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Neither of them quite know how it happened. The specific details of it were never actually recorded, simply because neither of them thought it mattered.The only thing that either of them knew about how it started was that it happened somewhere during the month and a half long period where they had not one case.
John liked to refer to it as ‘The Dark Age,’ though Sherlock thought that name to be pitiful and childish, but John used it anyways. It was hard enough when Sherlock Holmes had to go through a week without a case, so you can imagine what it was like for a month and a half. Not only was that hard to deal with, but this month and a half also happened to overlap a period of particularly bad panic attacks for John.
They’re not totally sure when it happened. They know it was somewhere around the two week mark in The Dark Age, but the exact date isn’t on record. Sherlock had been out of materials for his experiments for two days, and was sulking throughout the flat, pronouncing his boredom every five seconds, while John was trying his best to function on the lack of sleep he’d been getting due to his night terrors and restless dreaming.
The only thing on the telly was the same sitcom that Sherlock must have seen a dozen times during his breaks from cases, and that was the last distraction he had left to cope with his dreadful and seemingly endless boredom. John watched Sherlock complaining on the couch from his sitting chair, drinking a glass of tea along with painkillers and a slice of toast with jam.
“John. I don’t think you understand. If I don’t occupy my mind right now, I’ll probably just walk outside and kill someone.” Sherlock said.
“You and I both know you won’t do that, Sherlock,” John replied.
“I might as well. There’s absolutely nothing interesting for me to do, and killing someone will give me at least some entertainment, watching all those idiot police trying to piece together my crime..”
“I know that sounds like a good idea now, but I can promise you that prison is far more boring than it is here.”
Sherlock huffed. He layed back on the couch with a dramatic flop, and John thought for just a second that he might be done complaining for a while, when,
“John, if I don’t find some way to entertain my mind in the next five minutes, I’m going to need you to get me some sort of substance.”
“I am not buying you cocaine.”
“Unless you can think of another way to-”
Before letting him finish, John stood from his chair and straddled him on the couch, not giving him time to think before he pulled him by the collar into a hard kiss. Sherlock sighed when John’s tongue came out to trace his bottom lip before he pulled back.
“What was that?” Sherlock asked.
“That was trying to cure your boredom. Did it work?”
Sherlock nodded. John smiled and kissed him again.
And it became a normal thing for them, kissing. John liked it, since he hadn’t had a girlfriend for the past few months, and Sherlock liked it, since it got rid of the boredom, even if just for a short while, so neither of them thought much of it. But John was still having nightmares almost every night. He would wake up in a cold sweat during the middle of the night, sometimes screaming, sometimes crying. And each night, Sherlock was still awake, playing his violin, and would go to check on him. But his nightmares continued. It wasn’t until week three and a half of The Dark Age that Sherlock finally found a solution.
He was playing Vivaldi’s Violin Concerto in G Major at three in the morning when he heard John scream. It was expected, as always, so Sherlock dropped the violin and made his way upstairs to comfort John.
Sherlock could hear John’s soft sobs the whole way up, and when he opened the door to the bedroom, he saw the doctor sitting up in his bed with his hands cupping his cheeks. Sherlock watched as John’s shoulders shook with each sob. It hurt him, seeing his friend like this. It hurt more than anything else Sherlock had ever experienced.
Sherlock sat on the bed next to John and placed a hand on the small of his back.
“John,” he said softly. “It’s okay, John. I’m here.”
John looked up at him, his face red in the darkness. Sherlock gave him a weak smile and pulled him into a hug. John buried his in Sherlock’s robe and his breathing slowed.
“I don’t want to sleep anymore,” John said into the fabric.
“I know, John. But it’s okay. I..I can stay here with you, if you’d like,” Sherlock offered.
John pulled his head from Sherlock’s chest and smiled at him. He gave a small nod, and pulled the covers back to let Sherlock in. He scooted over to make some room, and the detective climbed in next to him. He gave John a smile and rested his head on the pillow.
Sherlock worried in his mind that it would be awkward, but when John wrapped an arm around him and rested his head in the curve of Sherlock’s neck, he knew it was okay.
And it was like that. Almost every night, when John woke from his night terrors, Sherlock climbed in bed next to him to assure him that he was safe. After a week, he didn’t wait for John to awaken, but instead crawled into John’s bed whenever he decided to sleep. Two nights later, John’s nightmares stopped completely.
So it was normal for them, curling up in bed next to each other each night to keep John’s nightmares away, and snogging on the couch, on the floor, and up against the wall whenever Sherlock was bored. In fact, it was so normal that they didn’t even notice that it could come across as ‘strange behavior’ for two flatmates to engage in, when they remained adamant that they weren’t a couple.
Eventually, The Dark Age ended and the cases started up again. The first call from Lestrade was about a string of murders at a dinner theater in Dartford. Sherlock practically frolicked out the door to Baker Street with joy.
They arrived on the scene just a few minutes after the team of Scotland Yard’s officers had. Lestrade came into the lobby of the theater to see Sherlock and John leaning over the body. John was giggling and Sherlock was smiling as he checked over the victim with his magnifying glass. He couldn’t hear the conversation too well, but Lestrade could tell Sherlock must’ve said something absolutely hilarious, since John nearly toppled over in a fit of laughter. Sherlock looked up at John and they locked eyes for a moment, both smiling wide.
Lestrade coughed, and they both turned to look at him.
“Uh, sorry to bother you, but wouldn’t you like to hear the rest of our information about the murders?”
“Yes, that would be excellent.” Sherlock responded, standing up and walking to Lestrade. John followed right behind.
Lestrade told them how all of the victims had attended the theater regularly, and had each been part of the amature magician who performed most night’s show at least twice. They were each killed with a poison that was found in their bloodstream, but the autopsy hadn’t revealed yet how the poison got into their systems. When he was done, Sherlock returned to the body, and John went to follow him, but Lestrade stopped him for a moment.
“John,” he started, “I know it’s none of my business, but you two seem to be much..happier. Everything alright?”
John gave him a confused look. “We seem happier, and you’re asking if we’re alright?”
“I don’t know, you just seem different, that’s all I mean. Is there something I should know about between you two?”
“We’re not a couple, Greg.”
“I know that, I’m just..observing. Sherlock’s always saying we need to do more of that, anyways.”
“Fair enough.”
“So there’s nothing going on with you guys? Nothing at all?”
“Nothing notable to say, no.”
Lestrade looked at John thoroughly, trying to see if there was any hint of him lying, but couldn’t find anything.
“Alright, just checking.”
John gave him a friendly smile and returned back to the body.
The next few weeks were busy with cases. There were six steakouts, three chases around London, and John had been kidnapped once, so it was overall a very exciting time. Sherlock wasn’t bored once.
Oddly enough, even though Sherlock wasn’t bored, their new routine of kissing and cuddling didn’t stop. In fact, it even seemed to increase. They would curl up on the couch some evenings while eating take out together, there were quick, chaste kisses on the cheek in passing, and they walked much closer than usual while on cases.
And their slight change in their relationship didn’t seem to go unnoticed. At almost every crime scene, someone insinuated that Sherlock and John were shagging, and Donovan and Anderson both made it a point to tell John that being in a relationship with ‘the freak’ was possibly the stupidest decision he could have made. Even Mycroft took part in the fun, sending a lovely flower basket to Baker Street with a letter attached that said ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’ And each time, John replied with the same four words: “We’re not a couple.”
Sergeant Grimes, one of the officers at the Yard, announced he was retiring. He and John had always got along well, despite the conflicts that arose with Sherlock, so when John was invited to his retirement party, he accepted. It was surely hard to convince Sherlock to come along, but John managed to do it.
Sherlock stood especially close to John throughout the entire party, avoiding all the conversations John was trying to get him into. John drank three bottles of the mediocre beer that they had out as refreshments, and Sherlock had one, but since he already had a low tolerance for alcohol, it was more than enough to slightly intoxicate him.
Lestrade gave a speech for Sergeant Grimes and they cut the cake for him. After another half hour or so, Sherlock started to get even more bored than he was originally, which made it even harder for John to enjoy the party. What made things worse was the fact that Sherlock wouldn’t stop nuzzling and kissing John’s neck, and John wasn’t sober enough to resist him.
Anderson, Donovan, and Lestrade were having a conversation near the snack bowls when Anderson looked over to John and Sherlock.
“Oh Christ,” he said.
Lestrade and Donovan looked over as well to see Sherlock with his hands wrapped around John’s waist, kissing and licking the top of John’s ear. Anderson and Donovan laugh to themselves. Lestrade raises an eyebrow and walks over to the two.
“Uh, hello,” Lestrade says.
Sherlock pulls away from John and scowls at Lestrade.
“Hullo, Greg,” John replies, flushing.
“What was that?” Lestrade asks them.
“Oh, um, nothing, we’re not..” John begins, but stops to look at Sherlock. Lestrade eyes them both, curious. “Are we?” John asks quietly. Sherlock shrugs and rests his chin on John’s head. “I..I guess we are, then..”
“It’s about fucking time! We’ve all been waiting for you to start shagging since your first case! Cheers.” Lestrade knocks his drink with John’s and walks back to Donovan and Anderson, who had been watching the entire time.
Neither Sherlock nor John quite know how it started. It just sort of happened. Every light touch in passing, every kiss they shared, every night they spent curled up together, it all felt right. They were perfect together, in every way., and neither of them ever wanted it to end.