I'll Be Here When It All Gets Weird
Title: I'll Be Here When It All Gets Weird
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating/Warning: PG, possible spoilers
Characters: John, Sherlock
Word Count: 503
Summary: Sherlock returns from the dead and John isn't quite sure how to react.
Note: I don't own them, unfortunately, but, if I did, this is what would happen. I have no explanation, guys. I was at work, I was bored, I was thinking about that Martin Freeman quote, and my brain sort of went there all by itself. I'm not even remotely sorry.
---
John was angry. He was talking to a dead man. It was an experience that should have elicited any number of other emotions, but this was Sherlock, and he found himself falling back into anger purely out of habit.
“You were dead, Sherlock!” he shouted. “I buried you! I mourned you!”
“John,” Sherlock said, taking him by the shoulders. “It’s OK. I’m here, now, aren’t I?”
“No, it’s not! It’s not OK!” John shouted back.
It was a phrase he hadn’t used in over three years, and, under different circumstances, he might have found it amusing.
“How could you do that to me?!” he added.
He grabbed Sherlock by the lapel of his coat. He wanted to throttle him for leaving like that, for making him think he was dead. He also had a strong urge to kiss him, simply for not actually being dead. Before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, he pulled Sherlock in toward him until their mouths met. He didn’t even move to resist or pull away, which probably would have surprised John had he not been slightly preoccupied at the moment.
His kiss was desperate and earnest. It said all the things that he’d spent the last three years wishing he’d told Sherlock before that final phone call. It said everything that he couldn’t or didn’t know how to say now that Sherlock was back, alive, and in his arms. He didn’t ever want to let go. He wanted this moment to last forever, afraid that, if he did let go, he’d find it was all just a dream. A wonderful dream, but a dream none-the-less.
He knew he eventually had to let go, even if it was a dream. He felt it was probably best to do it quickly, much like ripping off a band-aid. He pulled away, letting go of Sherlock’s coat as he did, and took a step back. It took Sherlock a moment to compose himself, all the while looking rather perplexed. John suddenly felt very embarrassed by what he’d just done and did his best to look anywhere but at Sherlock. He could feel himself blushing. After what seemed like a very long, very awkward silence, Sherlock cleared his throat.
“While I appreciate the gesture, John, I meant it when I told you that I consider myself married to my work.”
“I know,” John said quickly, glancing back at him. “I meant it every time I told you that I’m not gay. I was just…I’m excited to see you. Here. Alive.”
“Obviously,” Sherlock mumbled.
“What?” John asked.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing.”
He paused, looking like he had more to say but was unsure of how to say it. John felt like he should interject, but he’d pretty much just said everything he had to say without even opening his mouth. Well, there had been some opening, but it hadn’t involved any actual words.
“I missed you, too, John,” Sherlock finally said.
John couldn’t help but smile.
Fandom: Sherlock
Rating/Warning: PG, possible spoilers
Characters: John, Sherlock
Word Count: 503
Summary: Sherlock returns from the dead and John isn't quite sure how to react.
Note: I don't own them, unfortunately, but, if I did, this is what would happen. I have no explanation, guys. I was at work, I was bored, I was thinking about that Martin Freeman quote, and my brain sort of went there all by itself. I'm not even remotely sorry.
---
John was angry. He was talking to a dead man. It was an experience that should have elicited any number of other emotions, but this was Sherlock, and he found himself falling back into anger purely out of habit.
“You were dead, Sherlock!” he shouted. “I buried you! I mourned you!”
“John,” Sherlock said, taking him by the shoulders. “It’s OK. I’m here, now, aren’t I?”
“No, it’s not! It’s not OK!” John shouted back.
It was a phrase he hadn’t used in over three years, and, under different circumstances, he might have found it amusing.
“How could you do that to me?!” he added.
He grabbed Sherlock by the lapel of his coat. He wanted to throttle him for leaving like that, for making him think he was dead. He also had a strong urge to kiss him, simply for not actually being dead. Before he had a chance to think about what he was doing, he pulled Sherlock in toward him until their mouths met. He didn’t even move to resist or pull away, which probably would have surprised John had he not been slightly preoccupied at the moment.
His kiss was desperate and earnest. It said all the things that he’d spent the last three years wishing he’d told Sherlock before that final phone call. It said everything that he couldn’t or didn’t know how to say now that Sherlock was back, alive, and in his arms. He didn’t ever want to let go. He wanted this moment to last forever, afraid that, if he did let go, he’d find it was all just a dream. A wonderful dream, but a dream none-the-less.
He knew he eventually had to let go, even if it was a dream. He felt it was probably best to do it quickly, much like ripping off a band-aid. He pulled away, letting go of Sherlock’s coat as he did, and took a step back. It took Sherlock a moment to compose himself, all the while looking rather perplexed. John suddenly felt very embarrassed by what he’d just done and did his best to look anywhere but at Sherlock. He could feel himself blushing. After what seemed like a very long, very awkward silence, Sherlock cleared his throat.
“While I appreciate the gesture, John, I meant it when I told you that I consider myself married to my work.”
“I know,” John said quickly, glancing back at him. “I meant it every time I told you that I’m not gay. I was just…I’m excited to see you. Here. Alive.”
“Obviously,” Sherlock mumbled.
“What?” John asked.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing.”
He paused, looking like he had more to say but was unsure of how to say it. John felt like he should interject, but he’d pretty much just said everything he had to say without even opening his mouth. Well, there had been some opening, but it hadn’t involved any actual words.
“I missed you, too, John,” Sherlock finally said.
John couldn’t help but smile.