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The click of the door has Sherlock whipping his head around to check for-
“Next time you can get your own clues.” John complains, locking the door behind him before turning to hand off his notes to the Detective.
Sherlock ignores the way his chest tightens, how his mood seems to have lifted the moment he had seen it was Watson.
There was no reason he should have such a reaction, there was-
“Well, what do you think?” John asks him, leaning over to see what specific note he was currently on, and letting a warm hand rest on Sherlock's shoulder.
John invaded his space like it was natural, and with John it almost felt like it was.
Almost.
The Detective stiffens, heart racing when John begins to point out his findings, to explain how he thinks the murder had occurred.
“The gardener-”
“It was his wife. Phone Lestrade and tell him to pull up the boards beneath their bed.”
John sighs, but he pulls out his phone to send the message anyways.
Sherlock can't help but be pleased when the Doctor calls him “brilliant,” before walking out to take the inspector’s call.
—--------------------
The pattern repeats, over and over again. On days Watson leaves to look over a case Sherlock doesn't have the time, or interest for, the Detective finds himself looking more and more towards the door.
Watson always returned with the necessary noting, and Sherlock always welcomed him with a racing heart and expectancy.
It was business, he had told himself. He was just interested in solving the cases John brought back-
Except, he always felt like he was waiting for something more, something like-
“Amazing.” John breathes, taking the photos from Sherlock's hands, “That was amazing Sherlock.”
The Detective watches him leave to make the call, to tell Lestrade it was another job well done, and he can't seem to quell the heat under his collar.
He felt ecstatic, he felt odd, and he was concerned to find he couldn't decipher the reason why.
—----------------
“Here are the notes you asked for.” Lestrade announces when he pushes open the door and is confused to find Sherlock frowning.
“That's not right.” The Detective mutters, reaching out a hand for the papers the inspector messily passes him.
Sherlock had asked Lestrade to get the notes this time, knew the inspector would have the material he needed to solve the case, and yet-
Why did he feel so disappointed?
“Well?”
“You're looking for a man with short brown hair-” Sherlock rattles off the necessary information, eyes fliting about the room for something, someone he knows isn't there.
“That's bloody astounding Sherlock.” Lestrade grins, “we'll have this case wrapped up within the hour.”
The compliment doesn't leave Sherlock feeling any better, and he finds himself glancing at the door even after Lestrade leaves.
John doesn't come home with any cases, and yet Sherlock finds that no longer matters.
He just wants-
What does he want?
“What?” John asks him, no doubt due to whatever face he had been making, and lets the door shut behind him.
Sherlock feels that odd warmth creep back into his face, startling lightly, startling so unlike himself at the sound of the lock clicking into place.
Something was wrong with him, something that was entirely John's fault.
“I solved another case today. Lestrade left around an hour ago.” Sherlock says, words tumbling smoothly out of his mouth before he can stop them. Before he can figure out why he's even saying them.
“Did you?” John replies, making his way over to look at the evidence Sherlock had left sprawled over the table. “Good job.”
And Sherlock can feel his heartbeat quicken, can feel himself get almost jittery, and when John pats him on the shoulder with an offer of coffee, his body burns.
Something wrong indeed.
—----------------
On a day John is away, and Sherlock is left alone on a case with Lestrade, he decides to get an outside opinion.
“If you waited everyday for someone, and felt better the moment they arrived, why do you think that would be?” Sherlock asks him while he inspects today's victim's fingernails, and Lestrade chokes on his spit? His reply? Sherlock found the noise quite dramatic for such a simple question.
“I'm sorry?”
“What for?” Sherlock asks absentmindedly and the inspector shake his head.
Lestrade stares at him dumbfounded, “Is this for a case?”
“It's for me.” Sherlock hums, moving to rifle through the body's pockets.
“I never thought-” Lestrade stops, “Give me more to go on.”
“I like when they compliment me.”
“I compliment you.” Lestrade laughs, and Sherlock rolls his eyes.
“I don't care when you do it.”
“No, no I didn't think you did.” The inspector sighs, “My answer would depend on the person. Could be romantic, familial, platonic-”
“It's John.” Sherlock supplies, and Lestrade whistles through his teeth.
“Oh then-”
“John lacks some personal boundary as you know.” Sherlock interrupts, “But lately I don't seem to mind. Why is that.”
“You don't mind him touching you?”
“I like him touching me.”
“That-” Lestrade stumbles, “that, I don't-”
“He likes to lean over my shoulders, to put his hands on them when we go over cases-”
“Sherlock-”
“I can still feel his hands even after he leaves.”
“Sherlock.” Lestrade coughs, embarrassed. “That almost sounds, I don't know, are you into John?”
“Into?”
“You know,” Lestrade stresses, eyes staring pointedly at the wall, “Do you want to date John?”
“There is a small amount of blood under his nails, once you run that get back to me.”
“Sherlock-”
“I'll be off.”
And Lestrade is left to stare after the man in dumbfounded shock.
—-------------------
“Welcome back.” John waves absentmindedly when Sherlock opens the door to their flat. “Solve the case?”
“Waiting on the bloodwork.” Sherlock nods, unwrapping his scarf and tossing onto the couch.
“That's nice.” John hums, tapping something out on his phone.
Sherlock waits a beat-
And then two-
“John.”
“Yes Sherlock?”
And Sherlock asks him the same thing he had asked Lestrade, with the exception of his name.
“Sounds like you really like…Lestrade?” John cringes, blinking and looking away.
“I don't like Lestrade.”
“You sound like you do.”
“John, I'm talking about you. ”
John stares at him with wide eyes, and Sherlock watches, amused, when his phone slides out of his hand.
“Sherlock-”
“You didn't compliment my work today.” The Detective interrupts instead, moving to kneel before the Doctor sitting stiff on his couch.
The implication of his words hang heavy in the air and John looks down at him with flushed cheeks, and then he shakes his head.
“You’re a genius Sherlock.” He says finally, letting a hand run through the Detective’s hair, and Sherlock leans against him with a sigh, wrapping his arms around his waist and letting his head rest between his thighs.
“I didn’t actually solve the case.”
“Doesn’t change the brilliance of it,” John mummers, “You’ll hurt your knees if you stay kneeling like that.”
Sherlock only hums in response, appeased, and they stay like that a few minutes more.
“John-” Sherlock starts, moving to look up at the man in his arms.
“It’s fine, I get it. I don’t, well I don’t mind.” John stumbles out, embarrassed and Sherlock takes a minute to process his words-
To take in the weight of their meaning.
“Good, thank you.” He answers finally, and John laughs. “What is it Watson?”
“Most people don’t thank you for agreeing to date them Sherlock.”
“I will make note of that.” Sherlock muses, and John startles when the Detective’s phone begins to ring.
“That’s probably Lestrade, you should take it.”
“Unfortunate timing.” Sherlock frowns, reaching for his pockets.
“Do not take that call between my legs, stand up.” John hisses, shooing him away, and effectively leaving Lestrade to deal with a very annoyed detective.
—---------------------------------
Sherlock is on his feet the moment he hears the door open, on them before he can even think as to why , and suddenly he’s wrapped in his partner’s tired arms.
“Got those files you needed.” John grins, swaying them slightly before pulling away and leaving Sherlock to frown at the papers in his hands.
“This case is boring.”
“If you solve it, I’ll take you out to eat.”
And so Sherlock does.
—--------------------------------
The sight of John makes his heart race, makes him feel all fluttery in a way he can not describe-
Sherlock waits for the familiar creak of their door daily.
His impatience only worsens when John begins to kiss him after outings, when he takes him into his arms after cases, and it’s a rush of dopamine the Detective is sure no drug could ever replicate.
—-----------------------------------
“You don’t drool when you see that soldier, do you Sherlock?” Mycroft teases on their next meeting. “Watching the door awful hard aren’t you?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Sherlock huffs, waving him off, and Mycroft raises a brow at him.
“We learned classical conditioning in elementary Sherlock.” Mycroft tuts, and Sherlock glares at him.
“What nonsense are you-”
“The door is your bell, and Watson is your kibble.” Mycroft shrugs, words falling on deaf ears as soon as Watson fumbles with the locked door, and Sherlock gets up to go meet him.
“Oh, hello Mycroft.” John greets him awkwardly and Mycroft stands to leave.
“I have to say, bad taste in men Watson.” Mycroft laughs, and Sherlock glares at him.
“He here for a case?”
“He’s just nosy.” Sherlock sighs, leaning down to press kisses against John’s temple, and grinning at the man’s laughter.
Conditioning indeed, done to a man to blind to see past his own genius, from a man too blind to realize he had trained a genius.
Yes, Mycroft found John Watson a tad more worrisome than before, ever the interesting influence on his brother.
Better Watson than the cocaine, better the door than the bell, and better the soldier than whatever Sherlock was cooking on his own.
He would have to praise John on his next kidnapping indeed.