Work Text:
He had been sat at the desk chair in the eccentrically decorated and messily sorted living room for about an hour, staring at his hands. When he heard a noise from above he had jumped. He shouldn’t have been surprised, two people definitely lived here.
The problem was, as one of the people, he had no idea who he was. He didn’t recognise his surroundings at all. The skull on the mantelpiece, the Union Jack pillow on the red arm chair and the smiley face drawn on the wall in yellow aerosol paint all felt like home. He just couldn’t remember them being home. He didn’t even know his own name.
The man, turns out it was a man, from upstairs paused in the doorway of the living room. He heaved a sigh and closed his eyes for a moment. Bags under eyes- no sleep. Pyjamas creased erratically and hair a mess- no sleep due to nightmares. Short haircut, standing in parades rest- nightmares about war. Which war? Afghanistan or Iraq? The thought had a familiar tinge to it.
It was brushed aside as the man walked into the room and glanced at him quickly before walking straight through to the kitchen.
‘Tea?’ the man asked.
He didn’t reply. Should he tell the man what was happening?
‘Do you want tea?’ the man tried again, reaching up into the cupboard and pulling out two mugs.
He still didn’t reply. Perhaps it would be best to tell him, or not, he didn’t know this man, could be anyone, might not even be his flatmate.
‘Sherlock.’ The man said, turning towards him. ‘Do you want tea?’
Sherlock shifted in his seat before nodding. The blonde quickly busied himself with the kettle and tea preparation. Sherlock. Interesting name, not exactly common, he smiled. Sherlock. It fit, felt comfortable.
The short blonde made the tea quickly, with the ease of someone who prepared it often. He didn’t ask Sherlock how he liked it. Perhaps this was his flatmate, or at least a close friend, or a stalker.
When he was done the man took the cups into the living room. He placed one mug on the coffee table near a leather chair. Sherlock felt drawn to that chair, to that mug, like perhaps it was routine to take his tea, made by this man, in that chair.
The man continued on to the desk and brushed past Sherlock as he reached for the laptop, open directly in front of him. Sherlock had attempted to break into it but with no information in his mind to draw from and no assurance of what was his or what belonged to his flatmate he hadn’t gotten past the lock screen.
‘Your laptop is right there.’ The man grumbled, pointing at another on the table near the lounge. Annoyed- I use his laptop often.
He trailed his fingers thoughtlessly over Sherlock’s shoulder as he turned back to sit on the red chair and sip his morning cuppa while pressing buttons on his laptop. Sherlock stayed still for a moment before jumping up and grabbing his laptop, coming back to sit on the second chair.
The man pressed at buttons slowly on his laptop, the noise irritating Sherlock. Sherlock opened his laptop and glared at the lock screen for a moment. What was his password? He looked around the room, his eyes settling on one thing or other and typing a guess into the box.
Sherlock could feel the man glancing at him occasionally. Concern- possibly he knows something is wrong. Crinkle between the brow, annoyance- no, he thought Sherlock was up to something.
‘Try Greg.’ He said with a smirk. Affectionate- thought Sherlock was up to something but didn’t mind.
‘Greg?’ Sherlock croaked. He sounded like he hadn’t talked in days and was a little shocked with what came out, that was his voice? He wondered briefly if the man knew what he was doing. Who was Greg?
‘If it’s Mycroft you’re trying to hack. Heard he’s been flirting.’
Slight look away- that was a secret. Glance at his phone- a friend’s secret. Conspiratorial smile at Sherlock- he expected a reaction, important secret. Important friend?
Sherlock made a funny noise in the back of his throat and the man chuckled. He really must find out what his name was. Calling him ‘the man’ in his head was getting old.
A few more presses of buttons and the man sighed happily. Seemed he was finished with whatever he had been doing. He grabbed his empty mug, noting Sherlock hadn’t touched his, and retreated to the kitchen.
‘You should drink that.’ the man remarked, ‘You sound a bit dehydrated. Made it just how you like it.’
Recognises symptoms of dehydration- not enough data. Suggests fix- caring. No, not suggests, tells- doctor.
Sherlock made a show of picking up the mug and placing it to his lips, taking a long sip. It was perfect. He hummed in pleasure and smiled over the top of his mug, breathing it in.
‘This is fantastic.’ Sherlock said, taking another gulp.
‘Yea, well, you’re welcome. I’ll get you another when I’m done in the shower.’
The doctor, as Sherlock was now calling him, showered quickly and moved upstairs again, presumably to get dressed.
While he had been in the shower Sherlock had picked up a phone he found. Looking at it he wondered if the doctor’s name was Harry, as was inscribed on the back of this one. After a few failed attempts to open it he decided it was just as useless as the laptops. He popped it in the pocket of one of the jackets and returned to his seat and laptop as he heard the stairs creak again.
The doctor had changed into more sensible garb. It was obvious now, his profession. He might as well be wearing a neon sign. It was obvious he was going to work, clothes not as comfortable as before yet not nice enough for it to be a date.
‘What are you doing today?’ He asked, moving around the room and collecting keys, wallet. He wandered around looking for something for a moment, Sherlock guessed it was the Harry phone.
‘Not sure.’ Sherlock said looking up from his laptop.
‘Try not to destroy anything.’ The doctor smiled fondly over at him before resuming his phone search, ‘No blowing things up, setting them on fire, stay away from my clothes, no shooting anything and keep body parts to containers I don’t eat out of.’
So it had been he who had shot the wall. The thought was comforting, he didn’t need to worry about who else might come in brandishing a gun with such flippancy.
Sherlock stood and walked towards the door. ‘I shall try not to destroy anything.’
Sherlock reached into the pocket of the jacket, hanging on its hook, and pulled the doctor’s phone from it out. He grumbled something about using his things but moved to take it from Sherlock’s outstretched fingers.
‘Right, that’s me off then. I was thinking we’d go somewhere for dinner tonight, how’s Angelo’s sound?’
‘Yes, fine, Angelo’s.’
Sherlock leaned down slightly and placed a chaste kiss on his doctor’s forehead. The doctor froze. He looked up at Sherlock sharply and with a question in his eyes.
What the hell?
‘Ahh, seems I have miscalculated.’ Sherlock said, taking a step back.
‘No, just…’ the doctor clearly couldn’t think what to say.
‘You came down this morning and offered to make me tea, you got my cup out before I even replied. You touched my shoulder and smiled when you told me to use my own laptop.’ Sherlock rattled off his deductions, ‘You kept looking at me, smiling, you tried to help when you thought I was stuck, shared what I’m presuming was a secret between friends. The tea was perfect. You listed all those things you thought I was going to do and smiled as though it was endearing. Then you said we were going out for dinner tonight.’
Sherlock kicked himself mentally. Not good to draw conclusions without all the facts. However the doctor was leaving and facts pointed towards a romantic inclination. Sherlock had felt like kissing the doctor so he had, presuming it was a habit. Apparently not.
‘Yes, well. First kisses generally go like this.’
The doctor, Harry(?), reached up and pulled Sherlock down into a proper kiss. Lips melded together and, once again, it was rather chaste, but it was wonderful. Warm and firm and Sherlock felt himself swoon ever so slightly.
They stared at each other for a long moment. The doctor looked very pleased with himself, as though he had wanted to do that for ages and finally gotten his chance. Sherlock felt as though he had just scratched an itch he hadn’t noticed before.
‘Yes, well, work.’ The doctor reluctantly pulled himself away and back towards the door.
‘Yes, have fun Harry.’ Sherlock said
‘Harry?’
Sherlock’s brain caught up with his words. Dammit, two mistakes in five minutes, and he doubted this one would go over half as well.
Not Harry- phone was a gift. Expensive gift. From a friend? No why would he be flat sharing here if he had somewhere else to go. So a relative, once again expense of the phone, close relative. Newer model phone, young man’s gadget. Brother.
‘Oh, sorry. Don’t listen to me. Calling you your brother’s name.
‘My… My brother…’ not-Harry said slowly. ‘Sherlock are you feeling alright.’
Sherlock shrugged. Why had he not told the doctor his problem in the first place? Or when he had discovered he was a doctor at least. Stupid.
‘Sherlock… what’s my name?’
Sherlock stood still, staring at the man in front of him. He stared as hard as he could but no number of deductions could reveal a name.
‘Oh god. You don’t know. You don’t know-’ the man stumbled back a step before drawing his phone back out of his pocket. ‘I’ll call in, Sarah will understand. Then Mycroft.’
‘Not Mycroft.’ Sherlock said.
John looked at him sharply. Honestly Sherlock had no idea why he was suddenly so against seeing this ‘Mycroft’. Strange name, like Sherlock-relation. Reaction speed- close relation. Reaction type- brother? Possibly. Sherlock had gotten too many things wrong recently to be sure.
‘Yes, Mycroft. I don’t care about sibling rivalry, I care about you not knowing my name.’
‘Or anything.’ Sherlock quipped. ‘What is your name, doctor?’
‘John. Christ. John Watson. What do you mean “or anything”?’
‘I did not know my own name til you told me, John Watson.’ Sherlock said, looking into John’s eyes.
John. His John. Just the sound of the name felt comforting, like a warm blanket. There was no doubt that Sherlock was romantically interested in John, yet that was their first kiss.
‘We’re not a couple?’ Sherlock asked with a frown when John hung up his first call, presumably his job.
John laughed. He laughed like a mad man, hysterically. He calmed himself momentarily only to catch sight of Sherlock and laugh again.
‘What? It was a simple question. I can’t remember anything but I do know that the automatic physiological responses to you point to a romantic attachment.’ Sherlock wondered briefly if he would regret this conversation when he regained his memories. Suddenly he was all too aware there must be a reason John and he weren’t a couple.
‘No, we’re not,’ John said, seriousness entering his voice and looking at Sherlock in wonder. ‘Though people often think we are.’
He tapped a few buttons on his phone and raised it to his ear. A quick talk down the phone and he hung up again.
‘Ok, I have the day off, Mycroft will be here soon, now’s not the best time to talk about where our relationship stands after I kissed you and you confessed to being attracted to me. How about we try figure out what did this?’
John and Sherlock searched the kitchen quickly, John asking questions constantly as they went, testing his memory. Mycroft it turned out was a repulsive sight and Sherlock insulted him as soon as he laid eyes on him, which made John laugh.
They found out quickly enough that a strange combination of the experiments Sherlock was doing had put off a somewhat altering gas and after a few calculations they all agreed the affects would wear off soon enough.
When Sherlock was feeling more like himself, testing the halls in his mind palace he came across a room labelled ‘unsorted’. Stepping in he found all of his memories from that day. He replayed John’s kiss once or twice in his mind before moving to John and pulling him in once again.
When people assumed they were a couple, he wanted them to be right.