02: Sentiment
Title: Sentiment
Author: phoenix_zeal
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fluff
Disclaimer: I do not make any profit from this.
Beta: Me, Myself and I
Word count: 1342
Summary: That first time Sherlock hadn’t meant to enter the flat. He hadn’t meant to watch John while he slept and hadn’t meant to kiss him. Even so, it had happened and Sherlock finds himself unable to stop thinking about John.
Warnings: Spoilers for series 2.
Notes: Also available on AO3. This is a part of the Sherlock/John Dreamverse series. If you'd like to read the previous part(s) you can find them here.
That first time Sherlock hadn’t meant to enter the flat. He hadn’t meant to watch John while he slept and hadn’t meant to kiss him. Even so, it had happened and Sherlock finds himself unable to stop thinking about John.
Of course he never thinks about it while chasing criminals in his efforts to clean up the mess Moriarty left behind. Though when he’s alone and attempting to sleep after days of being awake, John is there in his thoughts. It’s maddening and there’s a pain inside of him that won’t go away. No matter how much he tries to tell himself that caring is not an advantage, and that he’s a sociopath unable to love, it’s too late.
Sherlock already knows that he cares and cares a lot, in fact. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to fake his own death. He wouldn’t be chasing criminals all over Europe.
He likes solving cases. That is interesting. Staying in uncomfortable hotels with other people’s bodily fluids all over the sheets is not. The disguises are a bit fun but some of them itch and give him rashes. He doesn’t mind a bit of discomfort, obviously - he is the man who can spend days not eating or sleeping - but all he wants to do is to return to 221B Baker Street. Being bored doesn’t seem so bad after having spent several months flitting from place to place.
Sherlock is back in London for the moment but he will soon have to leave again. This time he means to enter the flat. He stops in the living room to slip out of his disguise. John would think it odd if Sherlock turned up in jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. The cap on his head would also be a giveaway - John knows that Sherlock hates wearing hats of any kind. If he wants to keep up the illusion of only being a part of John’s dreams, it will be better if he shows up wearing only pants.
He walks silently to John’s bedroom and stops in the doorway for a moment to observe. The room is tidy but there is a layer of dust on the furniture. The lamp on the bedside table is switched on, illuminating the room with a soft light. John never used to sleep with the light on. Nightmares worse than usual then or he fell asleep while reading. No, there isn’t a book anywhere near the bed.
John is frowning in his sleep and his stubble shows that he hasn’t shaved for a couple of days. It’s Sunday night which means that he hasn’t been working. Shaves only when he has to keep up appearances, doesn’t bother when he thinks no one will be around to see him. Doesn’t socialise during weekends and never brings anyone with him to his bedroom; if he did he’d do a better job at dusting the furniture.
It takes only a couple of seconds for Sherlock to observe everything. Then he slips into John’s bed and pulls the comforter over his now slightly chilled skin. He smoothes his hand over the wrinkles on John’s forehead. John opens his eyes and blinks against the light. He looks at Sherlock, uncomprehending for a few seconds before he smiles.
“I thought that I’d get only the one dream of you in my bed,” he says. “When I woke up in the morning I felt so embarrassed by the things I said.”
“It was only a dream, John,” Sherlock says. “Why would you be embarrassed by something only you know?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t admitted those things to myself before that and it felt like you were really here to hear me. It’s not like me to say such things.”
“You can say anything you want to in dreams. They can give you a sense of closure when nothing else can.”
“I thought you’d think that dreams are too irrational and irritating,” John says and then adds: “This doesn’t feel like closure.”
“What does it feel like?” Sherlock asks.
“The beginning we never got to have.”
Sherlock moves closer to John and they wrap themselves around each other. Lips rest against lips in a soft touch.
“We can rest now,” Sherlock murmurs against John’s lips, not minding the way John’s stubble chafes against his skin.
It should bother him but it doesn’t. There are a lot of things about John that should bother him but they don’t. Well, at least not all of the time. He finds himself even missing the things that used to annoy him.
The way John would complain about his experiments. When he insisted that some shelves in the fridge should be reserved only for food. His infuriatingly slow typing. Sherlock doesn’t believe in miracles but it was practically a bloody miracle that John ever managed to finish one blog post, let alone several. John also went on a lot of dates with various women and wanted Sherlock to remember their names, even though there was clearly no point in it when they’d break up with him eventually.
“You don’t go on dates anymore,” Sherlock says when another slow kiss comes to an end.
“No, I don’t,” John says lightly but Sherlock isn’t fooled by his tone.
“Why?”
“Why?” John repeats and looks at Sherlock incredulously. “Do you even have to ask me that?”
Sherlock doesn’t like when John makes him feel like he’s missing something important. Perhaps he does it as a revenge for when Sherlock does the same to him.
“Obviously.” Sherlock tries to sound detached but John has a way of breaking down the walls of indifference he’s spent years carefully building.
“I don’t go on dates because I’m in love with my dead flatmate,” John says and caresses Sherlock’s cheek, his eyes sad. “My bloody brilliant and infuriating flatmate who is a bit of an idiot at times.”
Sherlock doesn’t point out that he can’t be a bit of an idiot in present tense when he’s dead. He’s got a feeling that it would be another of the things John would call him an idiot for saying.
“You dated women all the time before,” Sherlock says instead. “I presume that you must have been in love with me during at least some of that time.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know it back then, did I? Sometimes you don’t realise things until it’s too late. I’ve said so before.”
“Yes. I haven’t really understood that before, I usually realise things right away, but I might understand now.”
“You don’t realise things when they have to do with sentiment,” John says with a smirk. “You’re a bit rubbish at that.”
“There was no point in it before,” Sherlock says haughtily. “Too boring and completely unnecessary.”
“And now?” John’s voice is small.
“Sometimes there are exceptions.”
They kiss again. John tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and tugs a bit just so and Sherlock moans. The sound is surprising for the both of them but John does it again and all of Sherlock’s limbs relax. He hasn’t realised how tense he’s been for months until now when all of the tension leaves his body.
“Oh, that feels good,” he says.
“Yeah?” John’s fingers massage Sherlock’s scalp.
“Yeah.” Sherlock sighs and presses grateful kisses against John’s mouth.
John continues massaging until his movements become slower and his eyes close. His arm becomes limp as his breathing evens out. Sherlock spends some time watching him before kissing his forehead and carefully slides out of his embrace.
Completely relaxed, Sherlock is unwilling to get out of bed but he knows that he must. He stands up carefully not to disturb John and walks to the living room to put on his disguise. The work he’s doing is difficult and boring but Sherlock has been reminded of why it’s so important. Caring is not an advantage but not caring would be worse. Not caring would make him Moriarty and that thought disturbs him more than he can fully understand. Moriarty killed himself. Sherlock wants to live.
---
A/N: Yes, this will be a series of short instalments. I don't know how many I will write as I'll probably write them sporadically as inspiration strikes. I do know sort of where I'm going with this, though, so I hope that'll help.
I think I want a better name for the series than "Sherlock/John Dreamverse" but I don't know what. Any suggestions?
I'm not good at writing from Sherlock's POV I'm afraid. I'm not really an intelligent or scientific person. I'm the kind to value sentiment over everything else. I suppose you might be able to tell.
Author: phoenix_zeal
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Fluff
Disclaimer: I do not make any profit from this.
Beta: Me, Myself and I
Word count: 1342
Summary: That first time Sherlock hadn’t meant to enter the flat. He hadn’t meant to watch John while he slept and hadn’t meant to kiss him. Even so, it had happened and Sherlock finds himself unable to stop thinking about John.
Warnings: Spoilers for series 2.
Notes: Also available on AO3. This is a part of the Sherlock/John Dreamverse series. If you'd like to read the previous part(s) you can find them here.
That first time Sherlock hadn’t meant to enter the flat. He hadn’t meant to watch John while he slept and hadn’t meant to kiss him. Even so, it had happened and Sherlock finds himself unable to stop thinking about John.
Of course he never thinks about it while chasing criminals in his efforts to clean up the mess Moriarty left behind. Though when he’s alone and attempting to sleep after days of being awake, John is there in his thoughts. It’s maddening and there’s a pain inside of him that won’t go away. No matter how much he tries to tell himself that caring is not an advantage, and that he’s a sociopath unable to love, it’s too late.
Sherlock already knows that he cares and cares a lot, in fact. Otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered to fake his own death. He wouldn’t be chasing criminals all over Europe.
He likes solving cases. That is interesting. Staying in uncomfortable hotels with other people’s bodily fluids all over the sheets is not. The disguises are a bit fun but some of them itch and give him rashes. He doesn’t mind a bit of discomfort, obviously - he is the man who can spend days not eating or sleeping - but all he wants to do is to return to 221B Baker Street. Being bored doesn’t seem so bad after having spent several months flitting from place to place.
Sherlock is back in London for the moment but he will soon have to leave again. This time he means to enter the flat. He stops in the living room to slip out of his disguise. John would think it odd if Sherlock turned up in jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. The cap on his head would also be a giveaway - John knows that Sherlock hates wearing hats of any kind. If he wants to keep up the illusion of only being a part of John’s dreams, it will be better if he shows up wearing only pants.
He walks silently to John’s bedroom and stops in the doorway for a moment to observe. The room is tidy but there is a layer of dust on the furniture. The lamp on the bedside table is switched on, illuminating the room with a soft light. John never used to sleep with the light on. Nightmares worse than usual then or he fell asleep while reading. No, there isn’t a book anywhere near the bed.
John is frowning in his sleep and his stubble shows that he hasn’t shaved for a couple of days. It’s Sunday night which means that he hasn’t been working. Shaves only when he has to keep up appearances, doesn’t bother when he thinks no one will be around to see him. Doesn’t socialise during weekends and never brings anyone with him to his bedroom; if he did he’d do a better job at dusting the furniture.
It takes only a couple of seconds for Sherlock to observe everything. Then he slips into John’s bed and pulls the comforter over his now slightly chilled skin. He smoothes his hand over the wrinkles on John’s forehead. John opens his eyes and blinks against the light. He looks at Sherlock, uncomprehending for a few seconds before he smiles.
“I thought that I’d get only the one dream of you in my bed,” he says. “When I woke up in the morning I felt so embarrassed by the things I said.”
“It was only a dream, John,” Sherlock says. “Why would you be embarrassed by something only you know?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t admitted those things to myself before that and it felt like you were really here to hear me. It’s not like me to say such things.”
“You can say anything you want to in dreams. They can give you a sense of closure when nothing else can.”
“I thought you’d think that dreams are too irrational and irritating,” John says and then adds: “This doesn’t feel like closure.”
“What does it feel like?” Sherlock asks.
“The beginning we never got to have.”
Sherlock moves closer to John and they wrap themselves around each other. Lips rest against lips in a soft touch.
“We can rest now,” Sherlock murmurs against John’s lips, not minding the way John’s stubble chafes against his skin.
It should bother him but it doesn’t. There are a lot of things about John that should bother him but they don’t. Well, at least not all of the time. He finds himself even missing the things that used to annoy him.
The way John would complain about his experiments. When he insisted that some shelves in the fridge should be reserved only for food. His infuriatingly slow typing. Sherlock doesn’t believe in miracles but it was practically a bloody miracle that John ever managed to finish one blog post, let alone several. John also went on a lot of dates with various women and wanted Sherlock to remember their names, even though there was clearly no point in it when they’d break up with him eventually.
“You don’t go on dates anymore,” Sherlock says when another slow kiss comes to an end.
“No, I don’t,” John says lightly but Sherlock isn’t fooled by his tone.
“Why?”
“Why?” John repeats and looks at Sherlock incredulously. “Do you even have to ask me that?”
Sherlock doesn’t like when John makes him feel like he’s missing something important. Perhaps he does it as a revenge for when Sherlock does the same to him.
“Obviously.” Sherlock tries to sound detached but John has a way of breaking down the walls of indifference he’s spent years carefully building.
“I don’t go on dates because I’m in love with my dead flatmate,” John says and caresses Sherlock’s cheek, his eyes sad. “My bloody brilliant and infuriating flatmate who is a bit of an idiot at times.”
Sherlock doesn’t point out that he can’t be a bit of an idiot in present tense when he’s dead. He’s got a feeling that it would be another of the things John would call him an idiot for saying.
“You dated women all the time before,” Sherlock says instead. “I presume that you must have been in love with me during at least some of that time.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know it back then, did I? Sometimes you don’t realise things until it’s too late. I’ve said so before.”
“Yes. I haven’t really understood that before, I usually realise things right away, but I might understand now.”
“You don’t realise things when they have to do with sentiment,” John says with a smirk. “You’re a bit rubbish at that.”
“There was no point in it before,” Sherlock says haughtily. “Too boring and completely unnecessary.”
“And now?” John’s voice is small.
“Sometimes there are exceptions.”
They kiss again. John tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s hair and tugs a bit just so and Sherlock moans. The sound is surprising for the both of them but John does it again and all of Sherlock’s limbs relax. He hasn’t realised how tense he’s been for months until now when all of the tension leaves his body.
“Oh, that feels good,” he says.
“Yeah?” John’s fingers massage Sherlock’s scalp.
“Yeah.” Sherlock sighs and presses grateful kisses against John’s mouth.
John continues massaging until his movements become slower and his eyes close. His arm becomes limp as his breathing evens out. Sherlock spends some time watching him before kissing his forehead and carefully slides out of his embrace.
Completely relaxed, Sherlock is unwilling to get out of bed but he knows that he must. He stands up carefully not to disturb John and walks to the living room to put on his disguise. The work he’s doing is difficult and boring but Sherlock has been reminded of why it’s so important. Caring is not an advantage but not caring would be worse. Not caring would make him Moriarty and that thought disturbs him more than he can fully understand. Moriarty killed himself. Sherlock wants to live.
---
A/N: Yes, this will be a series of short instalments. I don't know how many I will write as I'll probably write them sporadically as inspiration strikes. I do know sort of where I'm going with this, though, so I hope that'll help.
I think I want a better name for the series than "Sherlock/John Dreamverse" but I don't know what. Any suggestions?
I'm not good at writing from Sherlock's POV I'm afraid. I'm not really an intelligent or scientific person. I'm the kind to value sentiment over everything else. I suppose you might be able to tell.