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Sherlock and John stepped off the ageing trolley in front of the U.S. Capitol Building, their sleeves rolled up against the June heat. John paused for a moment to get his bearings, but Sherlock’s ridiculously expensive shoes had barely hit the concrete before he was off, weaving through the crowd toward Constitution Avenue. John rolled his eyes and jogged after him, muttering apologies to the people he jostled along the way.
“How far to the Supreme Court building?” he asked when he finally drew level with Sherlock’s shoulder.
“One block. We’re nearly there,” Sherlock said, speeding his steps. John sighed and lengthened his strides to keep up.
“And you really think we’ll be able to do enough snooping in a highly-secure building to solve this?” he asked.
“It’s open to the public, John, it can only be so secure under those circumstances. There has to be a reason someone would be killing docents in such a place. With that level of access, the killer could be assassinating judges or high-level lawyers, but instead they go for the docents. Why?”
“Yes, yes, it’s terribly fascinating, and I’m sure you have ten theories already,” John said, and wished he didn’t sound so fond about it.
“Only seven, but I appreciate the credit.”
As they rounded the corner, the crowd suddenly thickened. John pushed in front of Sherlock and made a path through the crowd for them, until they stood on the plaza in front of the columned building. Suddenly, a wave of cheering went through the assembled masses. People screamed, burst into tears, hoisted signs and waved flags—waved rainbow flags.
John tapped the elbow of the nearest person who wasn’t currently locked in an embrace, a young Black girl with pink, purple, and blue stripes painted over each cheekbone. “Sorry, but we aren’t from around here. What’s happened?”
The girl grinned from ear to ear, radiant in her joy. “The Supreme Court just ruled that all fifty states have to issue and recognize same-sex marriages!”
John opened his mouth to reply, but the girl was swallowed up by a crowd of her laughing, crying friends, the paint running down her face in teary streaks. Then a hand landed on John’s shoulder.
“Come on, John, everyone is distracted. Now is a perfect time to investigate,” Sherlock’s voice rumbled in his ear.
To John’s horror, he found his throat too thick to speak. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Pursed his lips and looked away. He gestured for Sherlock to walk on, but Sherlock didn’t budge. John could feel the man’s eyes on him, studying his every reaction.
“Same-sex marriage has been legal in England since 2014, John. We don’t even live here. I don’t—”
“I know,” John said, finally finding his voice. “I know. Come on, let’s go catch our killer.” He started to walk away, but was pulled up short by Sherlock’s fingers around his wrist.
“Sherlock, let me go. We need to get on with this before—”
“John.”
And there was something in his voice. John took a deep breath in through his nose, then turned to meet Sherlock’s gaze.
Sherlock looked down. Took a breath. Looked up.
“It’s good. This,” he said, gesturing to the waving flags and celebrating couples. “Good for them. For people like … like us.”
John froze, and his mind went perfectly blank.
“So … you’re …”
“Gay, obviously,” Sherlock said. He smiled, just a little bit, just a tiny quirk of one corner, then looked down again. “And you are?”
The last part was said so quietly that John almost missed it. But once the words processed, his heart slammed itself into his ribcage. He clenched his left hand and snuck a quick look at Sherlock’s face—small, painfully vulnerable, attempting calm collected cool but failing by a mile.
Breathe, breathe—
“Bi,” John said finally, clipped and tense. He sucked in a huge breath and let it out in a gasping sigh, shaking out the tension in his hand. When he looked up, Sherlock had stepped closer.
“First time you’ve said it out loud?” he asked quietly.
John nodded. His breath was out of control, and Sherlock’s proximity wasn’t helping. A gentle hand on his elbow startled him out of his panic.
“Are you ready?” Sherlock asked, voice still pitched for their ears only.
John blew out another breath and nodded. Getting on with the case would do wonders for his spinning brain. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
Then Sherlock’s mouth was pressed against his, gentle and sweet. A few seconds pressure, of shared breath, then he pulled back, that tiny smile on his face once again.
“Come on,” Sherlock said. “We have a murderer to catch.”
And they walked up the steps of the U.S. Supreme Court building, surrounded by waving rainbow flags and celebration. John had never felt part of any of it before, but this …
This day belonged to him, too.