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“John, please open the door.”
Sherlock is standing in the middle of a fresh spring rain, and he forgot his umbrella at home. At least that’s something where Mycroft is always right.
“John, let me in.” Sherlock demands, growing fed-up with waiting.
“Yes yes, alright.” John says, and the door finally opens.
Without hesitating for a second, Sherlock sprints around John and starts to search.
“What are you doing?” John asks, looking confused.
“I’m looking for your Tom Nook shop. I’ve got 5000 turnips to sell, and your shop is offering 660 bells a turnip.”
“Just go the left of the museum on the main island. Honestly, I thought we could spend some time together. I build a new park yesterday, and I can show you the fish I caught in the museum.”
“Turnips first, the rest later.” Sherlock says and starts sprinting, following John’s instructions (“Oi, don’t step on my flowers!”). John’s character, dressed in a doctor’s mask and wearing army trousers, is running behind. Just as they always do in the outside world.
After a successful transaction with Timmy and Tommy, Sherlock’s bag feels significantly lighter. The two boys settle down at the beach, a burning fireplace between them.
It’s the first time in days they have spent so close. The quarantine has been going on for several weeks now, and Sherlock misses his boyfriend achingly. At the beginning of the lockdown, John suggested ordering a switch and playing the new and very popular Animal Crossing: New Horizons game, and Sherlock accepted readily. The boredom has been nagging on him, and Mycroft returning home to their parents for isolation did not help either. At least Sherlock has the comfort and privacy of his own room. Mycroft’s children had been turned into an office space for their mother. Professor Elizabeth Holmes has been busy with zoom conferences in the last days, communicating with her students who are all spread around the country.
The virus had creeped up to Sherlock like a clever -and very deadly — serial killer. When the first cases of COVID 19 were discovered in London, his and John’s university closed, and soon after, they left their dorms and travelled back to their childhood homes in the country.
“You know what I really miss.” John says, and his doctor/soldier character devolves into a puddle of tears on the screen.
Sherlock shakes his head, hoping for a romantic love confession.
“Take-away. My god, I would kill for a hot curry right now. Or a plate from the Greek restaurant around my dorm. They serve the best tomato rice.”
Sherlock stares at his favourite poster on the wall, a perfect replica of a human brain. Why again is John considered “the romantic one” in their relationship?
“You seem quiet.” John suddenly says through the headphones, and Sherlock is ripped out of his thoughts.
“Just thinking.” He replies quietly, adjusting his headphones. It is just after eleven p.m, his parents have retired to bed, and he does not want to disturb them.
“Are you thinking of me?” John asks, and Sherlock can feel his cheeky grin through his headphones.
“Of course, all my thoughts constantly spiral around you and your perfect body.” Sherlock says, deadpan. His character gets up, and with a swirl of his designed black coat he gets out his fishing nook and throws it into the blue sea.
“That’s good to hear. I can send you a few pictures tomorrow. I have been very busy working-out and with jogging.”
The picture of a sweating but glowing John running towards him with open arms comes to Sherlock’s mind. Delicious.
“Why not send them now?”
“It is too dark. My muscles look best in natural light. Be careful, a large fish is approaching.”
Sherlock accidentally clicks the button too early and the fish disappears into wherever fishes go in Animal Crossing. The void?
“Everything alright?”
Sherlock waves his switch through the air in frustration: “There is nothing to do! I already did all the university tasks for this week, I am not allowed to play my violin too much because it disturbs Mom and Mycroft, and I cannot even get out for grocery shopping!”
His doctor had strongly advised him not to leave the house, because Sherlock’s lungs sometimes suck at being lungs. The word “immunocompromised” has been thrown between Mycroft and his parents whenever he begged them for just a walk in the park, goddamn it. He perfectly understands theirs and John’s reasoning - after all, getting infected could easily kill him — but surely he still deserves to be angry about it?
“I know, and it fucking sucks. I can send you a few tasks from my chemistry class, which have been driving me crazy.” John offers graciously.
Sherlock perks up a bit: “Of course you can.” This will probably keep him busy for about an hour. One less hour of staring at the wall and listening to Mycroft screaming at his weak internet connection.
The two young men focus back on their game. John finally shows him the rest of his island and most importantly the museum.
“I caught a bee yesterday and donated it.” John explains when they are in the insects rooms. The part of the museum Blathers probably has nightmares about.
Sherlock presses a combination of buttons and his character sends out a couple of flowers around his beaming head.
“Christ, even your Animal Crossing character is too cute for this world.” John says adoringly, and Sherlock blushes.
“I miss you so much.” Sherlock whispers into the darkness of his bedroom. “I really want to kiss you.”
“I want to kiss you too, love.” John says. “Admittedly, I would like to do some more things with you, but I don’t think Mycroft would appreciate us having phone sex.”
“He is probably listening in right now, that bastard.” Sherlock says and raises his voice a bit at the end, so Mycroft, who is in the room to his left, can hear him. The only answer is a stifled cough through the walls.
“I have to go, sweetheart. My seminar starts at 8 o’clock tomorrow.”
“Sure.” Sherlock says and bites his lip in disappointment. The abrupt end of their conversation upsets him. It is after all not that late.
“Good night!” John whispers soothingly (he is going to be a good doctor) and ends their phone call. Sherlock saves the game, packs away his switch and rolls his body into a tight ball under the blankets. He had looked forward to their Animal Crossing meeting the whole day (and not only because John wrote to him about his high turnip prices, thank you very much), but their short conversation over the phone just wasn’t all that satisfying. His mind wanders to John’s house, only a few streets away from him, but still so far. Is John already asleep or is he thinking of Sherlock too? Sherlock groans and buries his head deeper into his pillow. It smells of his father’s favourite detergent, and Sherlock is filled with gratitude that he is in this small town with John and his family and a small garden, and not in the bustling city.
John had always been home to him, more than a house ever could be.
The two boys had been close ever since kindergarten. They met on the playground, and five year old John had shoved away a much bigger boy who had taken away Sherlock’s shovel. They later teamed up and searched for dinosaur bones together. Dinosaur bones turned into pirate ships, which turned into a first written letter which turned into chemistry experiments which turned into misguided explosions which turned into hand holding and first kisses and years later they moved to London.
They both enjoyed their studies at their universities and met almost every day, one of them often staying at the other one’s flat overnight. Nobody ever said “John” without including Sherlock as well and vice versa. They had been planning to travel to Paris for a few days after exams in the summer. Of course, this and all other big plans were soon canceled, followed by closed bookstores and cafés, followed by their evacuation to the country. John is not far along enough in his studies to help out at the hospital, for which Sherlock is secretly very grateful. Imagining John at the frontline of this unprecedented crisis makes him want to vomit.
With both of them temporarily back at home and Sherlock having to isolate, this only left Animal Crossing.
Sherlock turns off the small lamp on his table, snuggles deeper into his bed and tries not to think about how tomorrow will be exactly as it was today.
He must have fallen asleep quickly, because it is around 1 o’clock when he is woken up by the sound of small stones being thrown at his window. Sherlock rolls himself off his bed with a grunt and rips the long curtains open. With the bit of sunlight falling in, he can make out an impossibly handsome John Watson, who is standing in front of his house and waving his hand. Sherlock scrambles to open his window.
“Thank god the last two woke you up, I was just about to throw something bigger.” John whispers. Sherlock can see his lips stretch into his wonderful smile for the first time in weeks without a phone screen between them. It feels glorious.
“What are you doing?” Sherlock shushes, leaning a bit more out of the window, so he can see his boyfriend better.
“You sounded sad over the phone, and we are not breaking any rules right now. So I decided to come visit. I nearly got stuck climbing out of my window.”
Sherlock giggles at this mental image. This whole scene feels like one of these romantic teenager comedies Molly is always forcing him to watch.
“Are you going to sing a love song for me now?” Sherlock asks.
“Nope, I’ve got something much better.” John says. “Catch!” He presses his hand to his mouth and kisses it, then throws the imagined kiss up to Sherlock. Sherlock stretches out his arm, and for a simple second he feels John’s strong arms around him and his lips on his.
“I am busy with universities until two, but I will call you right after.” John tells him.
“Don’t forget to take those pictures. I was promised chest muscles.” Sherlock teases him, and John throws his head back and laughs heartily.
“I love you.” John says, and Sherlock feels these three magical words run through his bones.
“I love you too. But I am still better at catching insects than you.”
“You must be, given you are letting every fish swim away.”
“That game must be rigged against me.”
“Of course.”
“Good night, John.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sherlock watches John sprint through the empty street and wonders how the earth could create something as perfect as his boyfriend. Probably a compensation for giving him Mycroft as his big brother.
Sherlock settles back into his bed with a content sigh. Maybe this day will be much better than expected.