(Untitled)

[shutupimagenius]

Closed to dearjohnwatson .
R-18+ (sexytimes)
Continuation of Sherlock gets drugged, goes through withdrawal and tries to make sense of things that are way beyond his depth (ie, emotion)

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[shutupimagenius]

Sherlock waited for a response, only somewhat okay with the way John reacted. Sure, he was glad to see him smile, but he was hoping for something to ease his own mind. John seemed relieved, like he really had been afraid that Sherlock would outright jump him whenever he got the chance. His stomach flipped at the feeling it instilled, the fact that he'd made John afraid to be in the same room with him for more than a few moments making him feel utterly depraved. When had he become governed by his baser desires like an average person to the point where it drove away his only friend?

He quickly pushed the plates back into John's hands. "I'm not hungry." he announced, despite not having eaten more than a piece of toast in over a day. He had been hungry before, but now he was feeling nauseous and craving another cigarette. He hurriedly left the room to shut himself in his bedroom, leaning against the door as he fumbled for the pack still in his pocket. He had to flick the lighter a few times with hands that seemed unwilling to cooperate, before finally getting it lit and desperately sucking down the smoke. He slumped to sit down against the door, letting his head thunk against the door as he tried to calm down and think it through rationally. It was obviously just a tactile phase he was going through, and he just needed something to help pull him out of it. He briefly thought that maybe he should go out and pick up some random person he would never call again, but the very idea just made him feel even more nauseous, so that was out. He maintained hope that these urges would go away in time and that they could go back to being comfortable with each other soon. He would have to drag himself off the floor eventually, but he couldn't muster the courage to be in the same room with John again at the moment. Maybe once the food got here and he could distract himself with trying to eat something after the nausea subsided he would try again to act normal. If worst came to worst again, he still had the cigarettes.

[dearjohnwatson]

John's continued failures seemed to only make John's roller coaster of emotions run the complete spectrum in one day. That wasn't healthy for any sort of human to take. Looking at the plates shoved back into his hands, John figured Sherlock wouldn't eat but he hadn't expected his complete disinterest in it.

Letting him storm off to his bedroom, John was only slightly glad to have the sitting room to watch telly for a bit before their-- his food arrives. Before he managed to find some god awful program to watch, the familiar smell of his cigarettes came creeping into the room. John wasn't going to have another one, he just had to stay away. As his thoughts wandered, he realized he'd stopped on a rerun of Never Mind the Buzzcocks.

Before John could think of another reason why not to go barging into his bedroom for the cigarettes, he heard the front door knock and realized the food was there. He was up like a shot and down the stairs to gather the delivery. He was starving by then, knowing a cigarette would ruin his appetite.

[shutupimagenius]

Sherlock gave it until his cigarette was gone and mashed out in an old ashtray on his dresser did he feel confident enough to leave his room. The nausea was gone moments after he had convinced himself that John knew he wasn't going to try to get near him again. On the contrary, he would be continuing his efforts to keep as far away as possible.

He heard John take off downstairs to get the delivery and took the chance to slink back into the sitting room and tuck himself into a corner of the couch. He spent the moments before John was back psyching himself up for acting normal and like he hadn't just made a fool of himself again. At least there was the tv to hold his interest and offer a welcome distraction from his inner distress and provide an excuse for him not to look up when John enters again.

[dearjohnwatson]

John wasn't as surprised by Sherlock showing up again and taking up his usual spot on the couch. After lunch, he'd ask for the pack of cigarettes back and offer to go get Sherlock -- and John -- a box of nicotine patches to replace them. Mrs. Hudson might not appreciate the lingering smell of smoke in her rental, even if Sherlock already owed her a new wall.

He brought over the plates and forks along with the food in one go. He was about to set the stuff down on top of various magazines, not bothering to move anything for fear he'd get yelled at, but at the last moment he hesitated. If Sherlock wanted to save anything, now was the time to grab it and move it before slightly messy take out bags would be set on them. Giving him a chance, John set it all down and sat heavily next to Sherlock, taking a look at the telly to see what he was watching. Pulling a few small boxes out, John reached the fried wonton, took a piece out and ate it straight off the bat before offering the bag to Sherlock.

Feeling a bit more like himself, even in close proximity again without feeling skiddish was an improvement in John's eyes. He pulled out the pork fried rice and his beef dish, having ordered the large portion in hopes that it would take him a few days to eat it. Or that Sherlock would help himself to some.

[shutupimagenius]

Feeling somewhat better after the cigarette, Sherlock thought that he felt things returning to something approaching normal when John returned. He decided he could accept this, especially considering it had been more than he expected. He really hadn't expected John to stay after what happened, at least figuring John would have buggered off to Sarah's at least for a night. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn't help but start to mull over exactly what she had that he hadn't. She was female, which he supposed was more conventional. He guessed that was probably it. John wanted something at least in the same league as normal in his life, and that was the complete opposite of what Sherlock was. He stopped himself from thinking about it more after that, considering how utterly pointless it was.

He didn't react when John moved to set the bags down, seeing nothing of real importance on the table. He wasn't quite as bothered by the proximity anymore either, having finally started to accept that things were trying to get back to normal and that would have to be enough for him. As fleetingly intrigued as he had been by the idea, being married to his work had always been sufficient before and it would be sufficient again once he fully shook this unease. He was on his way, even offering a slight smile as he took the bag of wontons and got one for himself, nibbling on the end as he watched tv. This was fine, he thought to himself. More than fine, really. He had food, something vaguely interesting on telly, and he still had his friend. He was pretty lucky, all things considered.

[dearjohnwatson]

John's smile widened when he heard the small nibbles Sherlock was taking on his bit of wonton and moved to fix himself a plate. Sherlock usually stole bits and pieces from his dish, so he made sure to put extra meat and only a few vegetables beside his plate of rice. He wasn't feeling much in the way of chopsticks and so picked up a fork and dug right in. Kipping another wonton from the bag Sherlock was holding, he dipped it into the wonderful sauce and tossed the whole thing in his mouth, making one loud crunching sound.

He could do this. Sherlock would be officially clean in a day or two and the cases would commence. Their lives would officially get back to their version of 'normal' and John could leave it all behind him. Except for that lingering want to try and sleep curled up next to Sherlock again creeping up on him, John was doing alright for the time being.

[shutupimagenius]

Sherlock caught John's smile out of the corner of his eye, turning his gaze back to the tv immediately and trying to bury the pleased flicker of satisfaction it brought forth in him. He really was starting to feel ridiculous at how he was beginning to enjoy even the slightest signs of approval from John. He loved when he got exasperated too, but John's smile was warm and easy and addicting in it's own right. He barely stopped himself from sighing in exasperation himself at how easily his mind wandered to think about things like that.

He finished off the wonton and leaned forward to find the chopsticks and snatch a piece of meat off the plate. He tugged his legs up to have them crossed, watching tv for lack of something better to do. He didn't like that it still felt awkward, considering he'd never felt awkward around John before. he almost wanted to say something to break the tension, but he was sure if he opened his mouth again that he would just incriminate himself further. He'd said one stupid thing after another tonight, and he couldn't stand that fact because he didn't do stupid. It seemed better just to keep his mouth shut, considering he'd probably just end up asking something completely idiotic like whether John would mind if he slept in his bed again. Despite not vocalizing it, he was already mulling over explanations as to how two flatmates could share a bed without actually being involved.

[dearjohnwatson]

After about ten minutes of watching a program on a cold case murder, John was piecing together his idea of what happened and could almost tell Sherlock wouldn't still be watching this show if he hadn't already figured out the murder and found it to be interesting. For John, it was just another crime reality show that held vague interest to him, when he knew there were real crimes being committed right now all around London. He was more interested in the food and the fact that Sherlock was actually eating actually.

Sherlock crossed his legs on the couch and that brought the man's knee close enough to brush his own. John continued to eat as though food was a rare commodity, as was his usual custom when he splurged on Chinese. Sherlock never got his own plate of food, John just continued to shovel more rice and meat onto his plate for the two of them. Eventually, he moved back to rest against the couch, plate in hand and held up under his chin to catch any rice fall out as it appeared Sherlock was 'full' and stopped claiming more food. John ate his fair share, forgetting about the whole 'save some for later' thing. Shoving his finished plate onto the table, he sat back with a sigh of food coma contentment. Raising his arms to stretch above his head, John resisted the urge to pull his belt undone and move it over one belt hole looser. He set an arm across the back of the couch, behind Sherlock. There was a wonderfully inviting jumper clad spot against John's side now that was dying to have a Sherlock sized shape curled up into it.

Did he just think that?

[shutupimagenius]

After easily figuring out that the murder on the telly was committed by the brother obviously, Sherlock continued to mindlessly watch and continue taking food from their shared plate. The scene was so commonplace that Sherlock had never realized how incredibly domestic it was. How was it that they acted like an old married couple so often without him even noticing it before now? Still, it was comfortable, and the uneasy trepidation from the majority of the night was starting to disappate. He found himself vaguely amused at how John ate like it would disappear any moment. Sherlock was done after only a few bites, only needing enough to survive for another day. He felt John's arm fall on the back of the couch behind him and tensed slightly at the realization. He wondered if John even realized what he was doing and just how difficult he was making it for Sherlock to not just ever-so-casually lean to the side and fall against him. What he really wanted was for John's hand to nudge him into doing so and make him feel slightly less like a desperate teenager mustering the courage to ask someone out on a first date. He held his arms in front of his chest, keeping a tight grip on his sleeves to keep his hands from betraying him and reaching out to grab John and never let go. If he were a spiritual man, he would be praying to whatever diety he fancied for the strength to get past this. As it was, he stared resolutely forward at the tv and wondered how this felt exponentially more difficult than the heroin withdrawal had.

[dearjohnwatson]

Having fallen victim to the telly's drawing power, John hadn't much noticed Sherlock's fidgeting. He tried to remain still and ignore it, but eventually John just couldn't be distracted by the ever moving Sherlock and placed that hand across the back of the couch on Sherlock's far shoulder. It was an attempt to get him to stop moving, but it ended up giving the detective his chance. He seemed to only need the slightest push to get him where he wanted to go, John thought.

Sherlock nearly fell against John's side and John's hand remained firmly on Sherlock's shoulder, that curly haired head resting on his shoulder and within tempting range.

It took him a full three minutes to take a deep breath and find the courage to say something, anything about this arrangement they weren't suppose to be having. This felt right, this felt safe and warm and relaxing and it was just everything John needed and wanted right now. How could something as simple as a little lay on the couch feel like he could spend the rest of his life with this man?

He was about to turn and protest, that this wasn't what he thought it was, when his words died in his throat. That's exactly what this was. Instead of words, John cleared his throat gently and eyed the top of Sherlock's mop of hair. He finally decided that he could live with this. Now it was time to convince himself of that fact.

[shutupimagenius]

Sherlock twitched at the hand on his shoulder, glancing over at John in momentarily bemusement. Hadn't he just said that this wasn't what he wanted? He was relatively sure that it wasn't normal for flatmates who weren't involved to cuddle on the couch. Still, this is what he'd wanted, so he took the opening and pressed in against John's side. He expected some sort of explanation on John's part, but it didn't come, so they sat in silence for a few minutes as Sherlock relaxed fully against his shoulder, all the tension leaving him in an instant. He slipped an arm over his abdomen, grabbing loosely onto his jumper as though to tell him that he wouldn't be getting away now.

He finally dared to glance up when he heard John clear his throat, looking at him expectantly for some sort of exposition. When John was still quiet, he tilted his head curiously at him. "Well. It seems you have succeeded in confusing me." he said to urge John into saying something in response to this development.

[dearjohnwatson]

He had his words figured out before Sherlock finished his sentence. "I'm confusing myself." He didn't look at Sherlock just then, keeping his eyes focused fully on the tv. They were showing an autopsy, something John had done for school but not since. He'd rather work on alive people, or helping to keep them alive. He didn't want to head down this road just yet, but he took a moment to gather his thoughts with a deep breath and a slow exhale.

"You feel better, though?" He sensed the moment Sherlock seemed to cave in and settle against his side, feeling that familiar pressure and his cooler body seeking John's warmth. "We can ... try this out. But I don't know what I'm doing ... " Reaching a hand up to rub his face, John momentarily hid his eyes behind his hand, squeezing them shut as a mantra of 'dear God what am I doing?' ran through his mind.

Glancing down to the arm laying across his stomach, John smiled as he watched Sherlock idly caressing the fibers between his fingers and nuzzling against his shoulder. It was a soothing feeling to sense those little idle touches, and soon John was relaxing and letting his mind blissfully wander while he stared at the program. He didn't care how the case ended any more.

[shutupimagenius]

Sherlock blinked bemusedly at him, humming in understanding when he noted that John didn't seem to know what was happening either. He couldn't help smirking to himself at the realization that he hadn't just imagined the signs that John felt something too when he let Sherlock sleep in his bed. "Much." he said with a nod, squeezing in closer to emphasize why he felt better.

He cants his head to look up at John again, smirking wider at his words. "That's fairly obvious." he teased, letting his head drop to his shoulder so he could still see John's face. "What, precisely, are we trying?" he said, pressing for a better answer than what John had given him. He didn't want any more confusion as to what they were. Would they be flatmates who occasionally cuddled and slept in the same bed, or would they actually give the experiment of an actual relationship a go? He was fine with whatever ended up happening, though he was still distinctly curious about how relationships worked, and indeed if he was even capable of such a thing.

[dearjohnwatson]

Gods, how was John suppose to know what they were going to do? Sherlock settled in and John turned his head just enough to feel a curl brush the tip of his nose. It tickled and he let out a small huff from it.

A relationship might be too boring, too mundane for Sherlock. At least in the sort of relationship John was used to having with girls. Then again, he'd never met anyone quite like the detective, and Sherlock was clearly not a woman. But he wasn't exactly a typical bloke, either. It was enticing, different. It was a challenge, an adventure, something ... else. No, that wasn't a good way to think about it.

"We can start here, on the couch. Doing this. Then ... we'll see. I quite like the idea of a bed friend, too ... " Oh, bugger, that didn't sound right. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and tried again, "N-Not like, like that. I mean ... it was really nice to have a-- someone to lay with. I ... " John stopped to consider how far he wanted to go with telling Sherlock about how much it had helped him sleep and not just to keep an eye on Sherlock.

"I haven't been able to sleep ... or at least stay in bed with a--another ... in a while. My-- I've had nightmares and trouble sleeping as long as I can remember. The Army only slightly exacerbated things ... " He laughed it off, but it was clearly a nervous one. The Army made it far worse, waking so much that he never had a set sleep pattern for his entire tour. That did hell to ones immune system and overall health. He couldn't recharge, and he'd gotten used to running on a half battery. Not only that, but not being able to sleep next to someone for a whole night -- like Sarah -- made it awkward to chose the sofa every time. He'd never be a good boyfriend that way.

But with Sherlock, that was not an issue. He wore him out so much that he didn't dream when he slept. He just ... slept.

[shutupimagenius]

Sherlock listened silently to John, raising an eyebrow at his idea for being friends who shared a bed. Was that something that was normal for friends to do? He wouldn't know, considering John was the only one he had. He couldn't help but smile when John admitted to enjoying sleeping next to him as much as he had. "My thoughts exactly." he replied simply, snuggling in closer to him. "Hm. Yes, I had noticed that I was the only thing that woke you last night. You normally would have woken yourself from nightmares at least once. I believe that's a significant reason to explore this."

He went quiet for a moment in contemplation, wondering how exactly this was going to play out. "Does that mean we're dating?" he asked in legitimate curiosity. He didn't know much about relationships, but he did know that cuddling and sleeping in the same bed as someone of the same sex conflicted somewhat with John's identification of 'not gay'. Speaking of which. "How are you going to explain the arrangement to Sarah?" Not that he cared at all what she thought, but he was interested in how John would say 'oh yeah, Sherlock sleeps in my bed now, did I not tell you?'.

[dearjohnwatson]

John pursed his lips and raised a hand to them to think on it. It didn't honestly take longer than he thought, because Sherlock was asking about Sarah before he could answer. Now was the time to come out with it.

"Sarah and I haven't been ... on for about three months now ... " He ran his thumb over his top lip and brought the nail to his teeth give it a bit of a nervous trimming.

"We don't have to go out on 'dates.' We do enough crime scene investigating, those are dates enough. I spend most of my time out of the flat with you, so I'm more like the ... tag along girlfriend ... " John gave that a slight ponder, tilting his head to the side. "No, we're not dating. Just friends with limited benefits." Very, very limited.