Love is a Noose
Title: Love is a Noose
Pairings: almost Sherlock/John; John/Mary
Rating: PG
Summary: Based off of a prompt at sherlockbbc_fic - Sherlock knows John likes him, and develops feelings for John, but uses his acting skills to keep it a secret and tries to suppress his illogical emotions. John never realizes and gets over his crush on Sherlock. He never finds out, but Sherlock still secretly pines over him, never showing any outward sign.
***
Even as it is happening, you are painfully aware of how this is one of those moments. The kind you never really leave. These few seconds will be relived over and over in your head countless nights as you try to sleep.
You are leaning against a wall, catching your breath and staring at your best friend who is staring back.
The chase leading up to this had been brilliant and led you all over London, taking your best knowledge of the inner workings of the city to catch the bad guy. And he had indeed been caught and rendered unconscious. The adrenaline rushes through you and you turn your head and find your gaze pinned by the man standing next you.
You both grin at each other and look away. And then you make your mistake. You look back.
And the grins slowly fade.
Tension, seemingly from no where, is thick in the air. You breathe it in as you pant and it fills your lungs and settles with a churn deep in your gut.
John’s eyes are flicking between both of yours, not able to settle on one, and he licks his lips nervously.
He’s looked at you this way before, but you had always managed to seem otherwise occupied. You’ve also gazed longingly, but only when you were positive he wasn’t aware. This is the moment you had been afraid of - when the two gazes lock.
This is the moment you knew you couldn’t avoid and you’re frozen in it.
***
You know exactly how you got here.
Three months ago John moved in and you became happier then you can ever remember being. It was disconcerting in a pleasant way.
He was exactly right. A companion to spend time with, a partner in your work, a sound board to bounce ideas off of that can occasionally bounce some back. He makes a decent cuppa and tells good stories and knows when to make himself scarce.
What’s not to like? you wondered.
One month ago, you fell in lust with him. He had taken out a criminal that was sneaking up behind you, a quick roundhouse that knocked the lowlife flat. And the flash in his eyes as he glanced up at you, the smirk on his face when you complimented him, why it was positively indecent. That night you stared at the ceiling, knowing he was on the other side. It was a very long, hot, damp, frustrating night.
More curiously, you found yourself noticing how he looks in the morning after just waking. The rumpled hair and tired eyes, the voice gruff with sleep - something in you responds to seeing him so pleasantly disheveled. You want to make him that disheveled. You want to make some ironic comment so that he can smirk again and then you want to bend him over the nearest flat surface and wipe that smirk right off.
Two weeks ago, you caught him staring at you for the first time and knew he was feeling the same things. He didn’t know you knew, of course. But you knew all the same.
And it terrified you.
Over the next 14 days, you made a million mistakes while trying to deduce motives and predict outcomes between the two of you. It was an impossible situation. Should you encourage when you were unsure of the depth you are able to feel for anything, let alone this man? Should you be cold and distant and risk chasing him off forever?
Yesterday had been a near miss. A bad movie had John nodding off on the sofa, leaning against you and breathing softly into your neck. When you patted his face to wake him, he had gazed at you with those sleep-filled eyes and smiled adoringly. Your hand stilled on his face and lingered. Luckily, he was still mostly asleep and hadn’t caught the hesitation.
You knew next time wouldn’t be so lucky.
***
John has gone from panting to not breathing at all so fast that it’s vaguely worrying. He’s stilled and is watching you. Waiting.
You lean your head down the wall. Just an inch. Just a tiny bit closer. Close enough to hear his breath catch.
It would be so easy. You could lean forward just those few inches more. You could do it; John would let you.
***
But it’s not easy, really. It’s not easy at all. Because whatever you do tonight, it cannot be undone. You dreaded this moment because of its finality. Two paths have presented themselves before you and for two weeks you avoided having to choose and now here it is.
And it’s not a simple choice between all of John or none of John. No, it’s subtler than that. It’s choosing the amount of John, how deep to let him in.
There are a million reasons to not pursue a relationship with John - at least not one of that level. Most of which are for his own good. Moriarty was still at large and anything that put John even more on his radar was absolutely, solidly bad. Not to mention countless others who would like the chance to harm you through your romantic ties.
But also, there’s all of the other possibilities out there for John. Women who could give him children. Doctors who share his passions and work hours and sleeping/eating habits.
And then there‘s you. You’ve never been in this type of relationship - who’s to say you would be any good at it? What if you ruin him or grow bored of him? You can’t be trusted. What if you were a terrible boyfriend who emotionally scars John for life? When the next woman or doctor comes along, it may take them years to break down the walls you will help John build up.
But there’s a scarier option. What if you were a decent boyfriend, even a good one, and things still didn‘t work out?
The singularity of these feelings is not lost on you - never before has someone caught your interest. If you give it a go with John and it doesn’t work, that’s it. The end. Your one love story dashed and broken and painful in your chest forever.
If you never start, at least you will die never having felt that particular hardship.
All of these reasons not to close the gap between your mouth and John’s mouth. And only one reason for it.
Because you want to. So very, very badly.
It’s selfish, but you’ve always prided yourself in being a selfish creature.
***
You stand frozen. All of the logic on one side, all of the want on the other. John’s eyes are drifting closed and he sways almost imperceptibly towards you.
This second. This one right here, where you both are leaning in and anything can happen, drags on forever. You won’t ever escape it. When you lie down to sleep, when there hasn’t been a case in days, when your brain is idle for just a moment - you will always be right back here on this wall.
But it doesn’t go on forever. And the decision is made.
You clear your throat as you pull back and fish out your phone, texting Lestrade. John blinks slowly once and you try very hard not to see his face crumple.
***
You know exactly where this will go.
One week from now, John will stop avoiding you so obviously. He will face you with a new set to his shoulders and a more confident look in his eye, and you will know that he won’t be staring at you anymore when he thinks you’re not looking. The loss is painful.
But most loss is, you will rationalize to yourself. At least for a while.
Two months from now he will meet a lovely girl by the name of Mary at a coffee shop. You brace yourself for the worst when he comes home whistling.
A week after that it will indeed get worse. John will put on his best dress shirt and shave very carefully and forget to take the condoms out of the grocery bag when he hands it to you. The blush on his face as he grabs for them out of your hand is endearing. You want to cry.
A year later, you will help him walk into the living room of 221b. He doesn’t live there anymore, but Mary insists they spend the night before the wedding apart. The numerous pints from the bachelor party are catching up to John and he leans against you heavily. It feels so very good to hold him up. For a moment, a sliver of the familiar tension is back.
He looks at you with half-lidded eyes - you had almost forgotten the effect that has on you - and pulls you a bit closer.
“You know, Sherlock.” His breath fans your face and you don’t lean away even though it smells like beer because it also smells like John. “You know, when I first moved in with you? A few months after I moved in? I thought I was in love with you.”
He laughs a little.
“Thank goodness I got over that. I met Mary just after, you know. Thought she was a rebound, but look at us now!” A chuckle. You search his face for bitterness but see none.
“So I guess what I’m trying to say is we should thank you. So…thank you.”
He laughs a little more and wobbles upstairs and off to bed. That night you will stare at the ceiling and allow yourself to truly believe that this is the last time he will ever be on the other side. And, oh God, it hurts.
The next day you will leave the reception early and lay on your bed in your tux. There’s no point going over “what ifs” and questioning a decision made long ago.
John’s smile as he and Mary were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Watson is genuine. He’s happy. There were too many variables the other way - who’s to say John would even still be alive if you had kissed him in the alley that night? Certainly no guarantee of equal or greater happiness if things had been different.
No, no it’s better this way.
But your brain still takes you back, replaying the moment over and over.
***
You are stuck.
You are forever leaning against a wall, catching your breath and staring at your best friend who is staring back.
Pairings: almost Sherlock/John; John/Mary
Rating: PG
Summary: Based off of a prompt at sherlockbbc_fic - Sherlock knows John likes him, and develops feelings for John, but uses his acting skills to keep it a secret and tries to suppress his illogical emotions. John never realizes and gets over his crush on Sherlock. He never finds out, but Sherlock still secretly pines over him, never showing any outward sign.
***
Even as it is happening, you are painfully aware of how this is one of those moments. The kind you never really leave. These few seconds will be relived over and over in your head countless nights as you try to sleep.
You are leaning against a wall, catching your breath and staring at your best friend who is staring back.
The chase leading up to this had been brilliant and led you all over London, taking your best knowledge of the inner workings of the city to catch the bad guy. And he had indeed been caught and rendered unconscious. The adrenaline rushes through you and you turn your head and find your gaze pinned by the man standing next you.
You both grin at each other and look away. And then you make your mistake. You look back.
And the grins slowly fade.
Tension, seemingly from no where, is thick in the air. You breathe it in as you pant and it fills your lungs and settles with a churn deep in your gut.
John’s eyes are flicking between both of yours, not able to settle on one, and he licks his lips nervously.
He’s looked at you this way before, but you had always managed to seem otherwise occupied. You’ve also gazed longingly, but only when you were positive he wasn’t aware. This is the moment you had been afraid of - when the two gazes lock.
This is the moment you knew you couldn’t avoid and you’re frozen in it.
***
You know exactly how you got here.
Three months ago John moved in and you became happier then you can ever remember being. It was disconcerting in a pleasant way.
He was exactly right. A companion to spend time with, a partner in your work, a sound board to bounce ideas off of that can occasionally bounce some back. He makes a decent cuppa and tells good stories and knows when to make himself scarce.
What’s not to like? you wondered.
One month ago, you fell in lust with him. He had taken out a criminal that was sneaking up behind you, a quick roundhouse that knocked the lowlife flat. And the flash in his eyes as he glanced up at you, the smirk on his face when you complimented him, why it was positively indecent. That night you stared at the ceiling, knowing he was on the other side. It was a very long, hot, damp, frustrating night.
More curiously, you found yourself noticing how he looks in the morning after just waking. The rumpled hair and tired eyes, the voice gruff with sleep - something in you responds to seeing him so pleasantly disheveled. You want to make him that disheveled. You want to make some ironic comment so that he can smirk again and then you want to bend him over the nearest flat surface and wipe that smirk right off.
Two weeks ago, you caught him staring at you for the first time and knew he was feeling the same things. He didn’t know you knew, of course. But you knew all the same.
And it terrified you.
Over the next 14 days, you made a million mistakes while trying to deduce motives and predict outcomes between the two of you. It was an impossible situation. Should you encourage when you were unsure of the depth you are able to feel for anything, let alone this man? Should you be cold and distant and risk chasing him off forever?
Yesterday had been a near miss. A bad movie had John nodding off on the sofa, leaning against you and breathing softly into your neck. When you patted his face to wake him, he had gazed at you with those sleep-filled eyes and smiled adoringly. Your hand stilled on his face and lingered. Luckily, he was still mostly asleep and hadn’t caught the hesitation.
You knew next time wouldn’t be so lucky.
***
John has gone from panting to not breathing at all so fast that it’s vaguely worrying. He’s stilled and is watching you. Waiting.
You lean your head down the wall. Just an inch. Just a tiny bit closer. Close enough to hear his breath catch.
It would be so easy. You could lean forward just those few inches more. You could do it; John would let you.
***
But it’s not easy, really. It’s not easy at all. Because whatever you do tonight, it cannot be undone. You dreaded this moment because of its finality. Two paths have presented themselves before you and for two weeks you avoided having to choose and now here it is.
And it’s not a simple choice between all of John or none of John. No, it’s subtler than that. It’s choosing the amount of John, how deep to let him in.
There are a million reasons to not pursue a relationship with John - at least not one of that level. Most of which are for his own good. Moriarty was still at large and anything that put John even more on his radar was absolutely, solidly bad. Not to mention countless others who would like the chance to harm you through your romantic ties.
But also, there’s all of the other possibilities out there for John. Women who could give him children. Doctors who share his passions and work hours and sleeping/eating habits.
And then there‘s you. You’ve never been in this type of relationship - who’s to say you would be any good at it? What if you ruin him or grow bored of him? You can’t be trusted. What if you were a terrible boyfriend who emotionally scars John for life? When the next woman or doctor comes along, it may take them years to break down the walls you will help John build up.
But there’s a scarier option. What if you were a decent boyfriend, even a good one, and things still didn‘t work out?
The singularity of these feelings is not lost on you - never before has someone caught your interest. If you give it a go with John and it doesn’t work, that’s it. The end. Your one love story dashed and broken and painful in your chest forever.
If you never start, at least you will die never having felt that particular hardship.
All of these reasons not to close the gap between your mouth and John’s mouth. And only one reason for it.
Because you want to. So very, very badly.
It’s selfish, but you’ve always prided yourself in being a selfish creature.
***
You stand frozen. All of the logic on one side, all of the want on the other. John’s eyes are drifting closed and he sways almost imperceptibly towards you.
This second. This one right here, where you both are leaning in and anything can happen, drags on forever. You won’t ever escape it. When you lie down to sleep, when there hasn’t been a case in days, when your brain is idle for just a moment - you will always be right back here on this wall.
But it doesn’t go on forever. And the decision is made.
You clear your throat as you pull back and fish out your phone, texting Lestrade. John blinks slowly once and you try very hard not to see his face crumple.
***
You know exactly where this will go.
One week from now, John will stop avoiding you so obviously. He will face you with a new set to his shoulders and a more confident look in his eye, and you will know that he won’t be staring at you anymore when he thinks you’re not looking. The loss is painful.
But most loss is, you will rationalize to yourself. At least for a while.
Two months from now he will meet a lovely girl by the name of Mary at a coffee shop. You brace yourself for the worst when he comes home whistling.
A week after that it will indeed get worse. John will put on his best dress shirt and shave very carefully and forget to take the condoms out of the grocery bag when he hands it to you. The blush on his face as he grabs for them out of your hand is endearing. You want to cry.
A year later, you will help him walk into the living room of 221b. He doesn’t live there anymore, but Mary insists they spend the night before the wedding apart. The numerous pints from the bachelor party are catching up to John and he leans against you heavily. It feels so very good to hold him up. For a moment, a sliver of the familiar tension is back.
He looks at you with half-lidded eyes - you had almost forgotten the effect that has on you - and pulls you a bit closer.
“You know, Sherlock.” His breath fans your face and you don’t lean away even though it smells like beer because it also smells like John. “You know, when I first moved in with you? A few months after I moved in? I thought I was in love with you.”
He laughs a little.
“Thank goodness I got over that. I met Mary just after, you know. Thought she was a rebound, but look at us now!” A chuckle. You search his face for bitterness but see none.
“So I guess what I’m trying to say is we should thank you. So…thank you.”
He laughs a little more and wobbles upstairs and off to bed. That night you will stare at the ceiling and allow yourself to truly believe that this is the last time he will ever be on the other side. And, oh God, it hurts.
The next day you will leave the reception early and lay on your bed in your tux. There’s no point going over “what ifs” and questioning a decision made long ago.
John’s smile as he and Mary were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Watson is genuine. He’s happy. There were too many variables the other way - who’s to say John would even still be alive if you had kissed him in the alley that night? Certainly no guarantee of equal or greater happiness if things had been different.
No, no it’s better this way.
But your brain still takes you back, replaying the moment over and over.
***
You are stuck.
You are forever leaning against a wall, catching your breath and staring at your best friend who is staring back.