Sherlock/John fic: "A Misunderstanding"
Title: A Misunderstanding
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,300
Summary: Sherlock has feelings for John, but a misunderstanding leads John to believe that Sherlock has rejected him.
Feedback is very much appreciated!
John was home.
As usual, the arrival of his flatmate was enough to jolt Sherlock out of his stupor. There were two things that gave him a sudden burst of energy when he was sprawled on the couch bored out of his mind: a new case, and John's presence. On the surface, John was spectacularly dull. His mind was less than extraordinary and his habits were predictable and mundane, but for some reason Sherlock found his company stimulating. There were many reasons for this, one of which was the paradox he presented in Sherlock's mind. Whenever John acted boring, which was fairly constant, a quiet struggle went on in Sherlock's subconscious between the side that wanted to look down on John and the side that couldn't look down on him because as boring as John was, Sherlock was never bored by him.
"Tea, Sherlock?" John asked as he headed toward the kitchen.
"Please," said Sherlock from the couch.
"Been lying there long?" John asked, although he probably knew the answer.
"All day."
"I don't suppose you've had anything to eat."
"I had a biscuit this morning," said Sherlock.
"A biscuit?" John tsked disapprovingly. "You really ought to make some room for nutritional concerns in your mental hard drive."
Sherlock smiled. He still found it extraordinary that John was cheerfully making him tea and expressing genuine concern for his health when all available evidence and experience indicated that he should have stormed out of the flat the first time he was woken up at 2 a.m. by a violin or found a finger in the butter dish. The only reasonable explanation was that John actually wanted to be his friend. While it was hardly unprecedented for someone, usually an oblivious female, to express a personal interest in him, the interest was usually shallow and Sherlock would be unable to reciprocate. It was different with John. John knew him and liked him, not in spite of, but because of who he was.
Sherlock got up and went to watch John from the kitchen doorway. John glanced at him awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable under Sherlock's steady gaze. Sherlock came into the kitchen and stood directly beside him.
"I'm bored, John," he said, although he wasn't actually all that bored any more.
"I know."
"That doesn't help."
"I'm sorry."
John was fussing over the tea instead of looking at Sherlock, so he grasped him by the shoulders and spun him around. They were very close now, and Sherlock kept hold of John, whose eyes flicked briefly down to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock considered his taste in beauty to be quite discerning, and he was sure that John's bright eyes and flushed cheeks were among the most beautiful sights he had seen. He didn't know what to say, so he reverted to the pretense he'd used when he entered the kitchen.
"I'm still bored, John."
A pained expression crossed John's face, and he extracted himself from Sherlock's hold.
"I need some air," he said, and headed for the door.
"John!" called Sherlock, taken aback. "Where are you going?"
Sherlock was at his heels, but John didn't answer.
"What about the tea?" asked Sherlock, attempting to find a reason for John to stay.
John turned around suddenly when he reached the door, and Sherlock nearly ran into him.
"Make your own bloody tea," said John.
"John!"
The door shut in Sherlock's face and John was gone.
"You forgot your coat," Sherlock finished.
Sherlock had stayed in his pyjamas all day and was in no position to run after John even if he had wanted to be followed. Sherlock turned and collapsed into the chair that provided the best view of the door. It was simply unacceptable for John to be outside without his coat. He had a cardigan, but that wasn't enough. Sherlock pulled out his mobile and typed out a text.
Come home, you idiot. You'll freeze.
SH
While he waited for an answer, Sherlock tried to figure out why John had left. His feelings had appeared to be hurt. It had happened when Sherlock said he was bored. Had John taken that personally somehow? It was right after they'd looked at each other and John had blushed and looked at his lips and...appeared to be interested in him. Maybe John thought Sherlock found him boring. He must have at least thought he'd given him some sign that he wasn't interested.
Sherlock had long ago come to the conclusion that his temperament, habits, and abilities so completely alienated him from other people that no one could ever really be friends with him, much less fall in love with him. He had also presumed that his disposition rendered him incapable of falling in love with anyone. Those conclusions had appeared to be true until John came along and disproved them all.
A half hour passed in which Sherlock alternately sat and pondered or paced back and forth checking his phone every minute. Finally he heard the creak of the stairs and jumped up, grabbing a blanket on his way to the door. He opened it to reveal John standing there in the act of reaching for the handle. He looked cold, as expected, and Sherlock threw the blanket around his shoulders and ushered him inside.
"I'm fine, Sherlock," said John, attempting to shrug him off, but Sherlock was stronger and refused to let go.
"You shouldn't have gone out like that, John, and you should have come back when you realized you'd forgotten your coat and you should have texted me back so that I wouldn't worry!"
He rubbed John's shoulders through the blanket as he spoke, and John gave up fighting and simply looked at him with a cautious expression.
"Do you need some tea?" asked Sherlock.
"Yeah, that would be good," said John. Then he fixed Sherlock with a curious look and asked, "Wait, are you going to make it?"
"Good point," said Sherlock. "You're better at it."
John briefly looked annoyed, but that changed when Sherlock leaned in and put his arms around him, pulling him against his chest and rubbing his back.
"Is that better?" he asked.
"I--uh--" John stammered.
John stood there with his arms at his sides, apparently at a loss, but he didn't pull away.
"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, John," said Sherlock. "Just don't run out like that again."
John pulled back, but only enough so that he could see Sherlock's face. After studying it for a few moments he said, "I'm sorry too, Sherlock."
Sherlock wanted nothing more at that moment than to kiss John, but he was afraid of ruining their friendship. Instead he brought his hand up to John's face and ran his thumb tenderly along his cheek. John's eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again they were clearly full of longing. He reached up and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. John leaned in and Sherlock leaned down, and their lips met.
It was only tentative for a moment. As soon as their lips met Sherlock was hit by a wave of emotions he had thought he would never feel. John's arms were around him now, pulling him closer, and Sherlock couldn't get enough of John's lips and tongue and hands and why was he wearing so many layers again? The blanket was on the floor, and it was only through careful self-control that Sherlock resisted making short work of the cardigan.
"So," said John a minute or so later, "I guess it was an even bigger misunderstanding than I thought."
Sherlock smiled. "Feeling better now?"
John grinned. "Much, yeah."
"I don't know," said Sherlock, studying him seriously. "I think you may still have a bit of a chill. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed with me in my room tonight."
"I think you may be right," said John.
"I almost always am."
Fandom: BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/John
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1,300
Summary: Sherlock has feelings for John, but a misunderstanding leads John to believe that Sherlock has rejected him.
Feedback is very much appreciated!
John was home.
As usual, the arrival of his flatmate was enough to jolt Sherlock out of his stupor. There were two things that gave him a sudden burst of energy when he was sprawled on the couch bored out of his mind: a new case, and John's presence. On the surface, John was spectacularly dull. His mind was less than extraordinary and his habits were predictable and mundane, but for some reason Sherlock found his company stimulating. There were many reasons for this, one of which was the paradox he presented in Sherlock's mind. Whenever John acted boring, which was fairly constant, a quiet struggle went on in Sherlock's subconscious between the side that wanted to look down on John and the side that couldn't look down on him because as boring as John was, Sherlock was never bored by him.
"Tea, Sherlock?" John asked as he headed toward the kitchen.
"Please," said Sherlock from the couch.
"Been lying there long?" John asked, although he probably knew the answer.
"All day."
"I don't suppose you've had anything to eat."
"I had a biscuit this morning," said Sherlock.
"A biscuit?" John tsked disapprovingly. "You really ought to make some room for nutritional concerns in your mental hard drive."
Sherlock smiled. He still found it extraordinary that John was cheerfully making him tea and expressing genuine concern for his health when all available evidence and experience indicated that he should have stormed out of the flat the first time he was woken up at 2 a.m. by a violin or found a finger in the butter dish. The only reasonable explanation was that John actually wanted to be his friend. While it was hardly unprecedented for someone, usually an oblivious female, to express a personal interest in him, the interest was usually shallow and Sherlock would be unable to reciprocate. It was different with John. John knew him and liked him, not in spite of, but because of who he was.
Sherlock got up and went to watch John from the kitchen doorway. John glanced at him awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable under Sherlock's steady gaze. Sherlock came into the kitchen and stood directly beside him.
"I'm bored, John," he said, although he wasn't actually all that bored any more.
"I know."
"That doesn't help."
"I'm sorry."
John was fussing over the tea instead of looking at Sherlock, so he grasped him by the shoulders and spun him around. They were very close now, and Sherlock kept hold of John, whose eyes flicked briefly down to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock considered his taste in beauty to be quite discerning, and he was sure that John's bright eyes and flushed cheeks were among the most beautiful sights he had seen. He didn't know what to say, so he reverted to the pretense he'd used when he entered the kitchen.
"I'm still bored, John."
A pained expression crossed John's face, and he extracted himself from Sherlock's hold.
"I need some air," he said, and headed for the door.
"John!" called Sherlock, taken aback. "Where are you going?"
Sherlock was at his heels, but John didn't answer.
"What about the tea?" asked Sherlock, attempting to find a reason for John to stay.
John turned around suddenly when he reached the door, and Sherlock nearly ran into him.
"Make your own bloody tea," said John.
"John!"
The door shut in Sherlock's face and John was gone.
"You forgot your coat," Sherlock finished.
Sherlock had stayed in his pyjamas all day and was in no position to run after John even if he had wanted to be followed. Sherlock turned and collapsed into the chair that provided the best view of the door. It was simply unacceptable for John to be outside without his coat. He had a cardigan, but that wasn't enough. Sherlock pulled out his mobile and typed out a text.
Come home, you idiot. You'll freeze.
SH
While he waited for an answer, Sherlock tried to figure out why John had left. His feelings had appeared to be hurt. It had happened when Sherlock said he was bored. Had John taken that personally somehow? It was right after they'd looked at each other and John had blushed and looked at his lips and...appeared to be interested in him. Maybe John thought Sherlock found him boring. He must have at least thought he'd given him some sign that he wasn't interested.
Sherlock had long ago come to the conclusion that his temperament, habits, and abilities so completely alienated him from other people that no one could ever really be friends with him, much less fall in love with him. He had also presumed that his disposition rendered him incapable of falling in love with anyone. Those conclusions had appeared to be true until John came along and disproved them all.
A half hour passed in which Sherlock alternately sat and pondered or paced back and forth checking his phone every minute. Finally he heard the creak of the stairs and jumped up, grabbing a blanket on his way to the door. He opened it to reveal John standing there in the act of reaching for the handle. He looked cold, as expected, and Sherlock threw the blanket around his shoulders and ushered him inside.
"I'm fine, Sherlock," said John, attempting to shrug him off, but Sherlock was stronger and refused to let go.
"You shouldn't have gone out like that, John, and you should have come back when you realized you'd forgotten your coat and you should have texted me back so that I wouldn't worry!"
He rubbed John's shoulders through the blanket as he spoke, and John gave up fighting and simply looked at him with a cautious expression.
"Do you need some tea?" asked Sherlock.
"Yeah, that would be good," said John. Then he fixed Sherlock with a curious look and asked, "Wait, are you going to make it?"
"Good point," said Sherlock. "You're better at it."
John briefly looked annoyed, but that changed when Sherlock leaned in and put his arms around him, pulling him against his chest and rubbing his back.
"Is that better?" he asked.
"I--uh--" John stammered.
John stood there with his arms at his sides, apparently at a loss, but he didn't pull away.
"I'm sorry for the misunderstanding, John," said Sherlock. "Just don't run out like that again."
John pulled back, but only enough so that he could see Sherlock's face. After studying it for a few moments he said, "I'm sorry too, Sherlock."
Sherlock wanted nothing more at that moment than to kiss John, but he was afraid of ruining their friendship. Instead he brought his hand up to John's face and ran his thumb tenderly along his cheek. John's eyes closed briefly, and when they opened again they were clearly full of longing. He reached up and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair. John leaned in and Sherlock leaned down, and their lips met.
It was only tentative for a moment. As soon as their lips met Sherlock was hit by a wave of emotions he had thought he would never feel. John's arms were around him now, pulling him closer, and Sherlock couldn't get enough of John's lips and tongue and hands and why was he wearing so many layers again? The blanket was on the floor, and it was only through careful self-control that Sherlock resisted making short work of the cardigan.
"So," said John a minute or so later, "I guess it was an even bigger misunderstanding than I thought."
Sherlock smiled. "Feeling better now?"
John grinned. "Much, yeah."
"I don't know," said Sherlock, studying him seriously. "I think you may still have a bit of a chill. Perhaps it would be best if you stayed with me in my room tonight."
"I think you may be right," said John.
"I almost always am."