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John tried really hard to mind his own business. He did. But Victor Trevor was apparently Sherlock's friend from university, and the idea of Sherlock having another friend he'd never heard about was too intriguing for him to pass up. That was why, in the end, John only stared blankly at his laptop screen as he listened intently to the conversation the other two were having.
Two hours passed and John still hadn't written a word on his latest blog entry. Victor and Sherlock seemed to have forgotten that he was there, which was fine with him, although a bit upsetting when they made tea and didn't bring him any.
At last, Victor checked his watch and stood up, realising he was almost going to be late for an appointment. "I'll stop by again tomorrow, I promise," he said to Sherlock, a smile on his face.
Sherlock stood up and gripped the other man's hand tightly, nodding his head. "Good. You'll always be welcome here."
John leant back in his chair slightly, glancing over and watching as the two old friends continued to smile at each other before suddenly Victor pulled Sherlock into a firm hug. Surprisingly, Sherlock allowed the contact.
"Take care of yourself, William," Victor murmured, finally releasing him and turning to the door. Without a backward glance, he vanished down the stairs and Sherlock turned to face John.
"Tea?" asked the detective, making a move towards the kitchen.
John's face was frozen in shock before he suddenly stood up so quickly his chair almost tipped over behind him. "What did he just call you?" he asked.
Frowning over his shoulder, Sherlock said, "William."
"Why would he call you William? Your name's Sherlock," John pointed out sharply.
"Victor's never quite gotten used to my preference of being called Sherlock," the other man said with a shrug, continuing into the kitchen and getting two clean mugs from the cupboard. "He knew me at a time when all the professors called me William because it was written on my documents."
John was still staring, gobsmacked, at the other man. Sherlock only noticed when the silence stretched on a bit longer than was usual and he turned around to see the look on John's face.
"What on earth is the matter?" Sherlock asked.
"Your name is William?" John snapped.
"Yes, I should have thought that was obvious," Sherlock said, looking rather confused.
"It's you," John gasped. "It's actually you!"
"What do you mean? What's me?" Sherlock asked, still not clicking as to what John was getting so riled up about.
Striding quickly over to the dark-haired man, John pulled his sleeve up and held it out for Sherlock to see.
Up until now, John had always refused to show Sherlock the name which was written on his wrist – he had avoided showing anyone, since it had embarrassed him to have a male name when he wasn't gay. But now it didn't matter. Now it made sense. It was Sherlock.
"I know what it says," Sherlock said, still sounding confused and not even glancing down at John's arm.
The doctor faltered slightly. "You... you know?" he asked.
"Of course I know. When you wouldn't show me I just had a look when you were sleeping one night."
John looked as though he was going to get mad for a moment, but then his face split into a grin. "But... yours," he said quickly. "Yours must say John!"
Sherlock looked considerably confused.
"Of course it says John. Did you really think I'd share a flat with anyone other than a potential soulmate?"
John dropped his arm to his side and looked as though he'd just been slapped in the face. "You never said."
"Yes I did," Sherlock retorted with a frown. "When we first met I told you that potential soulmates should know the worst about each other."
"No. No!" John shook his head firmly. "You said flatmates. You definitely said flatmates."
Sherlock hmphed thoughtfully and then shrugged. "Regardless, I was thinking soulmates."
"My god, Sherlock!" John yelled, his face heated in anger. "All this time you've had my name on your wrist, and you never told me?"
"I thought you knew," Sherlock replied. "At first, yes, you didn't seem interested at all, which was rather disconcerting once I saw my name on your wrist, but after a while you... changed. You started acting differently around me. I thought... we went on dates. And we were... domestic. It's been very enjoyable."
John raised his eyebrows, disbelief etched in every line of his face.
"You think we've been in a relationship this entire time?"
"Yes."
"Sherlock," John exclaimed with a sigh. "You complete and utter git."
Sherlock looked fearful of what was about to come, but suddenly John stepped forward and pulled him into a firm kiss.
"I thought," John mumbled against Sherlock's mouth, clearly not wanting to end the kiss but having to get the words out right now. "That Victor – when he was here – you two were so – you let him hug you – I thought he was your – soulmate."
Sherlock pushed John back and stared down at him. "You see but you do not observe."
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
"Victor's married. He's got a wedding ring."
"Of course he does," John sighed.
"And it was just a hug. You've hugged me before."
"No I haven't."
"Yes you- Haven't you? I..." Sherlock frowned, thinking hard over the past couple of years that they'd known each other and trying to work out how they could have gone so long without even a hug.
"It doesn't matter," John said. "You did just let me kiss you, after all. You don't let Victor do that, do you?"
"No, of course not."
"Good."
They stared at each other in silence for a moment, both smiling shyly, before they were interrupted by the sound of feet on the stairs outside the door.
"Sherlock? Mrs Hudson said to come right up," Lestrade called as he entered the room. Looking around and spotting the two of them, he gave a nod of greeting. "It's the Warrington case. You said to tell you immediately if anything changed-"
"At last!" Sherlock said, clapping his hands together and striding from the kitchen to the living room where he fetched his coat. "Come on, John!"
John took a deep breath and let it out, grabbing his own coat and following in Sherlock's wake as he had already taken off down the stairs and was opening the front door.
Lestrade fell into step behind John, lowering his voice to say, "It's about bloody time, you know."
"What, for a new case for Sherlock?" John asked, glancing over his shoulder in confusion.
"No, for you two. I'm not blind, you know. I know what I walked in on."
John went bright red and felt a smile tugging at his lips that he couldn't remove.
"I guess you're right. It is about time, isn't it?"