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Sherlock Holmes is dying. Not literally, of course, though that isn’t an uncommon occurrence. Rather, he feels as if he’s dying whenever his eyes meet John Watson’s. He feels his heart pang when John brings him a cuppa unprompted, brushing his fingers against Sherlock’s. He feels the twenty ton weight drop onto his chest and butterflies flutter in his stomach when John steals a glance at him, the sensation of incredible heaviness yet astronomical lightness hitting him simultaneously. Utter dichotomy, unsurprising coming from such a contrary man as John: doctor and soldier, gentle yet fierce, domestic yet unpredictable. The man confounds Sherlock to no end, and that’s what Sherlock loves about him.
But Sherlock, as always, has a problem. John is Not-Gay™.
Of course, John had never explicitly said he was straight, and Sherlock had long since noticed this. Despite the dubious phrasing, Sherlock took John’s constant assurances of being “not gay” to mean that John was not interested in him. The weight of this truth crushes him, kills him every day. So Sherlock does what he does best, and puts on a performance. He casually references his sociopathy and renders romantic relationships pointless and a waste of time. However, he still affords himself the luxury of not correcting others when they imply he and John are together. He needs to let himself pretend, if only for a single moment.
~~~~~~~~
It was a quiet Sunday morning, and Sherlock and John were lazing about the flat, comparable to a couple of logs. John read his paper and listened to music with his wired-headphones while Sherlock was sprawled out on the couch, pretending to be lost in his mind palace. Of course, all his attention was focused on John.
The doorbell rings.
John, knowing Sherlock would never in a million years get his lazy arse up to answer the door, plucks out his earbuds, plops his paper on his armchair, and treks down the stairs. The moment Sherlock knows he’s reached the end of the stairwell, Sherlock takes to snooping in John’s things; his phone, in this particular case. He strides dramatically across the room, dressing gown flowing, and snatches up the phone. He winces at John’s song choice, which is that of a young girl. "Conan Gray", he scoffs silently, "he’s a teenager, is he not?" Sherlock unlocks his phone, opening John’s Spotify account.
He stands still for a moment and stops to make sure John isn’t coming back. It seems he’s been wrapped up in a conversation with Mrs Hudson after answering the door. That would keep him away for at least twenty minutes. Sherlock had plenty of time.
He glances again at the playlist, the title reading only “Sherlock”. His heartbeat screeches to a halt. Scrolling through the songs, he notices angsty teen-like songs by artists whose demographic should be gay high-schoolers. He fishes his own mobile out of his pocket, snaps a photo of all the songs, and strides gracefully back to the couch. He makes a mental note to search the lyrics to the songs at a later point, because he cannot be asked to listen to them in their entirety. Just in time, too, because John heads up the stairs earlier than anticipated. He returns with a coffee from Speedy’s with milk and two sugars, precisely how Sherlock takes it.
~~~~~~~~
Sherlock waits until John heads to bed before researching the playlist. Once John’s bedroom door shuts, Sherlock swipes John’s laptop, types in his offensively obvious passcode, and opens an incognito tab. The first song is entitled “Are You Bored Yet?”. Sherlock swiftly types the title into the search bar and finds the lyrics online.
What's wrong?
You've been askin' but I don't have an answer
How come?
I'm still thinkin' let's pretend to fall asleep now
When we get old, will we regret this?
Too young to think about all that shit
And stallin' only goes so far when you've got a head start
'Cause we could stay at home and watch the sunset
But I can't help from askin', "Are you bored yet?"
And if you're feelin' lonely, you should tell me
Before this ends up as another memory
Will you tell the truth so I don't have to lie?
Will you tell the truth so I don't have to lie?
Feels like I've known you my whole life
I can see right through your lies
I don't know where we're going
But I'd like to be by your side
If you could tell me how you're feelin'
Maybe we'd get through this undefeated
Holdin' on for so long
His eyebrows furrowed as he read through them. Surely this can’t be right. The connotations, especially in the first verse, are romantic, and imply a sexual relationship. John must’ve put this song in the wrong playlist, and in all his technological incompetence, not known how to remove it. Besides, even if it were intentional, he doesn’t have to relate to every single line. He might only resonate with a few... After all, Sherlock is rather distant, and hardly mentions details of his life or feelings to John. Yes, that would be it. Sherlock’s head is spinning with hope and frustration with himself for betraying his stoic façade, especially at such a minor occurrence, and decides this is all too much for him. He deletes the tab, shuts the laptop with a bit more force than necessary, and dashes off to bed.
—--------------------------------------
(back to previous scene)
John trudged up the stairs and back into the flat, coffees in hand. He could tell by the way Sherlock’s robe folded that he had hastily gotten up and layed back down again. This was a telltale sign that Sherlock had been snooping. John never said anything about this, as he thought it endearing to let Sherlock believe he was successful, like a young child getting away with stealing a biscuit. Besides, what harm could it do? And if you ask John why he noticed the way Sherlock’s robe folded in the first place, he would tell you that it’s none of your damn business, ta very much.
—---------------------------
Inspired by John’s own playlist, Sherlock thought it would be therapeutic for him to make a playlist that reminded him of John. After two and a half hours, he had gathered 40 John-related songs, and had ordered them by mood. The first was his during-case mood, next was his depressed-about-Reichenbach mood, third was his pining-for-John mood, and last was his giddy John-I-love-you-so-much mood. His favorite song, however, was something of its own, and applied to all four categories. Therefore, he placed it at the end of all each. It was a rejected song from Dear Evan Hansen, titled “Obvious”
Why go stating the obvious?
It's so painfully obvious
How could you miss
Something that's this plain to see?
When it's glaring and staring
Right at you
So obviously
Sometimes the words
We tend to withhold,
Well they're exactly the words
Someone needs to be told
But oh, thinking they know
We never say "I love you”
I love you
I love you
I love you
Sherlock was not a sentimental man. He gave up all his pride in admitting to himself that he was in love with John. It didn’t help matters that he knew John would never love him in return. Even so, John’s friendship, his forgiveness, was enough for Sherlock, especially after all he had put John through. It was more than enough to have him back at 221B. He could never hope that John would love him. It was simply too much to ask.
—-----------------
Sunday lie-ins were John’s favorite days. Watching trash telly and reading the paper are all well and good, but the highlight of his day is the calm domesticity he shares with Sherlock. He loves sitting across from him, both in their respective armchairs, sitting in companionable silence and shooting glances at each other every so often, sometimes maintaining long eye contact, still without speaking. He loves bickering about getting milk and chatting about the blog. While he needs the adrenaline-filled frenzy he shares with Sherlock the majority of the time, it is on these quiet days that he is reminded that his dependency on Sherlock is not solely built on the thrill of the cases, but on Sherlock himself.
Hold on.
Dependent on Sherlock in an emotional capacity? That can’t be smart. Or healthy. But John knows that he’ll continue with it anyways. Even after the fall, especially after the fall, Sherlock and John have become completely inseparable, to the point where Lestrade, the King of minding his own business, had mentioned his concern. John had a feeling that if the dependency weren’t mutual, Sherlock would not let him trail his every step like an obedient dog... His heart lights up at the notion that Sherlock could return his love, even if it were in a platonic manner.
As John is deep in thought, Sherlock abruptly abandons his armchair and heads to his room. John knows that Sherlock is unlikely to return until dinner, when John coaxes him out of his room and persuades him to eat a few meager bites of whatever takeaway they order. With this in mind, John notices that Sherlock, master of discretion, has left his laptop there, completely unlocked. He must’ve been in a real mental frenzy to let this slide. He knows he should avoid the temptation, but John’s already made his way to the computer before he could stop himself.
He begrudgingly picks up the laptop and waddles back to his chair. It’s open to Spotify. Sherlock only has one playlist, entitled “My Dear John.” What a coincidence that they both have playlists for each other! John clicks into it and is bewildered to find that there’s 2 hours and 15 minutes worth of songs on his playlist. "Oh, so we both like immature music? Odd," he thinks to himself as he clicks on “Obvious” and gives it a listen, "Funny, that. He says ‘obvious’ like his life depends on it."
As he listened to the song, a wave of realization hits him and a sense of impending doom hits his chest. He knows he should’ve left the laptop alone. He’s a terrible liar, if he tries to hide that he knows, Sherlock would be able to tell in a split second. While he was terrified, he was also a little thrilled. He never thought that his affection for the man would, or even could, be returned. Learning of Sherlock’s love for him was a blessing and a curse. He just has to find a way to tell Sherlock that he knows, and that he feels the same, without Sherlock feeling betrayed and leaving forever.
—-------------------------
*Knock knock*
“Sherlock, can I come in?”
“Mmrrpmmhhhh.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
John gently swings the door open and makes to sit on the bed beside Sherlock. Sherlock is facing the opposite direction, so John places a soft hand on his back and carefully moves it back and forth.
“Sherlock, can I speak to you about something?”
“I’m a bit busy, John,” Sherlock huffs grumpily.
“Oh yes, very busy, laying in bed like a slug.”
“Mind palace, John.”
“Ah yes, well if you could take a break from your mind palace, this is actually rather important.”
Sherlock started at this. Not once had John ever asked him to leave his mind palace to pay him any attention. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him warily and nodded.
“Right, well I need to preface this by asking you to promise to hear me out the entire time, and to understand that I'm being completely honest with you with everything I'm about to say.”
Sherlock nods again.
“Right, well erm, you left your laptop unlocked when you came in here, and well, my curiosity got the best of me, you see,” Sherlock’s eyes widened at this, “and I listened to one of the songs on your playlist…” he trails off.
“Which song, John?” Depending on which song, Sherlock might be able to make an excuse.
“Well er, I can’t quite remember," he fibs, "but I think it was called ‘Obvious’...”
Bollocks. There was no explaining that one away. Best to let John continue and fess up when he’s finished.
“So, obviously I understood what it meant,” Sherlock begins to feel nauseous, “what you need to understand, Sherlock,” he begins speaking faster now, “is that when I say I'm not gay- well when I say this I'm being completely honest- what I mean to say is-” he sighs, frustrated, and places a tentative hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, speaking slowly and deliberately, “what I mean to say is…” he winces, “I love you too, Sherlock.”
Sherlock’s eyes widen in shock, and before he can stop himself, he launches himself at John, successfully laying on top of him and trapping John’s lips with his own. They kiss wildly and hungrily, before John feels tears hit his face and Sherlock moves away slightly.
“Thank Merlin, John. I thought you were going to leave,” he sobs.
“Sherlock!” he grabs his face, “even if I didn’t love you back, I could never- wait, who’s Merlin?”
“Unimportant, John," he sniffs and wipes his tears, "Let’s get on with the kissing, yeah?”
“Yeah, right,” John grins.
And so they did.