Sherlock Ficlet: The Mystery of Love [John Watson, ensemble | PG]
Title: The Mystery of Love
Fandoms: Sherlock (TV)
CharacterS: John Watson, ensemble. John/Sherlock undertones.
Rating: PG
Author's Note:My submission for Challenge 2, round 2 over on thegameison_sh - the challenge was to write about 'love'...
The mystery of Love.
Love.
It seemed to John as if it were one mystery Sherlock was happy to leave alone. He was the outsider looking in, and that was that.
John wasn’t so sure, however.
After all, if that was that, then why was he still alive?
He had seen Sherlock with Mycroft, his brother, locked in that seething misery that only siblings seem to generate. He’d witnessed the mistrust, the pouting, and the long silences, and wondered why Sherlock still pretended to not understand what it meant. That kind of pain didn't come without love; he was sure of it.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking masquerading as insight...
But he was still alive.
Still here.
That must mean something.
***
“How would I know?” Harry asked impatiently, when he voiced this question out loud to her over lunch. “You still haven’t introduced us, remember? And I haven’t figured out yet which one of us is supposed to be the dirty little secret.”
John didn’t know what to say to that, so he rather cruelly changed the subject to her ex. He felt a bit guilty about that... afterwards.
***
“I wish I’d never introduced you two,” Mike glumly admitted over the phone. “You’re like an old couple whose marriage is continously on the rocks...and I’m the poor bastard in the middle getting an earful from both ends.”
“We’re not on the rocks. What makes you think we’re on the rocks, ” John protested, and then, “Wait...he calls you?”
“Bye, John,” MIke said flatly, before hanging up.
***
“Yes, dear, I’m sure you’re right,” Mrs Hudson said, as she emptied the shopping bag onto the kitchen table.
“Really? You think it’s all in my imagination?” John reiterated.
Mrs Hudson blinked. “Oh,” she said. “You were being serious?” She paused. “Well, dear, I really wouldn’t know. I mean, it isn’t as if I live with him.” She gave John a knowing quirk of the eyebrow, and John suppressed a sigh. He had given up trying to dissuade Mrs Hudson from her belief that he and Sherlock were lovers.
As if Sherlock would ever entertain such a domestic arrangement.
He sighed again.
***
Lestrade eyed him with a cool look. “John,” he said softly. “I thought we’d already had this conversation - just because I’ve known him longer, doesn’t mean I know him better.”
“You almost sound like Mrs Hudson,” John said dryly.
Lestrade smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
***
Mycroft stood very still in the middle of the warehouse, eyeing him warily, as if he had said something rather more dramatic... something like I’ve got a bomb.
“You, Doctor Watson, can be remarkable stupid sometimes,” he eventually pronounced, his eyes trailing down to his umbrella.
“You know what? It’s been a long week,” John said, “How about we skip the banter and cut right to the chase. Am I right?”
Mycroft let out a long breath, looked up, and caught his eyes. “Of course you’re right, you daft twat. Why else do you think I’m here?” He hitched up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got an appointment at the Egyptian embassy at nine.”
John looked out at the darkening sky. “At night?”
“Duty never sleeps,” Mycroft said, with a wintry smile. “Isn’t that what they say?”
***
Sherlock was stretched out on the couch when John got home, feet resting on one armrest, head on the other. He was staring at the ceiling, lips pursed together, hands forming a temple over his stomach.
John glared at him, not even sure why he was so angry. “You!” he said, eventually.
“Yes,” Sherlock drawled, eyeing him. “A fairly inevitable conclusion, seeing as I live here.”
The silence grew.
“See that it doesn’t happen again!” John burst out.
“That is the plan, yes,” Sherlock agreed.
“And stop being so glib about it, you could have been killed!”
“And you’d definitely would be dead, if I hadn’t,” Sherlock returned.
And there it was again. The elephant in the room.
“Curry?” Sherlock asked, leaping to his feet.
John rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
“Right, let’s go, the kitchen closes in half an hour.” He disappeared down the stairs.
Crisis averted; word not mentioned.
Probably never will be.
THE END
Fandoms: Sherlock (TV)
CharacterS: John Watson, ensemble. John/Sherlock undertones.
Rating: PG
Author's Note:My submission for Challenge 2, round 2 over on thegameison_sh - the challenge was to write about 'love'...
The mystery of Love.
Love.
It seemed to John as if it were one mystery Sherlock was happy to leave alone. He was the outsider looking in, and that was that.
John wasn’t so sure, however.
After all, if that was that, then why was he still alive?
He had seen Sherlock with Mycroft, his brother, locked in that seething misery that only siblings seem to generate. He’d witnessed the mistrust, the pouting, and the long silences, and wondered why Sherlock still pretended to not understand what it meant. That kind of pain didn't come without love; he was sure of it.
Or maybe that was just wishful thinking masquerading as insight...
But he was still alive.
Still here.
That must mean something.
***
“How would I know?” Harry asked impatiently, when he voiced this question out loud to her over lunch. “You still haven’t introduced us, remember? And I haven’t figured out yet which one of us is supposed to be the dirty little secret.”
John didn’t know what to say to that, so he rather cruelly changed the subject to her ex. He felt a bit guilty about that... afterwards.
***
“I wish I’d never introduced you two,” Mike glumly admitted over the phone. “You’re like an old couple whose marriage is continously on the rocks...and I’m the poor bastard in the middle getting an earful from both ends.”
“We’re not on the rocks. What makes you think we’re on the rocks, ” John protested, and then, “Wait...he calls you?”
“Bye, John,” MIke said flatly, before hanging up.
***
“Yes, dear, I’m sure you’re right,” Mrs Hudson said, as she emptied the shopping bag onto the kitchen table.
“Really? You think it’s all in my imagination?” John reiterated.
Mrs Hudson blinked. “Oh,” she said. “You were being serious?” She paused. “Well, dear, I really wouldn’t know. I mean, it isn’t as if I live with him.” She gave John a knowing quirk of the eyebrow, and John suppressed a sigh. He had given up trying to dissuade Mrs Hudson from her belief that he and Sherlock were lovers.
As if Sherlock would ever entertain such a domestic arrangement.
He sighed again.
***
Lestrade eyed him with a cool look. “John,” he said softly. “I thought we’d already had this conversation - just because I’ve known him longer, doesn’t mean I know him better.”
“You almost sound like Mrs Hudson,” John said dryly.
Lestrade smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
***
Mycroft stood very still in the middle of the warehouse, eyeing him warily, as if he had said something rather more dramatic... something like I’ve got a bomb.
“You, Doctor Watson, can be remarkable stupid sometimes,” he eventually pronounced, his eyes trailing down to his umbrella.
“You know what? It’s been a long week,” John said, “How about we skip the banter and cut right to the chase. Am I right?”
Mycroft let out a long breath, looked up, and caught his eyes. “Of course you’re right, you daft twat. Why else do you think I’m here?” He hitched up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got an appointment at the Egyptian embassy at nine.”
John looked out at the darkening sky. “At night?”
“Duty never sleeps,” Mycroft said, with a wintry smile. “Isn’t that what they say?”
***
Sherlock was stretched out on the couch when John got home, feet resting on one armrest, head on the other. He was staring at the ceiling, lips pursed together, hands forming a temple over his stomach.
John glared at him, not even sure why he was so angry. “You!” he said, eventually.
“Yes,” Sherlock drawled, eyeing him. “A fairly inevitable conclusion, seeing as I live here.”
The silence grew.
“See that it doesn’t happen again!” John burst out.
“That is the plan, yes,” Sherlock agreed.
“And stop being so glib about it, you could have been killed!”
“And you’d definitely would be dead, if I hadn’t,” Sherlock returned.
And there it was again. The elephant in the room.
“Curry?” Sherlock asked, leaping to his feet.
John rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
“Right, let’s go, the kitchen closes in half an hour.” He disappeared down the stairs.
Crisis averted; word not mentioned.
Probably never will be.
THE END