Fanfiction : The Little Details
John Watson smiles, letting the warm sunshine blanket him, contrasting the light breeze that makes the trees that line the field whisper.
Opening his eyes and glancing to the left, he can see the frowning face of Holmes, whose sleepy brown eyes only add to his already frowning face. Sighing, he grabs the wrist of Holmes coat and pulls him across the field, hoping that a walk will somehow lighten Sherlock’s mood.
“Lighten up old boy” Watson says “A little fresh air won’t harm you, and even you, one of Londons finest detectives needs a break once in a while’.
‘I am not -one- of Londons finest, I -am- Londons finest.’ Holmes cuts in, tromping alongside Watson “And I was in the middle of a case old boy, you chose the worst time to drag me here”.
John only rolls his eyes, staring up into the great expanse of the sky. He had brought Holmes to his brothers’ estate to relax, get away from his cases and boxing matches. And Sherlock damned well needed a break! He’d seen him become increasingly bored, and even more so increasingly agitated, sulking around the house muttering to himself and taking to insulting Lestrade more often then usual - something of which Watson himself had thought to be impossible.
“Come on” John starts, turning to face Holmes and stepping close to him. He lets go of Holmes’s coat and moves his hand to the mans chin, pulling it up to face him.
“Cheer up, for me?” But Holmes only turns away, choosing to glare at the trees.
Defeated, Watson drops his hand and continues walking in the direction he was originally headed to, before hearing the detective slump to the ground cross legged, folding his arms across his chest in displeasure of his situation.
Curse him, Watson thought! Could he not at least try to be happy? He’d tried all he could to find out what had been bothering the detective, but he’d only been brushed off multiple times, until John had simply given up and dropped the matter entirely.
Sherlock watched as John tromped off into the distance, watching as his feet disturbed the small daisies that danced and sprang about as they were trodden on. He didn’t like to see John angry at him like this, but even so, being disturbed during the middle of a case annoyed him to no end. But it wasn’t only the unfinished case that was bothering him…
Glancing up, Sherlock was surprised to find John was nowhere in sight. Jumping up, he stared down the field to where the man had been walking not a minute ago. Heart racing, he began to bolt along the path of broken daisies that John had unintentionally carved in the field, wishing he hadn’t stopped to sulk when John had walked off.
Tripping, Sherlock began to roll down the field, only stopping when he felt himself restrained by strong arms.
Lying on his back, it was now obvious to Holmes what had caused him to fall in the first place. The field at first appeared to be completely flat, but on closer inspection sloped towards to end of it, only slightly but enough to make one lose their footing if it was unknown to be in existence.
Which Sherlock had certainly done.
Rolling over onto his stomach Holmes faces John, who lies to his left, head first down the slope on his back, with one hand lazily draped across his eyes in an attempt to block out the now blinding sun.
“I must say Sherlock, if we’d been in London I would think you were chasing a criminal, at the pace you were going!” John grinned at Sherlock, who was blushing slightly at the ungraceful way in which he had fallen.
Raising his hand to Sherlocks cheek, John rested the back of his hand against his skin, feeling the way it burnt where the detective was blushing from his stumble.
“Hmm, curious” he responded, before shuffling over to rest atop Watson, his chin on Watson chest, which rose and fell with each gentle breath the man took.
They lay there and let the sun bath them with warmth, whilst a few small birds chatted away quietly in summer sky.
“I thought you’d fallen” Sherlock stated, breaking the near silence
“I thought my company wasn’t enjoyable” John responded, the lightest hint of annoyance hidden in the words.
Sighing, Sherlock moved his hand to gently stroke Watsons hair with his fingers, the strands soft in his fingers.
“You know” John began, biting his tongue as he pieced his words together “It would make me joyful to no end if you would explain what’s wrong. I mean, if it’s something I’ve done I-“
“No!” Sherlock barked, surprising both himself and Watson from the sudden, louder-than-planned cry. “It’s not, it’s not you, it’s….”
Silence sat between the two, John sighing as Sherlock only stared at him with pleading eyes. Then, Sherlock leaned to his side, rummaging through his coat pockets for an item, which when pulled from the depths of Holmes’s clothing was revealed to be a letter, creased slightly from being in Holmes possession, and the way the folds were sharp and flat showed signs of having been opened and read many times over.
“It though you-“Sherlock broke off, his eyes glassing over in a way which made Johns heart ache at the sight. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Sherlock handed him the letter.
Unfolding the letter, John glanced down the paper, easily recognizing his own neat handwriting that filled the page, eyes widening as he remembered the words that were written on the page.
“Sherlock, where did you get this?” John asked, his voice faltering as he felt Sherlock begin to tremble.
“It was in your bedroom - I was only looking for a bandage - and it was in your handwriting. I was just wondering who you were writing to” Sherlock stated sadly to John.
“Sherlock I didn’t-” John began, regretting having kept the unsent letter.
“You wrote that you love her! I though you didn’t love her anymore” Sherlock yelped, the tears in his eyes threatening to escape “I thought you loved me now” he whimpered, burying his face in Watsons coat.
“Sherlock” John said gently, raising Sherlocks chin to face him as he propped himself up on one elbow “Did you bother to check the date I wrote this?”
Sherlocks eyes widened as he realises his little, crucial mistake, and John chuckles as the detective begins to blush again.
“This” John says, tapping Sherlock on the nose lightly with the now folded letter “Was written when I first began dating her. I promise - I assure you with all my heart - I don’t love her anymore Holmes. I love you”
Sherlock leaned forward, closing his eyes as his lips meet Johns. The breeze picks up again, licking the letter from Johns hand
Neither noticed it slip away
“Holmes, I simply cannot find this knife that Miss Clara was supposedly killed with” Lestrade sighed, tired from the long chase it was taking to get to the killer of the most recent murder case.
John watched, smiling as Sherlock danced around the room finding the seemingly invisible clues that seemed to be made for Sherlocks eyes only. But none of that mattered anyway, not now that Sherlocks black cloud of a mood had passed and he was back to his own version of ‘normality’. He’d had stopped sulking around the house and complaining, and was back to experimenting on their dog and setting fire their rooms with various substances. Even the wave of harsh comments to Lestrade had ceased completely.
“Lestrade” Holmes declared “If you are to somehow keep your position in the Yard, I suggest getting glasses. It might help you to be useful sometimes”
Well, almost completely.
End
~If people like this I could write a second chapter~
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