[Fic] Simply Magic
Title: Simply Magic
Author: cynical_prude @ Hikaru R. Kudou
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Sherlock
Word Count: ~1178
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Warnings: Un-beta’ed…That’s about all, really.
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.
Summary: In which Sherlock and John watch telly, Sherlock thinks too much, John assures him and…things ensue.
-- x --
It was difficult to get Sherlock interested in television shows, but John knew that it would somehow help to take Sherlock out of the kitchen - which meant away from several of his many bizarre experiments.
"Why should I?" Sherlock had asked, looking at John with a raised eyebrow, when the former army doctor hazarded the idea. The expression the consulting detective wore obviously meant that he saw himself as above such an activity that normal people indulge in. "There's a reason the telly is called an idiot box."
"Oh, I'm sure other great minds of our present time watch telly as well," John responded calmy.
One day he innocently suggested having a Bond night. (He did it in his blog, and he suspected that other people would pester Sherlock to say ‘yes’ to it because…well, simply because.) Which Sherlock did not receive too well. At least, not in the first place. Eventually Sherlock gave in, and despite his criticisms, he watched until the end. John enjoyed the experience - although he refused to think that their close proximity during the Bond movie marathon had anything to do with it.
At least Sherlock started to acknowledge the box. Every now and then, when he was not too occupied with whatever his brain was engrossed in or when he was just too bored for anything else, he would join John in front of the telly. Usually John would just surf the channels, occasionally stopping at random shows that piqued Sherlock's interest. (John thought having the remote control in his hand meant he would have the say on what they should watch, but no...He was reduced to following Sherlock's orders on what channel to watch and which button to press, and even when to do so.)
On one particular night he was following a magic show when Sherlock returned from - judging from the sound of a Mercedes out on the street and Sherlock's look of annoyance - it must be from a meeting with Mycroft.
Sherlock slumped unceremoniously down next to John, momentarily sinking John a few inches into the sofa. Sherlock readjusted himself, and John tried to ignore that the side his left leg was totally in contact with Sherlock's right. Sherlock never bothered with personal space when it came to John, anyway.
"A magic show," stated Sherlock flatly, as the magician in a ridiculous top hat ran a loop along his floating assistant.
"Yes." After a pause, "It'll end soon, so wait for your turn if you want the telly."
Sherlock grunted, and John was surprised that the taller man, despite his foul mood, made no move to retire to his own room.
"You do know that it's not real magic," mumbled Sherlock. "It's more of sleight of hand, divert the audience’s attention and the use of special equipment to carry off the trick."
"I do, yes."
"Take, for example, this floating assistant illusion--"
"I'd rather not have your dissecting the trick, Sherlock. It might spoil the show."
Sherlock stared at him, and John automatically met his eyes. "But you enjoy the deductions that I do, even when I revealed my thought process on how to reach them. How is that any different from those magic tricks?"
John opened his mouth to retort, but no answer came out. Sherlock had a point - magic tricks and Sherlock’s deduction involved performing acts and thoughts that surpassed the general public. What people would appreciate as something special, out-of-this-world - in other words, simply magic.
(Of course, Sherlock’s audience sans John was rarely appreciative in terms of compliments, but John liked to think that Lestrade’s tolerating Sherlock’s ‘not-a-psychopath-I’m-a-sociopath’ behaviour and repeatedly consulting him as Lestrade’s own way of appreciation…)
“Well…” John managed when he realized that Sherlock was still looking intently at him, trying to deduce whatever train of thought that was running through John’s mind. “I suppose because yours is more…scientific?”
“Scientific?” Sherlock echoed, slight surprised, as if he did not really know where John was going (with all due respect, in retrospect, neither did John - he was rambling, and he knew it).
“Well, these magic tricks are carried out as if they are supernatural stuff, things that science can’t explain. Some tricks are just playing with the audience’s eyes, some are…well, some are unexplained. Sometimes I’d like to know how they did it, but then I realized - would I still be impressed with the knowledge behind the trick the second time around? I suppose I’d rather not know.” John smiled. He had a distinct he was blushing a little, but oh well.
Sherlock’s frowned deepened. “So you think it’s better if I don’t say how I deduce things?”
John chuckled. “God, no, don’t stop whatever you’re doing. Otherwise the police will really think that you’re behind every unsolved crime in London.”
“You just said you wouldn’t be impressed if you knew.” Here Sherlock stopped himself. “No, wait, wait, you’re contradicting yourself. As I recall, you did say ‘Amazing’ and ‘Brilliant’ even after I explained everything.”
John sighed. “Yes, I did.” Good God, why must Sherlock make things more difficult when they shouldn’t be?
“But you were honest, everything about you-”
Now Sherlock’s thoughts was consuming him. He was speaking to himself, despite still referring to John as a second person. John grabbed Sherlock’s shoulders to bring him back, pulling him so that they were directly facing each other.
“What you do, everything, it was brilliant. Your mind is ingenious, because you see things that we don’t. That, itself, is a gift - a gift that not many have, much less able reproduce.” John tightened his grip, in a manner of reassurance. “I can recognize brilliance when I see it, Sherlock, and I see you.”
Sherlock relaxed, heaving a sigh he did not realize he was holding. “Right…”
“And you are your own brand of magic, Sherlock.”
When he saw something in Sherlock’s eyes, John’s mind was suddenly thrown into a whirlpool of emotions. It was the silvery gray gleam that usually came alive when Sherlock had his eureka moments, when he suddenly saw something, and all at once, everything. But something in those hypnotizing orbs felt different at that particular moment in time.
John did not think that he said something brilliant, but he must have - whatever it was - because the next thing he knew Sherlock’s lips were on his, kissing him deeper and deeper, and the detective’s fingers were firmly entwined in his.
In a split second, John knew what was it that he saw in Sherlock’s eyes. It was appreciation, passion, and…need. Then, as easy as the realization came, John was lost in the heat of the moment, responding to Sherlock with the same intensity John never knew existed in him before.
John would not be able to describe it in words. It was simply magic.
Meanwhile, in the now ignored television set, the audience applauded excitedly for the magician as he took his bow. John liked to think that some of the cheer was meant for Sherlock and him as well.
--x-- end --x--
Author’s Notes: I blame(?) a show called Cyril: Simply Magic for this fic. One because my muses wouldn’t let me return to my studies until I finished this fic, and second because the resemblance between Cyril and Gackt Camui is too uncanny that my fangirl self goes all fluttery…Sigh.