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Sherlock wandered through the streets. He'd spent most of the evening at the library, kind of reading but mostly watching. Last week, one of the librarians had talked to him about some thefts, so he'd decided to scope out the place. Which he soon realised was quite stupid -- very few students would be spending New Years Eve at the library. Maybe there wasn't a case there, anyway, maybe the librarian was just humouring him. His desperation must be that obvious. He lit another cigarette, considering whether or not to stop and get a drink somewhere. He shook his head -- every pub would have people celebrating and he wasn't sure he could tolerate that. Besides he had some whiskey at home; if getting drunk would save this night, he might as well go back to his flat to do it.
Yet he didn't. He turned down another street, away from home, and continued his wanderings.
"John, stop moping around. Come on, she's been looking at you since we got here. Take her upstairs, kiss her, just . . . I don't know, hold her hand -- it's New Year's Eve, for God's sake!" Greg was exasperated, having been trying all night to get John out of his funk. Nothing was helping, least of all the drinking. John just kept remembering his ex and the fact that he was bringing in the new year alone. Not the most productive thought, but he couldn't make it go away.
"Greg, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm fine. Really. I'm just going to go out for a bit of air."
"You're not going to leave, are you?” Greg asked, looking at John with narrowed eyes.
"No, I won't leave," John promised. He turned and went out the back door, leaning against the house and enjoying the cold and the quiet. Everything inside was just too much.
Sherlock heard a noise coming from a flat up the alley. Probably just another party, another batch of people celebrating -- celebrating what? The end of a terrible year? The start of another one? The world would be a much better place if people just accepted that occasions like this were not times of celebration; the alcohol and frivolity were really only distractions from the sometimes tedious, sometimes worrisome reality of life.
Sherlock glanced up when he heard a door slam shut. Under the light on the back of the house, a boy leaned against the bricks. He assumed the door would open any moment -- from the look on the guy's face, he was involved in some kind of domestic. Actually, this could be interesting -- perhaps there was a crime Sherlock could solve tonight. He slowed his step and dawdled around the area, hoping the darkness kept him hidden.
John took a deep breath and looked up at the sky, but there was nothing to see. The winter sky was cloudy and blank. He switched his gaze to looking around the garden. In the alley, someone had stopped walking and seemed to be looking over. John stared back, wondering what this person was doing out so late when it was so cold.
Sherlock didn't hear any talking, so he moved closer to the back gate and stood up on his toes to look over it. He met the man's eyes and then ducked down quickly.
John's brows furrowed. "Hello?" He walked closer to the fence. "I saw you.”
Sherlock stayed still for a moment and then looked up over the door again. "So what?" he said.
"What are you doing there?" John asked.
Sherlock opened the gate but didn't step in. "Spying on you," he said plainly.
"Why?" John and, trying to figure out if he recognised the man's face from somewhere. Maybe this was a prank?
"Why not?" Sherlock said. "I've got nothing else to do." He stepped back a little and lit another cigarette. "Why are you so concerned? Have you got something to hide?" he asked.
"No. It just seems odd. I mean, why me?" John asked.
"Because you're the only one skulking around suspiciously at this time of night," Sherlock said.
"I'm not skulking around," John said. "I'm just taking a break from the party."
"Fine," Sherlock said. "Go back to those people and leave me out here alone." He acted insulted but didn't walk away.
"Do you want to come inside?" John asked.
"God, no," Sherlock said.
John smiled without thinking. He cleared his throat and made a more neutral expression. "Where were you heading when you decided to spy?"
"Either to the most exciting event of my life or just nowhere," Sherlock said. 'Why did you leave the party?"
John shrugged. "Too much going on in there," he said vaguely. Then he just sort of kept going. "I got out of a relationship recently and my friend thinks it's his job to cheer me up so he's trying to set me up with every single person he sees and I'm kind of hiding, only not really because he knows where I went."
"I see," Sherlock said. "Yes, that sounds quite unpleasant." He took a drag on his cigarette. "Perhaps you should step out here?" he suggested. "That way we wouldn't have to shout, I mean."
They weren't shouting, but John didn't mention it. He stopped at the gate, a little closer to the boy. "Better?"
"Look, if you're so afraid, you might as well go back in," Sherlock said. "Otherwise, step out here in the alley with me. There's not much going on back here -- unlike in there." He moved back away from the gate and against the wall so he could no longer be seen. He wasn't quite sure why he was even talking to this guy, but he was, so he might as well try to make it interesting.
John stepped into the alley and moved more into the dark. "What's your name?" He asked.
"It's Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock said. "Who's asking?"
"John Watson," he replied.
"So John Watson," Sherlock said. "Your heart's been broken?"
John shrugged. "It was mutual. It just feels worse now with everyone bringing in the new year with someone special."
"I see," Sherlock said. "And you're not interested in a kiss at midnight with someone unless they're special?"
"Not exactly. But the people offering in there are . . . not even interesting. I don't want anything serious with them, and they'll probably see it that way."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Sherlock said, leaning back against the wall. "One kiss isn't always serious, is it?"
"No, but that's what I mean -- I don't want to take any chances with them thinking it means more," he said, motioning towards the house.
"And you're not interested in more?"
"Not right now."
"I see," Sherlock said again. "Too busy with . . .?"
"Not busy. Just not interested right now," John shrugged.
"And your friend -- he's just trying to help or has he got an ulterior motive?"
"Trying to help in his own way."
"Sounds like an ulterior motive to me," Sherlock said. He lit another cigarette and offered it to John.
John thought about it for a moment before shaking his head.
"What's your ulterior motive then?" Sherlock said. "Don't feel bad -- most people have them. Why'd you come to a party if you weren't planning to have any fun?"
"I was having fun before all of that," he said.
"Are you having fun now?" Sherlock asked but before John could answer, he said, "I am."
John smiled. "Yeah, okay, me too."
"Are you drunk?" Sherlock asked.
"Not really," he said. "You?"
"Not really," Sherlock said. "I mean, no. I was thinking about it. I was thinking about going home and having a drink. But I suppose there's no point, eh? If there's no one there to toast the new year with me."
"I'll toast it with you, if you want."
"I've got nothing with me," Sherlock said. "And I don't imagine you'd want to leave your friends."
"I can bring us something from inside, if you want."
Sherlock glanced back at the house. "Well, all right then," he said with a smile. "If you want to."
"What do you like?" John asked, pushing off from the wall.
"Not lager," Sherlock said.
"Okay. I'll be right back." John went back into the house.
"John! I thought you left. There's a guy --" Greg said excitedly as he watched John come in.
"I'm actually talking to someone outside," he said, letting Greg infer what he wanted. Greg was satisfied, grinning and patting his shoulder happily. John smiled and filled two cups with vodka and orange, hurrying away before Greg could follow with more curiosity.
Sherlock lit another cigarette. He wondered what on earth he was doing really, but he was actually kind of enjoying it whatever it was. He watched John rush back, carrying two cups.
"No one tried to kiss you, did they?" he asked when John returned.
John shook his head.
"Good," Sherlock said. "I don't think that'd be right." He took a sip. "Thanks for the drink -- it's horrible actually," he added with a smile.
"Yeah, they usually are," John said. "Didn't you have anyone to be with tonight?"
"God, no," Sherlock said, the alcohol starting to warm his face already. "I can't bear any of the people I know. I tend to like the ones I don't know, it appears."
John smiled. "I feel lucky."
"Oh, I don't think it was luck," Sherlock said. "There's a reason I caught you hiding."
"I mean lucky you like me when typically you don't like anyone."
"Who said I liked you?" Sherlock asked.
"You did," John said. "Just a second ago."
"I didn't," Sherlock said, looking out into the darkness for a moment. "Nonetheless, you're still quite lucky, I suppose, as it's definitely quiet out here compared to in there. So at least you can enjoy that."
"And the company," John added, taking a drink.
Sherlock smiled. He took a sip of his drink. "So have you got any resolutions for the new year?" he asked.
"Hmm, I haven't thought about it," John admitted. "What do you have?"
"I will stop talking to strange men in the street," Sherlock said.
John laughed. "Glad that starts after the new year," he said.
"Are you strange then, John Watson?" Sherlock said, turning to face him. "What's so strange about you?"
"I willingly talk to strangers in dark alleys," he smiled.
"Do you do anything else with strangers in dark alleys?"
John glanced over. "Like what?"
"I don't know -- fight, buy illegal goods, play marbles?" Sherlock said. "I don't know you well enough to know what you get up to."
John laughed. "I thought you meant something nicer," he said.
"Like what -- 'make love'?" Sherlock asked.
John flushed and coughed into his drink. "No! I . . . no," he said quickly.
"All right then," Sherlock said. "Now I'm intrigued -- what do you think is nicer than fighting, crime or marbles?"
"Just . . . this. This is fun," John said thoughtfully.
"It's all right," Sherlock said with a small grin. He leaned back against the wall. "This drink is horrible but it's doing its job, I think." He looked up at the sky for a few moments. "So you don't think sex is nice?"
"I, well yeah but . . . not in an alley with a stranger," John said into his drink as he sipped again.
"That's not what I was doing before you came out, you know, if that's what you're thinking," Sherlock said.
"What? Making love?" John asked.
"Yes, or rather, no," Sherlock said. He pulled out another cigarette. "First off, that's a stupid phrase and secondly, well, secondly, I wouldn't want an audience and there could be some other guy bored at a party lurking around and three's a crowd."
John laughed softly. "Right, well, at least you're not a pervert."
"Well . . ." Sherlock said, blowing smoke up into the sky. "I didn't say that."
John glanced over at him. "My friend knows I'm out here, remember."
"So? You're an adult. I presume you can take care of yourself," Sherlock said. "You can, can't you?"
"If I had to, yeah." He looked over. "Am I going to need to?"
"Probably not," Sherlock said. "We'll see how I feel when I finish my drink -- I may want to fight or I may want a game of marbles." He looked over and gave John a wink. "So John Watson who just ended a relationship . . . May I ask what the problem was? You were into alley sex and they weren't?"
"No," John said, rolling his eyes. "We just wanted different things. I'd rather not talk about it."
"Are you a heartbreaker then?" Sherlock asked. "We don't have to talk about it. I'm just . . . you know, getting the lay of the land."
"What's that mean?" John asked.
"I'm wondering if you're going to break my heart again."
"What? When did I first break your heart?"
"When you refused to fight me," Sherlock explained.
"Oh, well. I wouldn't want you waking up to a new year with a black eye," John said.
Sherlock laughed. He tipped the rest of his cup into his mouth. "I've finished my drink," he said.
"Do you want another one?"
"No, I'm all right," Sherlock said. "I can have another when I get home if I want." He lit another cigarette and looked over at the house. "Do you live here?"
"No, another friend of mine," John said.
"The one who wants you to kiss everyone you meet?"
"No, a different one. He's on the rugby team with me."
"And the kissing one -- does he live with you?"
"No, I live on my own," John said.
"And you think that he fancies you a bit?" Sherlock asked.
"Who? My friend? No, he's not like that."
"I wouldn't be too sure," Sherlock said. "Why wouldn't he fancy you -- you're good looking, you seem clever. He'd have to be an idiot not to."
"I'm also a boy," John pointed out.
"Right. You'd be surprised. . ." Sherlock said. "Regardless, I suppose my real question was about your social life in general. You've got a lot of friends, go to a lot of parties, all that?"
"Yeah, I suppose. The guys from the team have parties a lot when we win."
"Have you ever seen me at one of those parties?" Sherlock asked.
John shook his head. "No, I haven't. The invite is still open to come to this one."
"The reason you've not seen me at any and why I won't be taking up your offer to join you inside," Sherlock explained. "Is because I don't like all that -- all those people and all that false celebration. When you think about what New Year's Eve is about -- it's not really a time for drunken celebration. It's mainly just the end of the year which isn't that big of a deal. And if you prefer to think more symbolically, it's more a time of reflection than celebration. So while I hate all parties, the worst parties are New Year's Eve parties." He looked over at John. "So I guess that means our little chat will need to end here, then, right?"
John looked over at him. "I suppose, if I ditch you and go back inside. I wasn't planning on it."
Sherlock glanced over. "Good," he said. "Though I hope you're not going to insist on having some private celebration out here with me once we hear the fireworks -- remember, it's just an ordinary night to me." He paused for a moment. "Even though this has been the best year of my life actually," he added under his breath.
"What made yours good?" John asked.
"It was the year I met you," Sherlock said cheekily and then took a long drag on his cigarette. He blew the smoke up into the black sky then dropped the butt and stepped on it.
John flushed and focused on his drink. "That's a lot of pressure seeing as, when the fireworks start, you'll leave and we might never speak again."
"True," Sherlock said. "But at least that ensures it'll stay a perfect memory."
John nodded and finished his drink. He glanced at his watch -- they had about a minute left before the fireworks. He put his cup down on the ground and looked up. "It's almost time."
In one smooth move, Sherlock stepped forward, turned and moved in close, forcing John back against the wall, his hands over John's shoulders. "Almost time for what?" he asked, his face inches away from John's.
John flushed darkly. His hands came up automatically to Sherlock's chest. "Midnight," he murmured. "The new year."
"I'd swear we just met, but now you're telling me we've known each other since last year?" Sherlock said. He moved his mouth near John's, so close but not yet touching it. "Why don't you say yes, John Watson?" he suggested. "I'd love to hear you say yes."
John stared up at him. Even in the low light of the alley his eyes were hypnotic . . . such a bright mix of blues. John's watch beeped. He heard shouting from the house and then the fireworks started. "Yes," he whispered, more breath then sound. Sherlock was close enough that John knew he heard.
Sherlock crashed into John's mouth, kissing him hard as he pressed his body close. As the kiss deepened, he lowered his hands to hold the back of John's head. John gripped Sherlock's coat and kissed back eagerly. He moaned softly and tugged Sherlock even closer, their bodies flush against each other as he pressed into the wall. Sherlock pushed his tongue into John's mouth and then pulled back slightly, biting his bottom lip as he looked into John's eyes. John gazed up at him as he panted softly, still holding his coat tightly.
"Here's to a good new year," Sherlock said quietly.
John nodded. "Here's to a good year," he repeated softly.
Sherlock kissed him roughly one more time and then stepped back. "I suppose the party will be over soon," he said.
John shook his head. "No, it'll probably go on pretty late," he said. He licked his lips and thought he could still taste Sherlock's there. He glanced over and watched him, not sure what else to say.
"Well, I. . ." Sherlock started as he took a step back. "I guess I'll be on my way."
"Oh," John said. "Okay, yeah." He glanced at the house. "I should get inside."
"Good to have met you, John Watson," Sherlock said, holding out his hand.
John shook his hand. "Good to have met you," he said.
Sherlock smiled and then stuck his hands in his pockets as he began to walk away. He turned back and said, "You dropped something." He moved closer and dipped down before standing up close against John's body. "Here you go," he said, handing him a piece of paper and then turning to walk away.
John tensed -- Sherlock was a bit overwhelming in his confidence. John took the paper and watched him walk out of sight into the darkness. He opened the paper and grinned stupidly. It was his phone number.
Sherlock slipped between the houses and out onto the main road. He lit a cigarette and smiled. This had been a quite interesting New Year's Eve after all.
John made his way back to the house, taking his phone out of his pocket.
Happy New Year, Sherlock. -JW
Sherlock's hand was tight around his phone when he felt it vibrate. He read the text and sent a reply.
See you soon, John Watson. SH
Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket as he walked up to his door. He had a feeling the next year was going to be a good one.