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“John, this is ridiculous and a waste of time.”
Sherlock had been growing more and more obnoxious as the weekend had dragged on and it was only a matter of time before whining and flopping about the flat turned into destruction. It was definitely time for a diversion.
“Yeah? Well you’re bored, Mrs. Hudson will certainly put us both on the street if you ruin another kitchen appliance, and it’s Halloween. We, and by ‘we’ I really mean you, have no choice.” John did, perhaps, have an ulterior motive to the chosen activity, but Sherlock didn’t have to be completely aware of it quite yet.
“Well if you find pleasure in a mind numbingly dull facsimile of terror, then by all means…” Sherlock paused his tirade briefly, giving John a confused glance “You’re accustomed to a far stronger rush of adrenaline than some absurd ‘haunted’ house created by simpletons could bring. I have no idea why you think this will be enjoyable.” He finished before grumpily snatching his scarf from the sofa.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll have a great time, Sherlock.” John smiled at the thought of the great Sherlock Holmes reduced to a jittering mess in a haunted house. That, and the sink in the kitchen had been filled with ears for several days. Payback was in order anyway.
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Sherlock was silent the entire cab ride to the house. John enjoyed the quiet. Quiet was such a rare thing when one lived with the detective. For all the warning about “not talking for days” when they met, John doubted he had ever met anyone that liked the sound of their own voice more than Sherlock Holmes. He didn’t mind though, not really. Sherlock’s voice was nice, warm and sort of comforting. And he was usually saying something interesting or at the very least he was entertaining. When he wasn’t infuriating of course.
The grumbling recommenced as soon as the pair stepped out of the cab. Everything about the place was “farcical” and “embarrassingly unimaginative”. John had to admit, the man was quite creative with his adjectives. Sherlock’s sulking form followed John like a shadow through buying tickets and standing in the queue at the doors. His glee at what was to come matched Sherlock’s pouting in equal measure.
“Please do not touch any of the actors or props, if you need to exit the house at any point there are doors to the outside posted periodically throughout the course, thank you and enjoy.” A bored vampire instructed.
“Ready, Sherlock?” John gently pushed him ahead, into a pitch black corridor. He almost missed Sherlock’s reply amongst the piped cackling that mingled with delighted screeches from other thrill-seekers.
“Oh for goodness sake, there is nothing in here that one could even remotely call frightening” The eye rolling that accompanied didn’t have to be seen in order for John to feel it.
“Whatever you say. But let me know if you want to find an exit.” He smirked. It was only a matter of time.
The first couple rooms weren’t anything spectacular. A few mechanical corpses sat straight up in their coffins and some plastic spiders were thrown from holes in the walls. Sherlock breezed through the rooms with hardly a second glance, and John began to worry that the joke wasn’t going to turn out like he hoped. In reality, he should’ve realized that surprising the great Sherlock Holmes wasn’t going to be an easy job and something as mundane as a haunted house probably wouldn’t present anything the man wouldn’t be able to observe first. They were coming up on the fifth room, with Sherlock keeping ten steps ahead, and the detective disappeared from view as he turned a corner. A girl in a filthy hospital gown jumped out at John from behind a guillotine. He only flinched a little.
BANG! The crash sounded like a body slamming into the wooden walls of the maze. John hoped Sherlock hadn’t taken his boredom out on a poor haunted house actor.
“JOHN!” A terrified shout came from the next room over. The doctor barely had time to take another step before a long, wool coat was swinging in his face and pale hands were cutting off blood flow to his arms.
“Sherlock, what the hell? Are you alright?” The detective cowered his lanky frame behind John, pushing his head in between his shoulder blades. John felt a moment of guilt that Sherlock seemed genuinely afraid, but that was nothing compared to his delight at being right for once.
“But I thought it wasn’t scary? Changed our mind then, hmm?” He laughed as Sherlock straightened up behind him.
“No, I’m not scared, that’s ridiculous. I was just… startled is all.” The detective crossed his arms over his chest with a loud sigh “Really, you’ve made your point, can we go home now?”
“Absolutely not. I paid fifteen quid each for us to get in here, we’re putting all of it to good use.” John charged on ahead, knowing that Sherlock would be following closely. The theatrical huff indicated he was correct.
The pair continued on their way, a bit over halfway through the haunted house. Sherlock kept up his pretense of boredom but John felt the small jumps and starts behind his back. The detective inched closer until he began stepping on the heels of John’s boots. He made no move to actually touch (save for the irritating heel-stepping) and attempted to keep small gasps and whimpers to himself. Sherlock was actually scared in a haunted house. John knew the difference between Sherlock acting and Sherlock himself and this wasn’t put on. The poor man was actually afraid.
After a while, the soft noises and tiny jumps became more pathetic than funny. John found them incredibly endearing, although he would never admit it. They passed into a longer hallway where the shrieks of terrified civilians had grown louder suddenly; Sherlock pressed himself into John’s left side, grabbing his bicep tightly.
John’s stomach tightened strangely at the detective’s unusual affection. John’s left hand found one of Sherlock’s and squeezed it. Hopefully the gesture would be taken as supportive rather than condescending. The fact that Sherlock was still wrapped around John’s arm like a squid was reassuring.
“Almost out, I think we should be coming up on the exit somew- SHIT” John jumped about a foot and a half off the ground. An actor attached to a pulley on the ceiling had swooped down towards their heads, cackling and flinging his arms about. John was pulled down by a crouching Sherlock, who had buried his face in John’s shoulder blade.
“Jesus, wow… that was a good one… Shit, wow…” John giggled nervously as he straightened both himself and his detective/ parasite up to continue on. The next doorway had bright light peaking through the bottom. That was the grand finale; it was over. Once the pair stepped outside, John expected Sherlock to immediately let go of him and firmly deny the whole thing had happened for the rest of his existence. The detective stood for a moment, blinking and continuing to grasp the doctor’s arm. His breathing began to slow to normal as his eyes wandered down to their joined hands and then traveled up to John’s face. Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly and slid his hand away from his friend’s bicep. John lessened his hold on Sherlock’s hand.
“No, don’t…. you don’t have to… I mean, I don’t… um. It’s, uh, it’s fine. Thank you. By the way.” The detective stuttered and struggled to get the words out, and in the end never really made a lot of sense, but John understood what he meant. He repositioned so they could both comfortably walk and hold hands. Sherlock’s fingers squeezed around John’s, a small smile on his face.
Their hands remained joined as they exited the haunted house. The pair were joined as Sherlock hailed a cab. They rubbed their thumbs together affectionately during the ride to Baker Street. When the cabbie had dumped them on the curb, they silently agreed to walk toward the park rather than their front door. The weather wasn’t horrid, and a walk through the city meant they could hold hands a while longer. A comfortable silence surrounded them for a while, until Sherlock suddenly piped up.
“I wasn’t scared you know.” He clarified.
“And I don’t believe that for a minute” John laughed, “You can’t expect me to believe that you feigning being terrified in an elaborate excuse to grope me in the dark…”
“I did not grope you! And of course I planned it!” Sherlock cried indignantly.
John just raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes, “Of course you did. So how long have you been planning this? What did you call it? Operation Damsel in Distress? Project I Can’t Just Tell My Friend I Fancy Him, So I’ll Create This Illusion To Trick Him Into Holding My Hand?”
“No, that’s stupid John. I’m not an adolescent girl” the detective huffed.
The doctor smiled up at his friend. He then brought their joined hands up to his chest and covered them with his left. Sherlock’s embarrassment melted into shyness mixed with joy.
“Well I don’t think I would’ve ever told you on my own anyway. A catalyst doesn’t hurt when it comes to stuff like this.” John admitted.
“It was your idea, the haunted house. And due to recent developments, I’m happy we went, but please don’t ever take me to something like that again. That was…. yeah, not my proudest moment.” His cheeks blushed a bright red, and John thought it was probably the most adorable thing he’d ever seen the detective do.
“So you were scared. . .” John prompted.
“No!” Sherlock cried defensively, then softened a bit “I don’t like surprises. It was startling. Fine! I did find it somewhat frightening, happy?”
“Immensely. So, how about some dinner? Think you could convince yourself to eat like us regular humans?” The doctor laughed.
“Hmm… probably” Sherlock replied cheekily, “ There’s a lot I can force myself to do for you, John.”