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Stepping into their apartment at 221b Baker Street, John noticed a few strange things. Firstly, the faint yet biting scent of alcohol, and secondly, particularly loud music of which he recognised; coupled with the voice of his best friend, Sherlock. John entered the room in which Sherlock had found himself in; his head rested back on a chair, neck on display, with his legs across the floor, glass of something rather in hand.
“Pleeasse pleaaaaseee pleasee, let me *hic* get what I want, this timee..” He sung, though certainly not beautifully, and quite off-key.
It wasn’t very surprising to find Sherlock like this, it’s not as if it was a rare occurrence. When he didn’t have a case he found intriguing enough to work on, he would often turn to nicotine patches or alcohol as a way to cope with his boredom. This time clearly having resorted to the latter. He drunkenly slurred along to the lyrics of the music, tapping his fingers on the floor to the rythm.
“Johnnn! Where have you been?” Sherlock’s eyes lit up with surprise. He had such unfocused eyes and such a stupid grin. John felt a smile creep up on his face. “Nothing you need to worry about.” Sherlock being in drunken states such as these were, admittedly, sort of cute. “Noo, tell me!!” Sherlock kept blabbering on about something rather as John picked him up and rested Sherlock’s arms on his shoulders. Sherlock was no small man; his figure quite tall, significantly taller than John, albeit quite slender. Despite his height, John had found it quite easy to pick him up due to his rather strong arms and shoulders. He gently placed Sherlock onto the chair he had just previously almost fallen off of. Then he went to get a glass of water. In the middle of pouring water into said glass, he felt something press on his shoulder. Sherlock breathed heavily into John’s neck.
“What-? Sherlock, Christ, get off me, will you?”, he said, face slightly reddened due to the sudden physical affection.
“Mmm. I missed you.”
“You’re drunk.”
John raised the glass of water to Sherlock’s face.
“Here. Drink, it’s good for you.”
Sherlock did what John could only have described as pouting.
“My god you’re childish. Drink it.”
Sherlock opened his mouth and motioned with a pointed finger towards it.
“Seriously-?”
“Aaaaaah.”
John laughed; a mix of irritation and amusement. “Fine.” He held his hand around Sherlock’s neck for support and brought the glass up to his lips. He was so remarkably childish like this, something you wouldn’t have expected of Sherlock if you had just met him; but the closer John had gotten to him he had realised just how stubborn and childish he was (although not as much as he was when he was drunk). As much as John worried about him in these states of intoxication, he wouldn’t say he minded the sudden affection. Quite the opposite, actually. The physical touch, resting on his neck, stupid smiles were things Sherlock would normally refrain from doing.
John suddenly staggered backwards, trying to keep the taller man from falling further.
“C’mon! Get up!” John grunted, but Sherlock only responded with a snore. John cursed loudly, before steadying himself with Sherlock leaned almost on top of him. “Alright, let’s get you to bed.” He muttered. Once he had balanced himself, he lifted Sherlock to the bedroom and onto the bed. He laid down next to him, picked up a book and started to read, only to doze off shortly after.
John awoke in response to a tugging of his trousers. He blinked, confused, only to reveal Sherlock bloody crawling towards him. “Sherlock.?” The taller man remained silent and continued until he was on top of the other. John had looked at him with utter confusion, blush growing on his face by the second. Sherlock, however, remained calm, and watched him carefully through somewhat lidded eyes, as he slowly but swiftly raised his hand to cup the side of John’s face before gently but firmly grabbing his chin, tilting his head slightly upwards. Neither of the men said anything, but John’s thoughts were rushing past at a ferocious speed. The tempo of his breathing kicked up a notch. What’s going on? Why’s he doing that? Is he still drunk?
His breathing hitched as he snapped out of his reverie. Sherlock had moved his face considerably closer; he closed his eyes and continued inching his face closer to John’s, until their noses touched and their lips, a mere centimetre apart. John abruptly stood up, his heart racing. “Sorry- I- Pardon me..-“ He ran out of the room, not caring to look back at him before he shut the door. His face now a bright scarlet, he breathed heavily.
What the fuck was that?!
He leaned back into the door, his weight against the door caused him to slowly slide down ‘til he was crouching. John wasn’t a particularly nervous man, and being in situations such as these wouldn’t normally fluster him, he was a grown man, for god’s sake. But this was different. It was such a change from how Sherlock would normally compose himself. He’d be stubborn (and certainly a drama queen) but still calm, swift, one might say stoic, and not too physical, especially not like this.
It must’ve been the alcohol. But he doesn’t usually act like this when drunk. What changed? What’s going on with him? Would he act like this around others, or is it just me?
John’s head filled with questions, his head now resting in his hand as he rubbed his temples, frustrated.
Should I go back in there? Will he be asleep or still awake? Should I?
That night, John decided it would be best to sleep on the sofa.
♡
It had been a few days since Sherlock noticed a change in John’s behaviour. Whether they were on a case or having a tea break at home, John had changed. And it irritated Sherlock. Like an itch on your back you just can’t reach. It had occupied Sherlock’s thoughts so much that that he’d zone out during investigations to the point where even Lestrade had commented on it. John had been, well, a little more quiet, for one. He’d fidget with his hands and avoid eye contact. Once he’d sense Sherlock’s presence his back would stiffen and he’d wear that look on his face. A look of.. confusion? Anxiety? Sadness? Whatever it was, it was driving Sherlock mad. Usually it wouldn’t bother him if someone acted different- it’s not his business and he would simply wait for them to figure it out themselves. But it was the fact that John was only acting strange around him, and was clearly bothered about something, but still keeping it hidden.
Sherlock sat still in a chair, thinking. He could faintly hear Mrs. Hudson clearing up a little in the kitchen. He was so confused, it was hard to think. “Mrs. Hudson?” She stuck her head out from the kitchen. “Could you get me a cup of tea, please?” “Alright, well, just this once, dear. I’ll make some for all of us, I believe John’ll be back any minute now.” She pointed at Sherlock. “But I am not your housekeeper.” Whilst in the midst of his thoughts Sherlock heard the front door close. John stepped in, he stood still with his hands in his pockets. Sherlock quietly observed. John still had his back straightened, stiff, and despite his casual pose he looked quite uncomfortable and a little nervous. “Hi.” He raised his hand to do a short waving motion. Sherlock blinked before responding. “Hello, John.” Mrs. Hudson popped her head out from the kitchen and smiled. “Oh- hi there John-! I’ll be there in a minute, I’m just serving up some tea!” John nodded in response. He sat opposite Sherlock, still avoiding eye contact. Soon after him, Mrs. Hudson came out with a tray with three cups, then sat down next to John. The air felt thick, and they all stayed awkwardly silent. The tension felt almost unbearable, so Sherlock decided to break the silence. “Me and John are heading out. Please excuse us” He pulled John up by his shirt collar. John looked up at him in surprise, but Sherlock avoided eye contact. “Oh, well, do take care. Your tea will be waiting for you by the time you’re back.” John muttered a quick “Right, thank you!” Before he was pulled out of the room. They left and started walking; Sherlock walked briskly, and John stumbled after him. After walking for a few minutes in awkward silence, John spoke. “Alright, what the hell was that about?” Sherlock stayed silent, still deep in thought. John spoke again, softly. “Are you doing okay, Sherlock?” Sherlock abruptly stopped, and so did John. He stood in front of him, though not facing him. “No, John, I am not.” John’s expression morphed from irritation to worry. “What’s going on?”
“You’ve been behaving strangely.”
John stood stiff. “I don’t think I ha-“ Before he could finish his sentence Sherlock spun around, his coat following his swift movements. “Yes. Yes you have.” His face was contorted in frustration. John looked down, his eyebrows furrowed as he stood nervously, fiddling with his hands. Sherlock continued. “For a few days now, you’ve been doing seemingly everything you can to avoid me. I wouldn’t normally care but the way Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and even goddamned Anderson look at us when we interact tells me you’re deliberately hiding something. They know, and so do you, but you won’t tell me.” John still avoided his gaze. “I’m not hiding anything.” Sherlock’s voice grew louder. “You avoid looking at me, keep our conversations short, immediately stiffen up when I’m around-“ With each and every mention of John’s actions he took a step forward. “You fiddle with your hands and you always have that look on your face, and I cannot figure it out.” He continued until he was standing right in front of the shorter man, before leaning forward until their faces were just a few milimetres apart. “It’s funny, during our investigations you’ll overlook details even a part-time officer wouldn’t miss. But when you think I don’t notice you study me with such clear interest; you observe carefully, thinking. Thinking about something. Something I am seemingly unable to get to the bottom of. ” John’s face was red at this point, but he didn’t respond. Sherlock was still talking- or- mumbling at such a speed that John found it hard to follow. He suddently paused.
”Oh.”
”Oh.”
Sherlock decided to experiment. He placed his hand on the side of his head, deliberately close to his face. “My darling Watson, is this my doing?“ Sherlock was almost unable to finish the sentence before John took action. Soft lips found their way onto Sherlock’s. The detective and the army doctor simply remained in that position for a few seconds, before John pulled away. He stood there before realising what he had done- to which he blinked. “I’m sorry” he spoke almost as if he were dismissing his sudden action, wanting to forget. He begun walking away. John..!-“ Sherlock ran after him. Once he caught up, he grabbed John’s wrist. He sighed, and sat down on one of the nearby benches. Sherlock followed suit. They both sat cross legged, in silence for a few minutes. John gained back his composure. “I… erm.” Pause. “I quite like you, Sherlock.” Sherlock began to laugh. “What-?” John stared at him and lightly punched him. “What’s so funny?” He said defensively. Between breaths, Sherlock said, “You just kissed me, then proceed to say you ‘quite like me’?” This made John smile, and even he begun to laugh a little. After all, it was rather silly. After they calmed down, Sherlock pulled out two cigarettes, and handed one to John. He slipped it between his lips, and leaned forward. Sherlock lit John’s cigarette, as the doctor looked up at the other admiringly. They both leaned back and smoked, silently, for a few minutes.
“I do.. ‘quite like’ you too.” John sighed in relief. “Well. We should probably head back, Mrs. Hudson might worry otherwise”. Sherlock complied, and they walked back, but this time, slowly, with their fingers intertwined.
(later in the evening, by the fireplace <3)
John and Sherlock sat opposite each other, with a mixtape playing in the background. It was a nice blend of The Smiths, Radiohead, and Cocteau Twins, among others.
”I am curious about one thing. You started acting strange around me specifically 5 days ago. How so?” Sherlock questioned the other. “Well, uhm..” He cleared his throat. “You were drunk. I had just come home, and you were, well, on the floor, singing along to a song.” John suppressed a giggle. “It was quite funny actually, your deeper voice mixed with Morrissey’s in a most displeasing harmony.” Sherlock made a face, clearly embarrassed. Sherlock’s expressions never strayed far from his regular deadpan face, but John had grown accustomed to this, and often understood what emotion Sherlock felt at whatever moment. This embarrassed face had John bursting out in laughter. It was contagious; and soon after Sherlock was laughing too. John described the eventful night further, as Sherlock listened intently, curious to find out about his especially clingy actions.
“So, once I’d managed to lift you on to the bed, I fell asleep. Then, you, uh-“ John paused once again and looked the other way. Sherlock sat quietly for a few seconds, trying to recall what happened. “What did I do?” John continued. “You woke me up and crawled on top of me-“ John paused once again. Sherlock had gotten closer to John. He had left his own chair and instead crouched down at the doctor’s knees. From there, he planted his knee in between the other’s legs, rested his hand beside him, on the sofa and held the other’s chin with his remaining hand. “Sort of like this?” At this point, John’s face was flushed, but in contrast to last time, had a calm expression, and Sherlock imagined his was much the same.
“How was it?”
“You were drunk, so I quickly left. But I do suppose it was nice.
“Yeah? Is this ‘nice’ too?”
“Oh god.”
John hadn’t even enough time to take a breath as they both closed their eyes and Sherlock leaned in and embraced another tender kiss. This time, they took their time. By this point, Sherlock had a firm grasp on John’s waist. John kissed back with even more fervor as his hand rose to Sherlock’s back, travelled all the way up from his spine, to his neck, to his curly-wavy sort of hair, of which his fingers combed through. After a few more seconds the taller man’s tongue slipped into the shorter’s. John’s fingers tightened, as they grazed the other’s scalp. The pair stayed like this for a while.
Sherlock pulled away and they were both panting. He looked at John, inspected his face. He was, by all accounts, a fairly average looking man, but to Sherlock, in this delicate moment, his face flushed and eyes half-closed, he looked beautiful.
“Quite frankly I really did not foresee any of this happening”
John smiled. “Well I suppose none of this is really scene.”
”People talk, you know.”
“Let them.” Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck and breathed deeply. John couldn’t see Sherlock’s face, but he was sure he was smiling. His breathing matched the detective’s. He massaged his curls. Still in the same position, eyes closed, John almost soundlessly spoke under his breath. “You are, truly one of a kind, Sherlock.”
The pair remained just like that for a few minutes.
“What’re you two doing?”
Sherlock immediately sprung up, as did John.
“Uh- worki-.”
Sherlock interrupted. ”Smoking.”
“Mhm. Indoors?” Molly raised an eyebrow and smiled. Sherlock ignored this. “What’re you doing here, Molly?”
“Just came to drop something off. About tomorrow- you do remember, right?
”We might need reminding.” John replied.
”You’ve got a case to work on, remember?”
John sighed. “Oh, right.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed, the weekend’s coming up, you can get back to snuggling up to each other as much as you like afterwards.”
John’s expression changed. “Hey! We weren’t- Oi!”
”Goodbyeee!” She said in a sing-songy voice, closing the door after her. John and Sherlock looked at each other for a brief moment before throwing their heads back, laughing.