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"Up, Holmes!"
"God, John, go away!" He batted at the doctor and then rolled over, flicking his dressing gown out.
Huffing, John reached down and grabbed his boyfriend by the scruff of the neck.
"John-"
Sherlock's spluttering argument was cut off half way as he was hauled roughly to his feet.
"Get your arse in that shower. Right now!"
"I don't want to go out."
The doctor shook his head and began to drag the younger man towards the bathroom, not trusting him to even walk down the hall on his own.
"John, you are such a spoilt sport!"
"Don't be a brat, babe."
John folded his arms and watched Sherlock as he undressed. He followed him into the bathroom and continued to watch as he switched the taps on and stepped under the spray.
***
Over an hour later, John was herding the detective from the flat. "Get us a cab," the doctor ordered as he turned and locked the door.
With obvious reluctance Sherlock hailed a cab and it pulled up alongside the curb.
"Why are you being so difficult?" John asked, as the cab pulled away, them secluded in the back.
"I'm not."
"You are. This is hardly the first evening we've gone out together and you've been nothing but a grumpy arse since I told you about tonight."
Sherlock ignored him and turned to glare out of the window.
"You're going to knock yourself out of this depressing mood, Sherlock. You aren't going to ruin the evening."
"Whatever you say, John."
John reached over, gripped his boyfriend's curls in his fist and brought his lips down to press into his. After a moment, Sherlock melted into it.
"Better?" He asked.
Sherlock's head fell to his shoulder and he sighed softly. "Hmm. Maybe."
They stayed like that for the remainder of the journey and Sherlock didn't grumble when John pushed him out at their destination.
"Come on," he took Sherlock's hand and lead him into the large red canvas building.
"Hi. I booked for us online," he told the woman behind the small desk.
"Under what name?"
"Watson. 2 tickets. It said I didn't need to print them?"
She took a moment and then nodded, "through there."
"Thank you. Come on, babe. Stop being such a grouch." He reached over and snagged Sherlock's hand, he looked like he was about to bolt at any minute.
John forced Sherlock into their seats and refused to let go of his hand as the rows of chairs around them filled up.
It wasn't much longer before the sand in the middle was filled with people, as the crowd fell silent, a young woman ascended a pole with nimble movements. Then she proceeded to balance across the wire.
John glanced at Sherlock, and was glad to see him smiling in amusement. He squeezed his knee.
"I told you it wouldn't be too bad."
"Hmm."
That was all until the man that had introduced the previous acts stepped into the middle of the dusty sand.
The clapping died down and he grinned broadly. "Let me introduce you all to some friends of mine! Well, if it's possible for a bunch of clowns to be friends, that is."
Beside him, John noticed the detective tense. He had frozen completely, watching a door at the side of the room.
"Sherlock…"
He still didn't move… apart from the low tremble that had begun now.
"Babe, you're scaring me now," the doctor tugged at his hand and it stopped shaking.
Sherlock's eyes moved from the side door, to John. "S-Scaring you? I'm fine." He silently berated himself for the stumble, it was embarrassing.
John tried to smile but it was weak, he had no idea what was going on with Sherlock but it was most definitely worrying.
The younger man's attention was back on the sand in the middle of the circus, he was almost acting normally again, right up until there was a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't John's hand as there was a hand on his shoulder too.
A ghostly white face, with orange spiky hair and a bright red nose leant between them. "Hello boys." The clown whispered.
The doctor had never seen Sherlock move so quickly. He jerked out of his seat, vaulted the empty chair row in front and took off out the door.
"Something I said?" The clown asked.
Frowning, John shook his head. "I don't think so." He hurried out backwards, watching the clown descend the stairs.
John caught Sherlock up and found him sat outside on the low wall.
"Sherlock?"
He looked up and smiled slightly, but immediately looked away.
John knew there was something up, he was just trying to join the dots. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"No," but his reply was far too quick, making it obvious to anyone that he was lying.
"It hasn't got something to do with clowns, has it?"
Sherlock shook his head.
"Come on, talk to me."
"They just… freak me out. That's all."
"Why?" He settled himself on the wall beside his boyfriend and slotted his arm through his.
"When I was a child, me and Mycroft used to stay with our grandparents a lot."
"So?"
"We used to share a room there, not because we had to but because… well, I couldn't sleep."
"Why not?"
"The walls were all covered with clowns. Pictures and paintings and dolls. Grandad used to be in the circus when he was younger. Mycroft's the only person who knows…"
"But your parents' place is huge."
"That's dad's side. His parents died before I was born."
"So you're terrified of clowns…" he knocked his shoulder into Sherlock's lightly, laughing heartily. "Nice to know you are scared of something."
"Why?"
"Proves you're human."