BBC Sherlock--The New Year's Party
Here's my first Sherlock fanfiction. Who knows how many more I'll write, but I just thought this would be a neat way to start off the new year. The playlist used for this story will be below so you can jam along with Sherlock and John.
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The room John rented was being blasted with party music. Currently, “Blame It” was oozing out of the speakers, and Sherlock was disgusted beyond measure-he wasn’t sure whether that was due to John and Lestrade doing the Zoom (he only knew the blasted dance from watching a lot of hip hop videos on YouTube for clues in a particularly interesting case involving a vintage Rolls Royce, a Rubik’s Cube, and £300 worth of Chinese paper fans) or the idea of being surrounded by writhing, sweaty, euphoria-driven people. More than likely, it was both, but he was surprisingly unnerved to see his friend-who is usually militaristic in cleanliness, stance, and mode of thinking-cut loose like this.
“C’mon, Sherlock!” John yelled over the loud music, his speech slightly slurred from the beer in his plastic cup. “It’s New Year’s Eve! Live it up a little!”
“My idea of ‘living it up’ is obviously much different than yours.”
When the lyric, “Hold your drinks up high!” came up, everyone, including John, did what the song asked, everyone clearly enjoying the admittedly catchy song (John even let out an intoxicated “Woo!”. Even while conceding such a fact, Sherlock still rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, as well as everyone else.
Why Sherlock thought he’d get a break from the insanity with the next song, he didn’t know, because he didn’t receive a break; instead disco-one of Sherlock’s most hated genres-came on. This time, Sherlock did let out a groan when he heard the first few bars of “I’m Your Boogie Man”.
“REALLY?!” He yelled at the air. John scoffed.
“This is a great song, Sherlock!”
“No it isn’t! Don’t you know the disco era was a watering-down of black American soul and R&B music?!”
“Don’t get all musical theorist on me, Sherlock! This is a party! It’s party music! PARTY!”
Sherlock just stared at him. John shrugged at him.
“Well, you aren’t going to stop me from having fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got Sarah to attend to.” Sherlock watched as he went to where Sarah was partying with some of her friends from work, spoke to her-making a funnel with his hand around her ear so she’d be able to hear him-and took her hand as they went further into the crowd.
Perhaps Sherlock would have been in a better mood if John didn’t invite her along.
Weeks ago, John had made it his mission to hold a New Year’s Eve party for all of his colleagues, including those from St. Bart’s and the crew at the police station. He even invited Anderson, although he could stand him as much as Sherlock could. However, this invite was mostly out of politeness, and thankfully, Anderson, who didn’t want to voluntarily be around Sherlock if he didn’t have to, politely declined, opting instead to watch New Year’s Eve festivities quietly at home. It was an open secret that Donovan would be joining Anderson since he had “complained” loudly about his wife being invited by her girlfriends out for a night on the town, and it was confirmed by Donovan’s non-appearance at the party.
While Sherlock could count on those two not showing up and not making his time more of a living hell than it already was, he wished he could have that same confidence with Sarah. Of course, she came. She and John are still…something. Neither John nor Sherlock knew whether the thing John and Sarah had was an actual relationship. John and Sarah were friends, certainly. A little beyond the “friends” zone, admittedly. But not quite steady. They were far from steady, if Sarah’s reaction after the Chinese theater fiasco was anything to go by. However, even though she had a sensible reaction to almost being killed-she didn’t return John’s sentiment of wanting to go out on another date for a while-she didn’t let go of him. Sherlock found it odd that she had put distance between herself and John but still hung out with him, going on dates and whatnot. Mixed signals, it seemed, at least to Sherlock. He hated mixed signals. Mixed signals such as the ones he was seeing now-John dancing with Sarah, laughing and having fun, their glee being magnified by drink.
Swirling in discontent, annoyance, and feelings of being a third wheel, Sherlock left the dance floor (he was only standing in it, anyway) and settled into his home-away-from-home for the evening, the sturdy table of the bar.
***
As John danced with Sarah, he glanced at the spot where he’d left Sherlock, but he wasn’t there. Without trying to call attention to Sarah, his eyes darted around him, trying to see where Sherlock was. He figured he hadn’t gone home, but he found it equally hard to imagine that he was actually dancing. But, then again, he’d been surprised by Sherlock before, and he did think he saw some curly brown hair bobbing in the crowd somewhere, although he couldn’t tell if it was one of the young hospital attendants or his friend.
What am I doing? John thought. I’m here with my date. I’m supposed to be keeping her entertained, not being a mother to Sherlock. He’s a grown man, what am I worried about him for?
What worried him was how put-out Sherlock seemed when he’d left to go party with Sarah. He knew Sherlock didn’t have many friends-any friends-and he had since identified that Sherlock’s fierce dedication to him was because of his lack of social communication. Thinking of this and how Sherlock might end up spending the night alone made John feel like a heel. But it’s not a crime to spend time with a girlfriend-well, a person who is a girl who might be more than a friend. But Sherlock deserved to have fun, too. Sherlock was just as important to John as Sarah was-perhaps even more so.
But that mass of curly hair might be Sherlock’s after all. Perhaps John was just being paranoid. Besides, he had Sarah to attend to, and he wanted her to have a good time with him for once.
***
“I’m talking square biz to ya, baby! Square square biz!” the speakers boomed out. Ironically, as much as Sherlock detested a lot of music, this song wasn’t actually that bad. He figured it was a bias-he’d always had a fondness for Teena Marie, perhaps due to his secret love of Rick James music. Rick James was a visionary who did drugs, and the idea of visionaries doing drugs was something Sherlock could understand. He actually hummed a bit as he drank his stiff concoction of whisky and bourbon. He wasn’t even sure if such a combination would even taste good when he ordered it, but he needed something to take the edge off of being at a party. A party where the only person who was the closest to a date was off with someone else. Even though he intended on being at the party regardless-John desperately wanted him there-Sherlock felt more like the “plus one” instead of “esteemed guest.”
Sherlock turned around, not really expecting to see anything that would prompt him to join the fray. He did see that a lot of people could actually dance very well, whether or not they were drunk. He smirked beside himself when he saw the group, thinking back to when he was ciphering through episodes of ‘80s era Soul Train -also for that case dealing with the paper fans-and thinking how simultaneously ridiculous and intoxicatingly uninhibited everyone looked. He wished he could be that uninhibited sometimes, although he occasionally equated being uninhibited with vulnerablity . Sometimes, like now, he wished he could be like other humans and actually be among them instead of above them all of the time. Perhaps John would be able to understand him better instead of just being comfortable merely dealing with Sherlock’s extraterrestrial qualities.
Apparently, either the DJ or John was a big fan of ‘80s R&B, because “I Feel For You” was queued up. Sherlock was sure that half of the people at the party weren’t R&B fans, but were too wasted and excited to care-all they wanted was a fun party and something fast to dance to.
“So, what do you do?” The bartender said over the music.
“What do you think I do?” Sherlock answered, seeing if he could spark some fun of his own from this stupidly boring question.
“I don’t know…I asked you, didn’t I?”
“What does it look like I do?”
“I don’t know…it looks like you might be a model or something, from those high cheekbones of yours.”
“Fine. I’m a male supermodel. I know what you do, though.”
“What do you mean, ‘you know’? Of course you know-you’re seeing me at my job!”
“No, I mean, I know what you do after work. From the odd whelps on your bare skin and the slight mark from a collar that was pulled too tightly, I’d say you were into some BDSM. I hope you go to Madam Syracuse-she keeps a much wider selection of…apparel, as it were.”
After wiping the naked look from his face, the bartender refused to serve Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. The moment’s distraction was gone.
After the song ended and “One More Time” started up (if there was a genre Sherlock hated more than disco, it was techno), John half-skipped, half-jogged to the bar for a refill, only to be disturbed by seeing Sherlock there. Apparently, that mass of hair was the attendant, after all.
“Sherlock, what’s going on? Why are you here at the bar by yourself? I thought you were out there having fun.”
“I’m having more fun with my masochistic friend here,” Sherlock said, nodding to the bartender, who had given him the V sign. Sherlock rose his eyebrows, intrigued. “And what does the madam do when you give her that precocious signal?” he said to the bartender. This prompted the bartender to say, “Hey, buddy, will you take your friend here away from my bar before I come from behind it and murder him?!”
Huffing, John dragged Sherlock away from the bar. “What was that all about?”
“Oh, nothing, just trying to cure boredom. Obviously, he didn’t want to play along.”
“Sherlock, why don’t you try to have fun? There’s plenty of people who would love to have a dance with you.”
“Are you really going to allow yourself to believe that, John? Is Molly here or something? Besides, I’m not here for ‘plenty of people’. It’s you I’m here for.”
John stopped at that statement and thought, trying to make sure he wasn’t taking anything from that ambiguous statement out of context. He didn’t want a repeat of the scene at Angelo’s, especially since he still didn’t have an official bead on Sherlock’s orientation. With how defensive he got when John asked about boyfriends, John assumed Sherlock must be gay, or at the very least, bi. And while he was far from being averse to having a gay or bi flatmate, he was always cautious about the mixed signals Sherlock sent him, or rather, the signals they sent each other. He was pretty sure Sherlock still held their conversation at the restaurant in the back of his mind, because sometimes, when their conversations would drift toward past, present, and future relationships and eventually go pear-shaped, Sherlock would give him the same questioning and reading look he gave him at Angelo’s. It was a look that always made John uncomfortable, but lately made him squeamish.
“I know you’re here because of me,” John said, clarifying the statement more for himself than what was necessary for the conversation, earning him that same scrutinizing look from Sherlock. “But,” he continued, ignoring Sherlock’s attempt to read his mind, “what could I do that would allow you to have fun? I really do want you to enjoy yourself.”
“You know it’s idiotic to celebrate what is just another day on Earth.”
“C’mon Sherlock, don’t dodge the question.”
“You tell me, then. What would make me have fun here?”
John felt he knew the answer. He knew it before he even asked the question. He just wasn’t ready to think about the implications of it. He was already paranoid about how people saw him and Sherlock-again, mixed signals-and to actually go through with this idea would certainly set tongues wagging, especially with Sarah here. He’d look like a right jerk.
But, as Sherlock said before, people do little else but talk.
Swallowing, he said, “Let me ask Sarah a question first.”
Sherlock seemed slightly surprised, but nodded him away.
***
After taking her towards the restrooms, one of the only quiet spots in that section of the entertainment complex, John swallowed, breathed out, and looked Sarah dead in the eyes.
“Sarah,” he asked as steady as possible, “I’ve got a question that I must ask you. It’s about our relationship.”
Brows knitted, Sarah said, “Okay…”
“Now, ah, I know we’ve been…going out a bit,” John said, looking at his feet. “And you know I fancy you, just like how you fancy me. But I’ve got to know…I’ve been getting mixed signals from a lot of people, and I’ve been giving mixed signals to a lot of people, and I just need to know where we stand in this relationship, because my next action depends on it.”
Sarah looked disturbed. “John…are you drunk?”
“No, I’m not drunk. I know what I’m asking seems abrupt and certainly not party-like, and I should probably have asked this at a more normal time than now, but…there’s something that I might have to do that could hurt you-your feelings-but that’s only if your feelings are where I think they are, so I need to know where you stand. Um…” He couldn’t figure out how to end the sentence, so he settled for looking pensively (and slightly desperately) at Sarah.
She took a serious look at him. “This is about Sherlock, isn’t it?”
The pensive part of John’s stare melted away, just leaving desperation.
She gave him an almost pitying look, and said, “We’ve only been out for a bit. I like you, it’s true, but we’re still in the sussing-out bit, I thought. Otherwise, if we were really getting on, I would have let you sleep in my bed instead of on my sofa on the night you came over.”
John felt once again like he’d read the wrong signals. What she said made perfect sense, and here he was thinking he was doing her a favor by asking that question, trying to protect her feelings. Her feelings were already well guarded.
Sighing out of frustration at himself, he said, “Sarah, I’m so sorry. I should’ve known, I-I’ve been so confused with relationships, ever since I met Sherlock. You and I don’t even hang out enough to qualify me asking that question of you-I mean, we hang out a lot, but not…like we should, what with me running off with Sherlock at the drop of a hat.”
Understandingly, Sarah placed a hand over John’s. “John, I came to the party with you as a friend. For all intents and purposes, that’s all I am.” When it seemed like that didn’t help him feel any better, Sarah continued, “I’ve already thought long about you and Sherlock, what you do together, how close you two are, and where I stand in the relationship.”
John looked baldly at her. “Not you, too.”
“What can I say, John? I know men can have close friendships, but with how close you two are, what else could I think? I do have my own feelings to think of.” A pause. “I think,” she said, “that your relationship with him is at the same place it is with me-you’re in between being friends and something else.”
“But we’re not-”
“Just a few minutes ago, you were trying to see what I felt about you because of something dealing with Sherlock. What does that statement say to you, if you were in my position?”
That question shut John’s mouth. He’d always considered himself straight. Straight-ish. Straight enough. He liked women. He had always liked women. He only dated women. Generally. He did find himself having questionable feelings toward one of the members of his brigade, but he figured that was some sort of mental development that only arose from intense comradery, what with being around his fellow soldiers-his brigade was all-male-for years on end and developing tight friendships with them; however, his feelings were strong enough that he was occasionally pulled out of the war and into his own head. He had figured later on that Mycroft was right; that John clung to Sherlock because he missed the war. Perhaps he was projecting that same intense comradery or whatever it is on Sherlock. Perhaps he didn’t know himself at all anymore, because the fact still stood that he’s been seriously considering dancing with Sherlock Holmes in order for him to have fun. Sherlock himself alluded to the fact that he wouldn’t have fun unless John was involved with him somehow-was that a mixed signal, too?
John was confused. What happened to the idea that he’d be dancing and drinking until the New Year’s countdown started? What happened to him partying with a woman?
Sherlock happened. As always.
John sighed. “I know what it says to you, but I can’t answer your question. I’ve just realized how confused I am with all this…with mixed signals and relationships and friendships and just who or what makes up a man and a woman and what coupling means…but I do know that there’s a man out there with whom I share a flat and partake in his adventures and whom I’m about to ask to dance in a couple of seconds, all so I can see some sort of delight on his face. I’ve always considered myself a straight man, and here I am asking you questions about your feelings because I’m about to do something that will make me intensely question mine.”
Sarah looked at him with a mothering sort of look, a look she’d never used on him before. After sighing a bit, she said, “John, perhaps we should end our…relationship…amicably. I think that’d be best, and I rather like having you as my friend. I think I’d probably be of better use to you in such a capacity.”
John nodded sadly. “I do apologize for bringing this up on tonight of all nights.”
Sarah’s mothering look deepened. “John, it’s fine. We’re still friends, right? It’s all fine.”
Sarah hugged him.
***
Sherlock’s knowledge of his capacity to love was limited at best, underdeveloped at worst. Sherlock was also selfish and spoiled, and like most selfish and spoiled children, he didn’t like sharing his only friend with another for fear of him leaving. But even Sherlock knew that his selfishness didn’t warrant him calling Sarah her or that all of the time, especially in John’s presence. But he couldn’t help it. He was, after all, selfish. And he felt something in the pit of his stomach whenever John was with him. Something that made him feel warm and comfortable. Something he didn’t want anyone else to feel. Something he feared Sarah shared in.
He couldn’t go back to the bar, so he sat at one of the empty tables around the dance floor, his hands steepled together, as if he was solving a case. He was merely waiting on John’s conference to be over, not to mention suffering through “You Spin Me Round” only to have pleasure of listening to “Hung Up”. It was taking a long time; must be serious. It certainly wasn’t tactful, bringing up a serious situation at a party. Sherlock mentally laughed at himself-who was he to think someone wasn’t being tactful?
He closed his eyes, content to see only the dark, as it somehow helped him alleviate his suffering due to the sound of Madonna’s techno-laden song. The only time his face changed was when the song ended and he smirked at the randomness of the DJ starting up a Lady Sovereign song, as, apart from the bit in Teena Marie’s song, no rap had been played that evening. He didn’t open them when he felt a familiar presence sit at the table beside him. Only when he sat down did John gain privy to Sherlock’s blue eyes.
“Well,” John began, “I just had a talk with Sarah.”
“And?”
“And…well…we’re friends.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And…I’ve realized that I’m a confused sod of a man who has some restructuring to do.”
Sherlock couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “And?”
“And…though people certainly will talk tomorrow, I would like for you to have a dance with me.”
Both of Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up as a small smile curled on his face. “Well!” he said in his deep voice, obviously amused. “And?”
“And…would you care to join me?”
“Well…I think I can manage it,” Sherlock answered, still amused, a touch of relief on his face. “What about these people and their talking you’re always worried about?”
“Well…people do little else, now don’t they?”
At this statement, Sherlock’s smile turned into a wide, toothy grin. “You’re absolutely right about that, dear John.” His smile turned devious. “Now, since we’re going to do this, let’s give them something to really talk about. Shall you request the slow song, or should I?”
“Wh-What?”
“Second thoughts?”
“No! No…just…well, you’re right-you know what, you’re absolutely right. If they’re going to talk, we should give them a show and just do it, right? I’ll request the song. It’s not slow, but I think I know just the right one.”
At the very least, Sherlock thought, this will end the boredom for a while.
***
Sherlock rose as John came back to the table. “He’ll play it in a few minutes; he’s got some more of his set to run through.”
“So, what shall we do until then?”
“What else? We dance!” John exclaimed, attempting to brush off the conversation with Sarah. “I wanted to party, and doggonnit, I’m going to do what I set out to do!”
He took Sherlock’s hand and dragged him to the dance floor.
“You’re really not worried about Sarah? What about Lestrade?”
“Are you getting second thoughts?” John asked with a smirk.
“No…just…the police force won’t let me live this down, you know.”
John was surprised by this uncharacteristic expression of embarrassment from a man who was never embarrassed. “Yeah, well, at least it’s just Lestrade’s opinion you care about, and he’s almost plastered by now; I doubt if he’ll remember anything.” Still, John made sure to lead Sherlock into the middle of the crowd. As he walked, he saw Sarah come back, and he still felt like a jerk, even if she did say it was okay. She came with him, and now here he was with someone else. But still, he knew the break between them was on its way, it just so happened that the break came tonight. At least that part was over now.
***
Sarah watched John and Sherlock disappear into the crowd, thinking how odd it was that she felt bizarrely freer than before. She was a bit put-out, of course, over not having anyone at the party to call her date. Luckily, one of her girlfriends from surgery decided to start her New Year’s Resolution of being more social by attending the party and thought enough to bring one of her friends-the office receptionist-along, otherwise, she’d be driving home in a cab alone.
As she sat down at one of the tables to collect herself, she thought about the conversation she’d just had with John. She had cut him loose, feeling he’d be happier that way. So far, it seemed she was right. She was afraid for him, though, because from the way he was speaking to her, his mind seemed like it had collapsed in on itself from confusion.
She didn’t realize she’d feel so…calm after such a breakup. Eerily calm. It felt strange, to be sitting alone, waiting for someone to notice her, but wanting to be by herself. Normally, women would cry at this juncture, but she didn’t feel the need to. Perhaps it was the adrenaline talking.
She decided the best thing to do now was to celebrate the new year; that’s what she came to do, and she didn’t want to go home alone. So she went into the crowd to join her friends.
“What? What are you doing back with us so soon? I thought you were going to be with John the rest of the night!” the non-social friend, Marie, yelled.
“Well, we reached a consensus,” she replied. Both her friends looked at her, confused and concerned.
“What!? A consensus?” the receptionist, Sandra, responded. “You mean he broke up with you tonight?!”
“Well, it’s more like I let him go,” Sarah said.
“And here I thought he was a sensible bloke!” Sandra said, disturbed. “Shall I make a quick run to Bart’s and get something to spike his drink with?”
“No, it’s nothing like that! Everything’s fine. I mean, obviously, it’s natural for me to be a little emotionally beat-up, but all I really want to do right now is forget everything and just dance.”
***
John half-expected Sherlock to be a gangly chicken when it came to dancing, seeing as how he abhorred parties and other such gatherings. It’s not like John was the best dancer in the world, but he expected to be much better than Sherlock, seeing as how John used to go clubbing quite regularly back in his university days. In actuality, though, Sherlock was a great dancer.
“I thought you couldn’t dance!” John yelled over the noise.
“It’s not that I can’t dance,” Sherlock responded, “because I’ve had to act like a raver on plenty of cases, plenty more than you would believe. It’s just…what’s the point? Especially when you’ve got no one to dance with?”
As John soaked up this information for a later mulling-over, he said, “So, how much of this type of behavior have you stored up in your databank?”
“Well, I know various dances from all music genres, including the classical Waltz, the Hustle, the Jerk, the Mashed Potato, and the Bankhead Bounce. And everything else in between.”
John broke out into a grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are amazing.”
Sherlock returned the grin. “I dare say it gets better every time you say that.”
When the song ended, John, still smiling, said, “You’re finally having fun! Brilliant.”
John’s smile got even wider when he heard his requested song play. He could tell from Sherlock’s pondering expression that he was familiar with the song, but couldn’t place the name. This would make the whole experience even better.
Sherlock eventually shrugged off not knowing the song right off and just went along with John, dancing and actually enjoying himself, actually being human for a change. Then the lyric “ La la la la/Men in Love” came over the speakers, and Sherlock’s shocked face pushed John into hysterical laughter.
“I figured since people think this about us anyway, might as well play it up!” John said amid his laughing fit.
Sherlock began giggling, which made him look ridiculous. “You surprising, mental beggar!”
***
The particular room John had rented was equipped with a large flat-screen television, perfect for watching the fireworks over the London Eye. The countdown always made John excited; he was even more excited now, mostly due to the gossip that would go on about him and Sherlock the next day.
Lestrade nudged him on his left side and whispered hoarsely into John’s ear, “Am I wasted, or did I really see Sherlock dancing with you?”
“Yes,” John said simply.
“Huh. I see.” Lestrade responded. His unspoken question about what exactly was going on between John and Sherlock hung in the air, but neither man acknowledged its presence. Instead, Lestrade patted John’s shoulder in a rough, good-humored nature, and made his way back through the crowd.
Lestrade’s presence led his mind to think back to Sarah, and how he should at least redeem himself in his own eyes by checking up on her. He excused himself from Sherlock-making sure to tell him he’d only be a moment-and went to find Sarah.
She was in the center right portion of the crowd, and after John weathered the stormy looks of her friends towards him when asking if he could speak to her, Sarah stepped away from them to give John talking room.
“Yes?”
“Well, I just didn’t want to just leave you like some cad,” he started. “I wanted to make sure you were…okay.”
“I’m fine, John.”
“Really?”
“Really. I promise you.”
John looked at her hard, trying to find some cracking point in a possible façade, but finding none.
“Sarah, I don’t know what to say. You are a fantastic woman, and I only wish I could’ve been more for you. You didn’t deserve me at all.”
“Oh, don’t sell yourself that short, John. You are a great person. Things just didn’t work out, is all.”
She put her head down for a moment before lifting it back up. “I mean, the only thing I’m sad about is that we didn’t deal with this before the party.”
John nodded, feeling oddly defeated. “I agree.”
“Listen,” Sarah said, “I want to let you know that I wish you a Happy New Year. Sincerely.” She held out her hand. “Shake?”
John reached out for her hand, but instead pulled her into a tight embrace. She really was a noble woman.
“Happy New Year, Sarah.”
***
The DJ faded “Whenever, Wherever” out in order for the crowd to hear the television, as it was 20 seconds away from the new year. By now, everyone who came with a significant other was preparing themselves for the Big Kiss. Originally, John had included himself in that tradition since he was Sarah’s Somebody just an hour ago. Now he was a bit out of sorts in that area.
Aside from having no one to kiss, John was surprised at how quickly Sherlock had changed from moody to actual lightheartedness. Maybe it was just from not being bored. But ever since John had started spending more time with him, he seemed a bit warmer and pinker than before. He even seemed excited about the new year. When the crowd crushed together as crowds do, Sherlock took that opportunity to disguise his impulsive move of linking his arm in John’s, making John look up at him in surprise. Sherlock only stared straight ahead, but the corner of his mouth was cracked in a smile. John sighed his usual long-suffering sigh, but his face was alit with a smirk.
Everyone’s excitement ratcheted up once it was ten seconds away from 2011. The crowd counted down, John’s heart rammed in his chest, Sherlock’s arm seemed to get hotter to John’s arm, and then-
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
As people around him kissed and shouted “Ooh” and “Aah” at the fireworks on the screen, Sherlock nudged his shoulder into John’s. Somehow, in a crowd of loud people, Sherlock was able to make his low voice audible.
“Happy New Year, John,” he said intimately.
He could hear the twinkle in Sherlock’s voice, but when he looked up to see a genuine smile on his face, John couldn’t help but return it with one equally as bright.
“Happy New Year, Sherlock.”
Once again, Sherlock shocked John by sliding his hand down to encase John’s hand. He wasn’t expecting it, but John felt a wave of warmth flow through him. He didn’t understand any of it, and he didn’t get a kiss, and he was without a girlfriend, but getting his hand held was one of the best things to happen to John, and it was a great way to ring in the new year.
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Here's the playlist, as promised:
And here are three more songs that I mentioned in the story (the first video includes the dance alluded to):
I think that's all. Hope you enjoyed the story and the music, and Happy New Year to you!
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The room John rented was being blasted with party music. Currently, “Blame It” was oozing out of the speakers, and Sherlock was disgusted beyond measure-he wasn’t sure whether that was due to John and Lestrade doing the Zoom (he only knew the blasted dance from watching a lot of hip hop videos on YouTube for clues in a particularly interesting case involving a vintage Rolls Royce, a Rubik’s Cube, and £300 worth of Chinese paper fans) or the idea of being surrounded by writhing, sweaty, euphoria-driven people. More than likely, it was both, but he was surprisingly unnerved to see his friend-who is usually militaristic in cleanliness, stance, and mode of thinking-cut loose like this.
“C’mon, Sherlock!” John yelled over the loud music, his speech slightly slurred from the beer in his plastic cup. “It’s New Year’s Eve! Live it up a little!”
“My idea of ‘living it up’ is obviously much different than yours.”
When the lyric, “Hold your drinks up high!” came up, everyone, including John, did what the song asked, everyone clearly enjoying the admittedly catchy song (John even let out an intoxicated “Woo!”. Even while conceding such a fact, Sherlock still rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics, as well as everyone else.
Why Sherlock thought he’d get a break from the insanity with the next song, he didn’t know, because he didn’t receive a break; instead disco-one of Sherlock’s most hated genres-came on. This time, Sherlock did let out a groan when he heard the first few bars of “I’m Your Boogie Man”.
“REALLY?!” He yelled at the air. John scoffed.
“This is a great song, Sherlock!”
“No it isn’t! Don’t you know the disco era was a watering-down of black American soul and R&B music?!”
“Don’t get all musical theorist on me, Sherlock! This is a party! It’s party music! PARTY!”
Sherlock just stared at him. John shrugged at him.
“Well, you aren’t going to stop me from having fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got Sarah to attend to.” Sherlock watched as he went to where Sarah was partying with some of her friends from work, spoke to her-making a funnel with his hand around her ear so she’d be able to hear him-and took her hand as they went further into the crowd.
Perhaps Sherlock would have been in a better mood if John didn’t invite her along.
Weeks ago, John had made it his mission to hold a New Year’s Eve party for all of his colleagues, including those from St. Bart’s and the crew at the police station. He even invited Anderson, although he could stand him as much as Sherlock could. However, this invite was mostly out of politeness, and thankfully, Anderson, who didn’t want to voluntarily be around Sherlock if he didn’t have to, politely declined, opting instead to watch New Year’s Eve festivities quietly at home. It was an open secret that Donovan would be joining Anderson since he had “complained” loudly about his wife being invited by her girlfriends out for a night on the town, and it was confirmed by Donovan’s non-appearance at the party.
While Sherlock could count on those two not showing up and not making his time more of a living hell than it already was, he wished he could have that same confidence with Sarah. Of course, she came. She and John are still…something. Neither John nor Sherlock knew whether the thing John and Sarah had was an actual relationship. John and Sarah were friends, certainly. A little beyond the “friends” zone, admittedly. But not quite steady. They were far from steady, if Sarah’s reaction after the Chinese theater fiasco was anything to go by. However, even though she had a sensible reaction to almost being killed-she didn’t return John’s sentiment of wanting to go out on another date for a while-she didn’t let go of him. Sherlock found it odd that she had put distance between herself and John but still hung out with him, going on dates and whatnot. Mixed signals, it seemed, at least to Sherlock. He hated mixed signals. Mixed signals such as the ones he was seeing now-John dancing with Sarah, laughing and having fun, their glee being magnified by drink.
Swirling in discontent, annoyance, and feelings of being a third wheel, Sherlock left the dance floor (he was only standing in it, anyway) and settled into his home-away-from-home for the evening, the sturdy table of the bar.
***
As John danced with Sarah, he glanced at the spot where he’d left Sherlock, but he wasn’t there. Without trying to call attention to Sarah, his eyes darted around him, trying to see where Sherlock was. He figured he hadn’t gone home, but he found it equally hard to imagine that he was actually dancing. But, then again, he’d been surprised by Sherlock before, and he did think he saw some curly brown hair bobbing in the crowd somewhere, although he couldn’t tell if it was one of the young hospital attendants or his friend.
What am I doing? John thought. I’m here with my date. I’m supposed to be keeping her entertained, not being a mother to Sherlock. He’s a grown man, what am I worried about him for?
What worried him was how put-out Sherlock seemed when he’d left to go party with Sarah. He knew Sherlock didn’t have many friends-any friends-and he had since identified that Sherlock’s fierce dedication to him was because of his lack of social communication. Thinking of this and how Sherlock might end up spending the night alone made John feel like a heel. But it’s not a crime to spend time with a girlfriend-well, a person who is a girl who might be more than a friend. But Sherlock deserved to have fun, too. Sherlock was just as important to John as Sarah was-perhaps even more so.
But that mass of curly hair might be Sherlock’s after all. Perhaps John was just being paranoid. Besides, he had Sarah to attend to, and he wanted her to have a good time with him for once.
***
“I’m talking square biz to ya, baby! Square square biz!” the speakers boomed out. Ironically, as much as Sherlock detested a lot of music, this song wasn’t actually that bad. He figured it was a bias-he’d always had a fondness for Teena Marie, perhaps due to his secret love of Rick James music. Rick James was a visionary who did drugs, and the idea of visionaries doing drugs was something Sherlock could understand. He actually hummed a bit as he drank his stiff concoction of whisky and bourbon. He wasn’t even sure if such a combination would even taste good when he ordered it, but he needed something to take the edge off of being at a party. A party where the only person who was the closest to a date was off with someone else. Even though he intended on being at the party regardless-John desperately wanted him there-Sherlock felt more like the “plus one” instead of “esteemed guest.”
Sherlock turned around, not really expecting to see anything that would prompt him to join the fray. He did see that a lot of people could actually dance very well, whether or not they were drunk. He smirked beside himself when he saw the group, thinking back to when he was ciphering through episodes of ‘80s era Soul Train -also for that case dealing with the paper fans-and thinking how simultaneously ridiculous and intoxicatingly uninhibited everyone looked. He wished he could be that uninhibited sometimes, although he occasionally equated being uninhibited with vulnerablity . Sometimes, like now, he wished he could be like other humans and actually be among them instead of above them all of the time. Perhaps John would be able to understand him better instead of just being comfortable merely dealing with Sherlock’s extraterrestrial qualities.
Apparently, either the DJ or John was a big fan of ‘80s R&B, because “I Feel For You” was queued up. Sherlock was sure that half of the people at the party weren’t R&B fans, but were too wasted and excited to care-all they wanted was a fun party and something fast to dance to.
“So, what do you do?” The bartender said over the music.
“What do you think I do?” Sherlock answered, seeing if he could spark some fun of his own from this stupidly boring question.
“I don’t know…I asked you, didn’t I?”
“What does it look like I do?”
“I don’t know…it looks like you might be a model or something, from those high cheekbones of yours.”
“Fine. I’m a male supermodel. I know what you do, though.”
“What do you mean, ‘you know’? Of course you know-you’re seeing me at my job!”
“No, I mean, I know what you do after work. From the odd whelps on your bare skin and the slight mark from a collar that was pulled too tightly, I’d say you were into some BDSM. I hope you go to Madam Syracuse-she keeps a much wider selection of…apparel, as it were.”
After wiping the naked look from his face, the bartender refused to serve Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. The moment’s distraction was gone.
After the song ended and “One More Time” started up (if there was a genre Sherlock hated more than disco, it was techno), John half-skipped, half-jogged to the bar for a refill, only to be disturbed by seeing Sherlock there. Apparently, that mass of hair was the attendant, after all.
“Sherlock, what’s going on? Why are you here at the bar by yourself? I thought you were out there having fun.”
“I’m having more fun with my masochistic friend here,” Sherlock said, nodding to the bartender, who had given him the V sign. Sherlock rose his eyebrows, intrigued. “And what does the madam do when you give her that precocious signal?” he said to the bartender. This prompted the bartender to say, “Hey, buddy, will you take your friend here away from my bar before I come from behind it and murder him?!”
Huffing, John dragged Sherlock away from the bar. “What was that all about?”
“Oh, nothing, just trying to cure boredom. Obviously, he didn’t want to play along.”
“Sherlock, why don’t you try to have fun? There’s plenty of people who would love to have a dance with you.”
“Are you really going to allow yourself to believe that, John? Is Molly here or something? Besides, I’m not here for ‘plenty of people’. It’s you I’m here for.”
John stopped at that statement and thought, trying to make sure he wasn’t taking anything from that ambiguous statement out of context. He didn’t want a repeat of the scene at Angelo’s, especially since he still didn’t have an official bead on Sherlock’s orientation. With how defensive he got when John asked about boyfriends, John assumed Sherlock must be gay, or at the very least, bi. And while he was far from being averse to having a gay or bi flatmate, he was always cautious about the mixed signals Sherlock sent him, or rather, the signals they sent each other. He was pretty sure Sherlock still held their conversation at the restaurant in the back of his mind, because sometimes, when their conversations would drift toward past, present, and future relationships and eventually go pear-shaped, Sherlock would give him the same questioning and reading look he gave him at Angelo’s. It was a look that always made John uncomfortable, but lately made him squeamish.
“I know you’re here because of me,” John said, clarifying the statement more for himself than what was necessary for the conversation, earning him that same scrutinizing look from Sherlock. “But,” he continued, ignoring Sherlock’s attempt to read his mind, “what could I do that would allow you to have fun? I really do want you to enjoy yourself.”
“You know it’s idiotic to celebrate what is just another day on Earth.”
“C’mon Sherlock, don’t dodge the question.”
“You tell me, then. What would make me have fun here?”
John felt he knew the answer. He knew it before he even asked the question. He just wasn’t ready to think about the implications of it. He was already paranoid about how people saw him and Sherlock-again, mixed signals-and to actually go through with this idea would certainly set tongues wagging, especially with Sarah here. He’d look like a right jerk.
But, as Sherlock said before, people do little else but talk.
Swallowing, he said, “Let me ask Sarah a question first.”
Sherlock seemed slightly surprised, but nodded him away.
***
After taking her towards the restrooms, one of the only quiet spots in that section of the entertainment complex, John swallowed, breathed out, and looked Sarah dead in the eyes.
“Sarah,” he asked as steady as possible, “I’ve got a question that I must ask you. It’s about our relationship.”
Brows knitted, Sarah said, “Okay…”
“Now, ah, I know we’ve been…going out a bit,” John said, looking at his feet. “And you know I fancy you, just like how you fancy me. But I’ve got to know…I’ve been getting mixed signals from a lot of people, and I’ve been giving mixed signals to a lot of people, and I just need to know where we stand in this relationship, because my next action depends on it.”
Sarah looked disturbed. “John…are you drunk?”
“No, I’m not drunk. I know what I’m asking seems abrupt and certainly not party-like, and I should probably have asked this at a more normal time than now, but…there’s something that I might have to do that could hurt you-your feelings-but that’s only if your feelings are where I think they are, so I need to know where you stand. Um…” He couldn’t figure out how to end the sentence, so he settled for looking pensively (and slightly desperately) at Sarah.
She took a serious look at him. “This is about Sherlock, isn’t it?”
The pensive part of John’s stare melted away, just leaving desperation.
She gave him an almost pitying look, and said, “We’ve only been out for a bit. I like you, it’s true, but we’re still in the sussing-out bit, I thought. Otherwise, if we were really getting on, I would have let you sleep in my bed instead of on my sofa on the night you came over.”
John felt once again like he’d read the wrong signals. What she said made perfect sense, and here he was thinking he was doing her a favor by asking that question, trying to protect her feelings. Her feelings were already well guarded.
Sighing out of frustration at himself, he said, “Sarah, I’m so sorry. I should’ve known, I-I’ve been so confused with relationships, ever since I met Sherlock. You and I don’t even hang out enough to qualify me asking that question of you-I mean, we hang out a lot, but not…like we should, what with me running off with Sherlock at the drop of a hat.”
Understandingly, Sarah placed a hand over John’s. “John, I came to the party with you as a friend. For all intents and purposes, that’s all I am.” When it seemed like that didn’t help him feel any better, Sarah continued, “I’ve already thought long about you and Sherlock, what you do together, how close you two are, and where I stand in the relationship.”
John looked baldly at her. “Not you, too.”
“What can I say, John? I know men can have close friendships, but with how close you two are, what else could I think? I do have my own feelings to think of.” A pause. “I think,” she said, “that your relationship with him is at the same place it is with me-you’re in between being friends and something else.”
“But we’re not-”
“Just a few minutes ago, you were trying to see what I felt about you because of something dealing with Sherlock. What does that statement say to you, if you were in my position?”
That question shut John’s mouth. He’d always considered himself straight. Straight-ish. Straight enough. He liked women. He had always liked women. He only dated women. Generally. He did find himself having questionable feelings toward one of the members of his brigade, but he figured that was some sort of mental development that only arose from intense comradery, what with being around his fellow soldiers-his brigade was all-male-for years on end and developing tight friendships with them; however, his feelings were strong enough that he was occasionally pulled out of the war and into his own head. He had figured later on that Mycroft was right; that John clung to Sherlock because he missed the war. Perhaps he was projecting that same intense comradery or whatever it is on Sherlock. Perhaps he didn’t know himself at all anymore, because the fact still stood that he’s been seriously considering dancing with Sherlock Holmes in order for him to have fun. Sherlock himself alluded to the fact that he wouldn’t have fun unless John was involved with him somehow-was that a mixed signal, too?
John was confused. What happened to the idea that he’d be dancing and drinking until the New Year’s countdown started? What happened to him partying with a woman?
Sherlock happened. As always.
John sighed. “I know what it says to you, but I can’t answer your question. I’ve just realized how confused I am with all this…with mixed signals and relationships and friendships and just who or what makes up a man and a woman and what coupling means…but I do know that there’s a man out there with whom I share a flat and partake in his adventures and whom I’m about to ask to dance in a couple of seconds, all so I can see some sort of delight on his face. I’ve always considered myself a straight man, and here I am asking you questions about your feelings because I’m about to do something that will make me intensely question mine.”
Sarah looked at him with a mothering sort of look, a look she’d never used on him before. After sighing a bit, she said, “John, perhaps we should end our…relationship…amicably. I think that’d be best, and I rather like having you as my friend. I think I’d probably be of better use to you in such a capacity.”
John nodded sadly. “I do apologize for bringing this up on tonight of all nights.”
Sarah’s mothering look deepened. “John, it’s fine. We’re still friends, right? It’s all fine.”
Sarah hugged him.
***
Sherlock’s knowledge of his capacity to love was limited at best, underdeveloped at worst. Sherlock was also selfish and spoiled, and like most selfish and spoiled children, he didn’t like sharing his only friend with another for fear of him leaving. But even Sherlock knew that his selfishness didn’t warrant him calling Sarah her or that all of the time, especially in John’s presence. But he couldn’t help it. He was, after all, selfish. And he felt something in the pit of his stomach whenever John was with him. Something that made him feel warm and comfortable. Something he didn’t want anyone else to feel. Something he feared Sarah shared in.
He couldn’t go back to the bar, so he sat at one of the empty tables around the dance floor, his hands steepled together, as if he was solving a case. He was merely waiting on John’s conference to be over, not to mention suffering through “You Spin Me Round” only to have pleasure of listening to “Hung Up”. It was taking a long time; must be serious. It certainly wasn’t tactful, bringing up a serious situation at a party. Sherlock mentally laughed at himself-who was he to think someone wasn’t being tactful?
He closed his eyes, content to see only the dark, as it somehow helped him alleviate his suffering due to the sound of Madonna’s techno-laden song. The only time his face changed was when the song ended and he smirked at the randomness of the DJ starting up a Lady Sovereign song, as, apart from the bit in Teena Marie’s song, no rap had been played that evening. He didn’t open them when he felt a familiar presence sit at the table beside him. Only when he sat down did John gain privy to Sherlock’s blue eyes.
“Well,” John began, “I just had a talk with Sarah.”
“And?”
“And…well…we’re friends.”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And…I’ve realized that I’m a confused sod of a man who has some restructuring to do.”
Sherlock couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “And?”
“And…though people certainly will talk tomorrow, I would like for you to have a dance with me.”
Both of Sherlock’s eyebrows shot up as a small smile curled on his face. “Well!” he said in his deep voice, obviously amused. “And?”
“And…would you care to join me?”
“Well…I think I can manage it,” Sherlock answered, still amused, a touch of relief on his face. “What about these people and their talking you’re always worried about?”
“Well…people do little else, now don’t they?”
At this statement, Sherlock’s smile turned into a wide, toothy grin. “You’re absolutely right about that, dear John.” His smile turned devious. “Now, since we’re going to do this, let’s give them something to really talk about. Shall you request the slow song, or should I?”
“Wh-What?”
“Second thoughts?”
“No! No…just…well, you’re right-you know what, you’re absolutely right. If they’re going to talk, we should give them a show and just do it, right? I’ll request the song. It’s not slow, but I think I know just the right one.”
At the very least, Sherlock thought, this will end the boredom for a while.
***
Sherlock rose as John came back to the table. “He’ll play it in a few minutes; he’s got some more of his set to run through.”
“So, what shall we do until then?”
“What else? We dance!” John exclaimed, attempting to brush off the conversation with Sarah. “I wanted to party, and doggonnit, I’m going to do what I set out to do!”
He took Sherlock’s hand and dragged him to the dance floor.
“You’re really not worried about Sarah? What about Lestrade?”
“Are you getting second thoughts?” John asked with a smirk.
“No…just…the police force won’t let me live this down, you know.”
John was surprised by this uncharacteristic expression of embarrassment from a man who was never embarrassed. “Yeah, well, at least it’s just Lestrade’s opinion you care about, and he’s almost plastered by now; I doubt if he’ll remember anything.” Still, John made sure to lead Sherlock into the middle of the crowd. As he walked, he saw Sarah come back, and he still felt like a jerk, even if she did say it was okay. She came with him, and now here he was with someone else. But still, he knew the break between them was on its way, it just so happened that the break came tonight. At least that part was over now.
***
Sarah watched John and Sherlock disappear into the crowd, thinking how odd it was that she felt bizarrely freer than before. She was a bit put-out, of course, over not having anyone at the party to call her date. Luckily, one of her girlfriends from surgery decided to start her New Year’s Resolution of being more social by attending the party and thought enough to bring one of her friends-the office receptionist-along, otherwise, she’d be driving home in a cab alone.
As she sat down at one of the tables to collect herself, she thought about the conversation she’d just had with John. She had cut him loose, feeling he’d be happier that way. So far, it seemed she was right. She was afraid for him, though, because from the way he was speaking to her, his mind seemed like it had collapsed in on itself from confusion.
She didn’t realize she’d feel so…calm after such a breakup. Eerily calm. It felt strange, to be sitting alone, waiting for someone to notice her, but wanting to be by herself. Normally, women would cry at this juncture, but she didn’t feel the need to. Perhaps it was the adrenaline talking.
She decided the best thing to do now was to celebrate the new year; that’s what she came to do, and she didn’t want to go home alone. So she went into the crowd to join her friends.
“What? What are you doing back with us so soon? I thought you were going to be with John the rest of the night!” the non-social friend, Marie, yelled.
“Well, we reached a consensus,” she replied. Both her friends looked at her, confused and concerned.
“What!? A consensus?” the receptionist, Sandra, responded. “You mean he broke up with you tonight?!”
“Well, it’s more like I let him go,” Sarah said.
“And here I thought he was a sensible bloke!” Sandra said, disturbed. “Shall I make a quick run to Bart’s and get something to spike his drink with?”
“No, it’s nothing like that! Everything’s fine. I mean, obviously, it’s natural for me to be a little emotionally beat-up, but all I really want to do right now is forget everything and just dance.”
***
John half-expected Sherlock to be a gangly chicken when it came to dancing, seeing as how he abhorred parties and other such gatherings. It’s not like John was the best dancer in the world, but he expected to be much better than Sherlock, seeing as how John used to go clubbing quite regularly back in his university days. In actuality, though, Sherlock was a great dancer.
“I thought you couldn’t dance!” John yelled over the noise.
“It’s not that I can’t dance,” Sherlock responded, “because I’ve had to act like a raver on plenty of cases, plenty more than you would believe. It’s just…what’s the point? Especially when you’ve got no one to dance with?”
As John soaked up this information for a later mulling-over, he said, “So, how much of this type of behavior have you stored up in your databank?”
“Well, I know various dances from all music genres, including the classical Waltz, the Hustle, the Jerk, the Mashed Potato, and the Bankhead Bounce. And everything else in between.”
John broke out into a grin, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are amazing.”
Sherlock returned the grin. “I dare say it gets better every time you say that.”
When the song ended, John, still smiling, said, “You’re finally having fun! Brilliant.”
John’s smile got even wider when he heard his requested song play. He could tell from Sherlock’s pondering expression that he was familiar with the song, but couldn’t place the name. This would make the whole experience even better.
Sherlock eventually shrugged off not knowing the song right off and just went along with John, dancing and actually enjoying himself, actually being human for a change. Then the lyric “ La la la la/Men in Love” came over the speakers, and Sherlock’s shocked face pushed John into hysterical laughter.
“I figured since people think this about us anyway, might as well play it up!” John said amid his laughing fit.
Sherlock began giggling, which made him look ridiculous. “You surprising, mental beggar!”
***
The particular room John had rented was equipped with a large flat-screen television, perfect for watching the fireworks over the London Eye. The countdown always made John excited; he was even more excited now, mostly due to the gossip that would go on about him and Sherlock the next day.
Lestrade nudged him on his left side and whispered hoarsely into John’s ear, “Am I wasted, or did I really see Sherlock dancing with you?”
“Yes,” John said simply.
“Huh. I see.” Lestrade responded. His unspoken question about what exactly was going on between John and Sherlock hung in the air, but neither man acknowledged its presence. Instead, Lestrade patted John’s shoulder in a rough, good-humored nature, and made his way back through the crowd.
Lestrade’s presence led his mind to think back to Sarah, and how he should at least redeem himself in his own eyes by checking up on her. He excused himself from Sherlock-making sure to tell him he’d only be a moment-and went to find Sarah.
She was in the center right portion of the crowd, and after John weathered the stormy looks of her friends towards him when asking if he could speak to her, Sarah stepped away from them to give John talking room.
“Yes?”
“Well, I just didn’t want to just leave you like some cad,” he started. “I wanted to make sure you were…okay.”
“I’m fine, John.”
“Really?”
“Really. I promise you.”
John looked at her hard, trying to find some cracking point in a possible façade, but finding none.
“Sarah, I don’t know what to say. You are a fantastic woman, and I only wish I could’ve been more for you. You didn’t deserve me at all.”
“Oh, don’t sell yourself that short, John. You are a great person. Things just didn’t work out, is all.”
She put her head down for a moment before lifting it back up. “I mean, the only thing I’m sad about is that we didn’t deal with this before the party.”
John nodded, feeling oddly defeated. “I agree.”
“Listen,” Sarah said, “I want to let you know that I wish you a Happy New Year. Sincerely.” She held out her hand. “Shake?”
John reached out for her hand, but instead pulled her into a tight embrace. She really was a noble woman.
“Happy New Year, Sarah.”
***
The DJ faded “Whenever, Wherever” out in order for the crowd to hear the television, as it was 20 seconds away from the new year. By now, everyone who came with a significant other was preparing themselves for the Big Kiss. Originally, John had included himself in that tradition since he was Sarah’s Somebody just an hour ago. Now he was a bit out of sorts in that area.
Aside from having no one to kiss, John was surprised at how quickly Sherlock had changed from moody to actual lightheartedness. Maybe it was just from not being bored. But ever since John had started spending more time with him, he seemed a bit warmer and pinker than before. He even seemed excited about the new year. When the crowd crushed together as crowds do, Sherlock took that opportunity to disguise his impulsive move of linking his arm in John’s, making John look up at him in surprise. Sherlock only stared straight ahead, but the corner of his mouth was cracked in a smile. John sighed his usual long-suffering sigh, but his face was alit with a smirk.
Everyone’s excitement ratcheted up once it was ten seconds away from 2011. The crowd counted down, John’s heart rammed in his chest, Sherlock’s arm seemed to get hotter to John’s arm, and then-
“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
As people around him kissed and shouted “Ooh” and “Aah” at the fireworks on the screen, Sherlock nudged his shoulder into John’s. Somehow, in a crowd of loud people, Sherlock was able to make his low voice audible.
“Happy New Year, John,” he said intimately.
He could hear the twinkle in Sherlock’s voice, but when he looked up to see a genuine smile on his face, John couldn’t help but return it with one equally as bright.
“Happy New Year, Sherlock.”
Once again, Sherlock shocked John by sliding his hand down to encase John’s hand. He wasn’t expecting it, but John felt a wave of warmth flow through him. He didn’t understand any of it, and he didn’t get a kiss, and he was without a girlfriend, but getting his hand held was one of the best things to happen to John, and it was a great way to ring in the new year.
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Here's the playlist, as promised:
And here are three more songs that I mentioned in the story (the first video includes the dance alluded to):
Click to viewI think that's all. Hope you enjoyed the story and the music, and Happy New Year to you!