hair a mess, blue eyes sleepy and for the love of God, he thought the man was hot. And that he's gay for him already. But his courage only works on chasing criminals.
Sherlock sighed in defeat as he answered apologetically. "No. You're not a stalker." He murmured. "I'm really sorry about what I did. It was just so dark and—But anyway, you're in fact—a doctor, an army doctor and you live at 218—you ride the tube everyday. I often—no, always, see you and..."
He paused to see if the man was listening only when he looked up, the man was already looking at him. The man's eyes speaks a lot of emotions but all he could see and focus of was the reddening of the sclera.
"You should—n't stop washing them... Your eyes." He breathed, and there goes his heart again. He blinked rather over the estimated time and the man smiled at him warmly.
"I know." The man said, and winked at him before adding, "And I'm John Watson."
The man named John returned in washing his eyes. After almost half an hour, they left the bathroom. Sherlock then lend a clean towel to John while the man sat on his couch. He then proceed to make tea for two.
But Sherlock couldn't help and wondered, how could this man could still flirt with him when—
"An hour ago, I pepper sprayed you because I thought you were my stalker, but no. I know you live not far away from me. Now, here you are in my apartment, because I wanted to help you—and might I remind you, that the first thing you said to me—is that I'm beautiful—"
He voiced his thoughts so fast that he had stopped abruptly to catch his breath. And John chose that interlude to laugh from across the living room.
It was a laugh in between a childish giggle and a matured chuckle and Sherlock didn't know what to respond to that. He's so bad at reading emotions that even he, himself couldn't control his own. And he knows he looked stupid frowning while pouting. He took the cups, walked back to the living room and sets them on the coffee table.
When he looked at John, the man's eyes began to well with tears again.
"Well, yeah. You did. And you're right, I live just around the corner. And I'm a doctor as well—how did you know that?"
Sherlock bit his lower lip and looked down on his fingers shyly.
"I just... observed."
John looked at him with such intensity. "Well, that was brilliant. You're not just beautiful. You're brilliant as well. I wish you could tell me how did you do that." John said in a serious tone.
Sherlock picked his tea and sipped slowly.
"I might. Some other time."
John hummed in response.
Sherlock watched as John yawned, and leaned with his back on the couch, he then laid a small wet towel over the man's eyes.
John whispered thanks to him and murmured a slurred permission to take a nap for it had been a long day.
But of course, Sherlock wouldn't let the opportunity to get to know his crush.
Of all the most daring thing Sherlock did in his chosen way of life, that includes, cross-dressing for a case. He haven't even once did, what he was about to do.
Sherlock leaned closer and whispered on John's ear.
"Dinner?"
For a good stretch of silence Sherlock thought John would decline.
But then John replied with a silly grin on his lips, "Starving and you're forgiven."
Outside 221, the rain has stopped from pouring and the moonlight has finally shone on the alleys.
Why did John Watson said, he was even more beautiful in person? A question Sherlock wouldn't dare ask John to answer.
But maybe, just maybe—someday?