221B Paw Stories - Chapter 11
A/N: This chapter was kindly betaed by Tigzzz. All my thanks! Hope you enjoy (and review :D) ~¤Zoffoli
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221B PAW STORIES
«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
Chapter 11
Up above the world so high
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As they walked up the stairs to the flat, John finally mustered the courage to speak, and began:
"You know, Sherlock, I..."
He stopped in mid-sentence as he saw his friend hold his hand up, requesting that he kept quiet. Sherlock was frowning, a glare threatening to fill his eyes that had turned to slits. John tilted his head to the side, confused. But when Sherlock finally pushed the door open, and they saw a tall man with an umbrella by his side leisurely reading a newspaper in their living-room, he understood, and emitted a groan.
"Hello, Sherlock. Dr. Watson. How have you been?" Mycroft inquired in an unctuous tone.
Sherlock glowered.
"What are you doing here, Mycroft?"
"Why, just checking everything was all right with Dr. Watson. It seems his irresponsible flatmate left him with a tiger on a train and was unreachable for a few days... I see you're back to London, little brother."
"How perceptive of you," Sherlock spat.
John just stood there, very tired all of a sudden.
"I'll make some tea," he said before heading to the kitchen.
The two brothers' gazes followed his back, then turned again to each other.
"So... solved the case?"
"Yes."
"And got rid of the tiger?"
"The matter has been seen to."
"I hope you've planned to buy John another phone, considering his was crushed during this adventure."
Sherlock's eyes turned to slits, but John was already back in the room, and decided to put an end to the little battle going on.
"So, Mycroft. What did you come here for?"
A thin smile spread across the British Government's lips, and Sherlock scowled pre-emptively.
"Why, didn't we have a deal?"
"There was no deal. He did not promise you anything," Sherlock cut in sharply.
John, lost, looked up to him in confusion. Mycroft smirked.
"And how would you know that, brother dear? Were you there?"
Sherlock glared as John started to panic.
"He told me," the detective scoffed.
"Did he?"
"Yes. Now if you're done, will you please get ou-"
"Have you two become closer lately, perhaps?" Mycroft interrupted.
"Beg your pardon?" John stuttered.
"Well, I cannot remember any occasion in which Sherlock lent his coat to anyone. But you had it with you yesterday, didn't you, John?"
John paled. Of course. They'd been so worried about the whole situation once they got to Victoria Station that they did not pay any attention to Sherlock's clothes on the train seat. That, and the crushed phone, would have been suspicious to anyone... not to mention to a Holmes.
"I... I was cold, and he didn't need it..." John floundered.
"Nor did he need his underwear, I presume. Or perhaps he gave it to you as a keepsake?"
"Enough," Sherlock cut in, furious to see John being humiliated. "We don't have to justify ourselves to you."
"But you did call for my help..." Mycroft pointed out smugly.
"No, I did," John interrupted, not liking where this was going. "Now if you want me to repay you in any way..."
"No!" Sherlock cut in again, determined not to let Mycroft have his way. "Certainly not. You don't owe him anything."
"But - "
"It was so very kind of you to assist John in this," Sherlock told his brother. "But he never gave his word that he would do anything in exchange - in fact, he did not even say anything on the matter. You came and helped nonetheless. So now please do go back to your own business and stop minding ours."
John gulped at the staring contest that ensued.
"Fine," Mycroft finally said with a smirk. "But you should take better care of him next time, Sherlock... Who knows what will happen if he is found anywhere in town with a tiger?"
Sherlock glared, and John frowned.
"He really does put you in terrible situations, doesn't he?" Mycroft went on, addressing John this time. "Well, please keep taking good care of him. I'm afraid you're quite irreplaceable. Who else would deal with him like you do?"
And with those parting words, off he went, under the daggers of Sherlock's eyes. John blinked, surprised that they had got out of it so easily - and that Mycroft had basically sounded like he was entrusting him with Sherlock... like a father entrusted his daughter to her future husband. He coughed a little to dispel his unease, and went to drink his tea in his armchair morosely.
«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
Sherlock was bored and had started experimenting in the kitchen while John desperately tried to distract himself by watching crap telly. Suddenly their semblance of serenity was disturbed by the entrance of Greg Lestrade, who did not seem very pleased.
"You could have told me!" he exclaimed in place of greetings. "Seriously, I've been contacting you about this case for days, and all of a sudden you go and use my identity without my consent, expose the true culprit and make us look like idiots again! Why didn't you text me back?"
There was something genuinely hurt in his tone, beyond the frustration, and John felt bad for him. Sherlock, however, did not appear very sheepish.
"You mean I made up for your stupidity, again."
"Sherlock!"
"Look," the consulting detective said, finally deigning to spare a look to the D.I. through his goggles, "I've been busy. I did not avoid contacting you, I just didn't have time. Also, if it helps you feel better, I had an element you did not have - you lacked data."
"What do you mean?"
"John's girlfriend found the blue gem in a goose she cooked for Christmas," he deadpanned.
Lestrade stared.
"What?"
"She's not my girlfriend anymore," John mumbled grumpily from his seat - but no one paid any attention to him.
"Maggie Oakshott. The culprit's sister."
"Oh boy, how is she?" Lestrade inquired, feeling rather sorry for the woman, and wondering if that was the reason John seemed so sullen. He was bound to be, if his flatmate had just exposed the brother of the woman he dated...
Since John wasn't answering, Sherlock replied in his stance:
"She'll be fine."
"Well, sorry it had to be your girlfriend's brother, mate..." Lestrade said, addressing John again.
"Not my girlfriend."
"Uh?"
"She's not my girlfriend!" John snapped. Lestrade's eyes widened. "She dumped me this morning," John added tiredly.
"Ah, sorry to hear that," Greg said awkwardly, glancing at Sherlock, who had resumed his experiment and was no longer following. "Um, well, I'll be going then... But please Sherlock, next time answer my text before I get some poor innocent bloke arrested."
"Mmh," Sherlock simply replied, and the D.I. was glad to get away from the general unease hanging in the room as he left the flat. John kept his eyes on the screen, not seeing it, and Sherlock kept pretending to experiment, when he was in fact thinking of something else entirely.
«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
The day went by, and by the end of it John had one hell of a headache. And he still hadn't figured anything out.
He knew he had to apologize to Sherlock, and to make things clear between them. He should also send Maggie an email of apology. But truth be told, she wasn't his main concern for the time being.
John had been horrible to both Sherlock and Maggie, and he knew it. He was ashamed of his behaviour, and he could not quite explain it - for he had never been a coward, and never wished to be, thank you very much. But he could find no other word to describe his attitude for the past few days: cowardice. He'd been scared to admit his feelings for Sherlock to himself. Scared that if he broke up with Maggie, he'd have to face the situation with Sherlock. With hindsight, he was horrified to realize that he'd probably started dating Maggie precisely to get his mind off Sherlock - and to shag her, naturally, because she was attractive and funny. And female.
Guilt rose in his chest as he tried to concentrate on the stupid show playing on the screen before him. Yet, what else could he have done? He stood no chance whatsoever with Sherlock. Not as a romantic partner. So was this the best he could hope for? Would he for the rest of his life be reduced to cuddling with Sherlock and dating women he did not love to get a good shag once in a while?
It was pathetic. He was pathetic.
Should he move out then, and try to get into a serious relationship with someone, and build a family perhaps? He was getting older, and he wasn't even sure he'd ever get a chance to be a father, but it was worth a try.
Except it wasn't. In fact, he really did not want to leave Baker Street. He was happy there, happier than anywhere else. He didn't feel like moving out and leave Sherlock - at all. And their regular transformations were just another incentive. Now he almost had an excuse to stay with Sherlock forever.
An excuse? And why would I need an excuse? he thought. Wouldn't it be horrible for Sherlock if John told himself he had no choice but to stay with him? Just like when he'd accused him of being the cause of his latest break-up... That was definitely something he should apologize for. Sherlock had done nothing this time - John had been ditched thanks to his own lowly attitude. John cleared his throat and turned to his friend off-handedly, thinking of a way to phrase this.
"Uhm, Sherlock?"
"Mmh?"
John observed him for a moment, and realized he'd been experimenting all day. Sherlock never experimented all day. He got bored.
"What are you experimenting on?" he wondered.
"Human blood," Sherlock lied.
Well, he had experimented on that a few hours ago. Since then, though, he'd been only pretending, and had tried to distract himself with the silliest things. He did not dare complain about being bored today, when John was obviously so upset about his break-up. Speaking of which, Sherlock checked the time on his cell phone discreetly. He'd texted Maggie Oakshott one hour ago, inviting her for dinner. She had told him to leave her alone, and that she'd had enough - but then Sherlock had told her just how depressed John was, and that he, Sherlock, wished to explain everything. He said that John was truly in love with her, and wished to make up, but did not know how. Said this was all a huge misunderstanding. In short, he told her everything a woman in such a situation wants to hear, and had coaxed her into coming. She should be arriving any minute.
"Should we order Chinese for tonight?" he asked.
John stared.
"You want to eat?" he asked, bewildered.
Sherlock arched an eyebrow.
"John, surely you must be aware that even I must eat."
"But you never... Oh, never mind. I'm not really hungry. Just order whatever you want."
Sherlock shrugged, called and ordered. John was too engrossed in trying to find a way of phrasing his apology that he did not notice Sherlock was ordering more than usual - especially considering John had just told him that he was not hungry. He shut off the telly and stood up, stretching before he walked into the kitchen.
Busying himself with making some tea, which was ridiculous for such an hour of the day, he began:
"Sherlock, about this morning..."
"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it," Sherlock cut in, believing John was talking about the kiss. He understood Maggie came first, and John must regret his gesture, even if it was just a test.
"But I do want to talk about it," John said firmly. "I owe you an apology."
This time, Sherlock realized that perhaps he was the one who really did not want to talk about this. He got the message all right already, and did not need to hear John tell him that this had all been a mistake and they should stop being so intimate with each other. Sherlock did not want to hear any apology. I'm sorry, but even if my attitude has been ambiguous, I'm in love with Maggie. I realize it now, and I've been so stupid. I'm so sorry for giving you the wrong impression, and for forcing this onto you - I know you're not interested, never were... I'm sorry, Sherlock, really sorry.
"I'm sorry I said it was your fault I got ditched. It was all my fault, not yours, not Maggie's. I've been horrible to the both of you."
As John was speaking, Sherlock's eyes widened. First of all, because he hadn't expected that kind of apology. Secondly, because he heard the top steps creak, and knew Maggie was standing just behind the door. He smirked. Perfect timing.
Now, on with his role.
"I think you should be telling this to someone else," he said, his tone most serious even though he was giggling like crazy inside because God this sounded like those dreadful romances on the telly. Then he remembered this would probably lead to John moving out in the end, and he no longer felt like laughing.
"What?" John said, completely lost.
But Maggie, who had heard Sherlock's comment as well, now entered the room, and stood awkwardly behind John. He turned, and froze on the spot.
"Maggie..." he murmured, flabbergasted. "What..."
"Your friend texted me," she said. She exchanged a look with Sherlock, before turning back to John. "He said this was all a misunderstanding, and I was stupid enough to believe him..."
There was no harshness in her tone, and overall her voice was rather unsure. She looked tired, angry, hopeful and uncertain.
"Please have a seat," Sherlock told her, since John appeared to be frozen on the spot. "I just ordered Chinese, I hope that'll suit your taste..."
"It is very kind of you," she replied a little stiffly. "I would rather stand."
Sherlock blinked, a little thrown off-balance, but then shrugged it off.
"Fine. I said this is a misunderstanding, because it is. I'll explain everything."
"Sherlock..." John began worriedly, a warning in his voice. Sherlock got the message and ignored his flatmate.
"John and I are neither in a romantic nor in a sexual relationship."
Maggie's gaze sharpened, but she did not say a word.
"Many people assume we are, because he is ridiculously loyal and devoted to me. This just shows what a good man he is: he's my flatmate, friend and doctor, and I am aware sometimes he must feel more like a baby-sitter than anything else."
John just watched, rendered speechless by the whole situation. Was Sherlock trying to make excuses up for him? So he could get back with Maggie? This was all at once incredibly sweet and incredibly unwanted.
Maggie on the other hand seemed to wonder where this was leading.
"When he came back from Afghanistan, he was alone and bored. He wanted to stay in London but didn't have the money to rent a flat all by himself. A common friend introduced us, and we started sharing this flat."
John wouldn't have presented things this way - it all sounded so simple, so common... But perhaps this was what Sherlock was aiming for.
"As an ex-soldier, John enjoyed helping me with cases - still does, I believe. You must understand he got used to the thrill at war, and he missed the whole sense of adventure, and even, perhaps, the danger."
The doctor was getting more and more surprised - adventure? Sherlock had even managed to say it without any contempt. What in the world was he doing?
"But for that same reason, every time I requested his presence by text, he rushed by my side, because he knew it could have been dangerous, could have been important... Here I must admit I used this to my advantage. A lot."
Maggie frowned slightly, but still made no comment.
"You see," Sherlock went on, "the Work is everything to me. It is all that matters. I'm afraid I exploited John's kindness in the matter, and since we were always seen together, and John was always so protective, naturally people assumed we were together. I can assure you, we are not."
At this point, his gaze turned cold, and an expression of disgust flashed across his face.
"I understand why you must have assumed as much, but it's absurd. John is straight, and I really have no interest at all for any kind of relationships. You found John in my bed this morning because lately I have been having terrible nightmares due to some horrific case I solved, and that reminded me of something I had to go through during my childhood..."
He looked away, a look of pain on his face. John was getting more perplexed by the second - lost, but admiring his friend's talent in acting.
"I was naked because I sleep naked. I regularly walk around the flat only covered with a sheet or a dressing gown, because I know John couldn't care less, as he would never be attracted to a man, and I just do as I wish because I am here at home. You must see nothing more to this than my personal shameless habits, because really, there is nothing to be ashamed of between two men, one of whom is straight and in love with a woman, and the other asexual and obsessed with his job."
Maggie blinked, a bit overwhelmed by this flow of words and information. She had never looked at things that way. On the other hand, John was getting more and more annoyed with Sherlock for making up this brilliant but ridiculous speech in his defence. He wasn't in love with Maggie. Never would be. This was only making the situation worse.
"Sherlock..."
"No, let me finish. Since you're not even capable of explaining things to her properly, just let me do it. You can be so clumsy sometimes."
"But - "
"How can you explain the kiss, then, Mr. Holmes?" Maggie cut in sharply, trying not to get her hopes up too fast.
"The kiss?"
"Surely you must have realized John was about to kiss you this morning when I entered the room."
"Of course."
She stared.
"What else can you expect?" Sherlock went on, not flustered at all. "People keep insinuating, and sometimes even telling him up front that he must be gay, because he lives with one of the most insufferable men in the world. Then even you, his girlfriend, start implying the same thing! Obviously he would start doubting himself. What if he truly was gay without knowing it? Wasn't he being awful to you then? True, he does care about me, and probably will his whole life. But that is only because of his deep sense of comradeship. Still, when everyone accuses you of the same thing, you are bound to doubt yourself - especially when you have strong moral principles, like John does. So yes, he tried to kiss me. Obviously it was a failure, and he regretted it ever since." He paused, saving his best effect for the end: "And he will regret it all his life if you do not believe him when he says there is nothing, absolutely nothing, between us."
Maggie's eyes filled with tears, and she averted her gaze out of a sense of propriety.
"Today was just so wrong," she broke out. "I found John in bed with you in the morning, then learnt my brother and his girlfriend had been arrested - I asked to see him, but they wouldn't let me. I planned on going to my sister's tonight because this is all too much, but then I got your text, and..."
"Maggie, I..." John began, at a loss. Apparently, she did not know the role they'd played in her brother's arrest...
"Here," Sherlock said, handing her a tissue. "I understand how hard it must be. We had no idea your brother had been arrested today."
John sent Sherlock a disapproving look the detective ignored, patting Maggie's shoulder instead.
She dried her tears and stepped back, as if repelled by his touch. Sherlock blinked, and stepped back as well.
"So you're saying that the only reason everyone assumes John is gay is you?" she said, and her tone was strangely provocative. "Will you continue to be a hindrance to him all his life?"
"Maggie!" John exclaimed in outrage.
"I'm sorry. It's not your fault if you're like this," she went on. "As you said, John is your only friend, and I understand you'd be rather possessive and inconsiderate, but..."
She smiled up at Sherlock tentatively, her eyes still red from the tears.
"But surely you want the best for him too, right?"
"Of course," Sherlock replied curtly, a distinct sinking feeling in his chest.
"I know your relationship is special, but you are an adult, and you must understand a grown-up man cannot ask of his flatmate that he sleep with him because he has nightmares, right?"
Sherlock blinked, and it took him a second to remember what she was talking about. He was quite unsettled by her patronizing tone, as if she were talking to a child.
"Yes, of course..." he said, so as not to upset her.
"Your work is the most important, right? You are happy with it, aren't you?"
"I am," Sherlock continued in the same tone, not noticing John's growing irritation.
"Then you must let John find his own happiness as well," she declared, her voice more than ever motherly.
"Naturally, this is why I told you to come. He's been miserable all day," Sherlock told her, beginning to feel quite miserable himself.
Maggie turned to John and locked eyes with him.
"Don't you have anything to tell me, John?" she asked, and this time her tone was as pleading as annoyed. To be fair, John hadn't said a word to her since she got there, and had only tried pitifully to interrupt each of them, in vain.
"Yes," John said. "Maggie, I am sorry."
"See?" Sherlock chimed in, intent on hammering the message home, and relieved to see this conversation come to an end. "He's sorry!" And here we are again with the crap telly romances...
"I'm in love with Sherlock."
Time seemed to stop as both Maggie and Sherlock stared in shock. Both had been so engrossed in their little discussion that they hadn't taken the time to look at John one little second; in other words, neither of them had seen this coming.
"What?" Maggie asked, not sure she'd heard this right.
John took a deep breath, and forced himself to look her in the eye.
"I am in love with Sherlock," he repeated.
Of course, he got slapped in the face for it. Hard. He did not even bat an eyelid, however. He was finally at peace with himself.
"How... how dare you?" Maggie stuttered, trembling with fury and shame at having been duped - again. "And you!" she growled, turning to Sherlock threateningly. "Did you have fun? How can you be so cruel?"
"You're wrong, I..."
"Or perhaps you planned this together?"
"Maggie, don't be ridiculous..." John said.
"Ridiculous?! I am being ridiculous? Oh, I am, aren't I? I can't believe I came here again just to have this..." she could find no word, and spat venomously: "...rubbed in my face again!"
Then to John, her voice breaking:
"You're such a jerk..."
"I know. And I am truly sorry."
But Maggie wasn't done. Hell has no fury as a woman spurned, they say - so what about a woman spurned twice, fooled and mocked?
"And you..." she said, turning to Sherlock again, her gaze filled with rage and the deepest disgust. "You're pathetic. You claim to be so clever - a genius, they say! - and you don't even realize your own flatmate is infatuated with you. You're an idiot, and worse than that, perhaps you're completely self-deluded. You think you are so smart, so strong, that you need nobody, but in fact you are completely dependent on people! You need people to distract you, people to make you eat, to obey your every order, even to save your bloody life... You're completely worthless."
"Maggie, enough!" John yelled.
"You're so lucky to have met such a kind man as John, and that he got besotted with you. Enjoy it while it lasts - such an obnoxious, twisted, disgusting freak as you is bound to live and die alone."
Sherlock just stood there, his face blank. Speechless. He'd met many people who hated him: he was used to antipathy, resentment, spite... But never had he been confronted with such savage loathing.
"Get out."
He blinked, and turned his gaze to John, who had just spoken in the coldest manner Sherlock had ever heard.
"You're the one being obnoxious now. So get out, and go to your sister."
John did not add the "She'll probably tell you she has a crush on a handsome D.I. named Gregory Lestrade" he intended at first, only because he wanted her out. Now.
Maggie sent him a pitiful, shattered glare. John closed his eyes in shame.
"But I'm the one who pushed you over the edge. I meant what I said just before you came in: I was horrible to both you and Sherlock. He only tried to make things better."
"Well, aren't you happy, now? Perhaps you'll finally get a chance to shag him, between two cases when he's bored," she spat.
She saw the rage glower in John's eyes, and thought she'd better make her retreat now. Before slamming the door behind her however, she concluded snidely:
"I wish you much pleasure fucking that bag of bones."
Her words rang out louder in Sherlock's ears than the door being slammed. Maggie was lucky John refused to hit women, and prioritized taking care of Sherlock over running after her to give her a good beating.
The steps creaked furiously and the second door was slammed as well. John heard her shout something at someone, and when the staircase creaked again, he understood and walked to the door to pay the delivery man.
All the while, Sherlock just stood there, dumbfounded. His brain was still processing everything that had just been said.
John went to the kitchen and put the food on the table, knowing neither of them would eat anything tonight. Gingerly, he put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, snapping him back to reality.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Me? Of course. Why shouldn't I be?"
"I'm sorry about what she said."
Sherlock shrugged, trying to hide the shiver that ran down his spine in the process. John breathed in deeply.
"She was angry. You must not believe a word of what she said."
"I can live with being a bag of bones, John," Sherlock retorted with annoyance. "I've heard much worse."
That wasn't quite true, however - he had never heard such a virulent speech full of hatred directed towards him and hitting home. Sherlock didn't understand why Maggie's words had crushed the joy he had felt upon hearing John's confession. John loved him, had just admitted it out loud, and had dismissed the girlfriend. This meant indefinite cuddling with him in manul form, or when Sherlock himself transformed into a tiger. So why did he feel so cold?
"Sherlock..." John murmured, giving a little pressure to his shoulder.
"Such an obnoxious, twisted, disgusting freak as you is bound to live and die alone."
"Mmh?" Sherlock replied absent-mindedly.
"I wish you much pleasure fucking that bag of bones."
"She said horrible things, and they were all lies. Please delete them."
Sherlock wished he could.
John saw how lost his flatmate was, and was overwhelmed with guilt. Sherlock did not deserve to hear such words hurled to his face just because of him - because he'd been stupid and had angered a woman... But seeing Sherlock's little theatrics, John had been so touched, and so sure this was proof that Sherlock truly cared about him... But hadn't Sherlock said only the Work mattered? These past weeks however, John had seen him genuinely happy playing with him in manul form. Holding him. Touching his scar.
"So. Your room or mine?" Sherlock inquired.
It made John freeze in horror, because this was nothing like the oblivious, endearing offer the detective had uttered when John had been in manul form. Sherlock saw his turmoil and added:
"You said you love me, right? Then now we're a real couple and it isn't a problem if we sleep together, is it?"
Behind the practical, matter-of-fact tone, John wondered if he did not hear some insecurity. Then he remembered Maggie's awful words, and slapped himself mentally. God, Sherlock must be so confused right now...
Then John had to be calm, assured. Reassuring.
"Aren't you bothered by this?" he asked, as collectedly as he could manage.
Sherlock arched an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Bothered by what?"
"Me, in love with you."
"Why should it bother me?"
"...Right. Fine, perfect, then. But we don't have to sleep in the same bed. I mean, I know you barely sleep anyway."
Sherlock tilted his head to the side in puzzlement.
"But don't couples sleep together?"
"If you mean together as in the same bed, I'm not sure about asexual couples," John answered truthfully.
Sherlock blinked.
"But you're not asexual, John."
John shrugged and tried to show how unimportant this was. He'd made his choice anyway.
"No, but you are, and I'm old anyway."
"What does that have to do with anything?" Sherlock asked with a frown, overly confused.
"It means you don't want the sex, and I don't need it."
"But you want it."
Damn him and his bloody attentiveness to words... John thought.
"I don't want it," he assured. "I don't want it, you don't want it, so it's all fine. "
"I - "
"Nothing should change. And we don't have to sleep together."
Sherlock wavered a bit before asking:
"What about cuddling?"
Not getting where he was heading, John answered with an indulging smile:
"Don't worry, we don't have to do it when it isn't necessary, either." He decided to omit that he hoped they would transform a lot...
"I see... John?"
"Mmh?"
"Do you love me only in tiger form?"
The question was so candid, so ingenuous and so absurd John gaped for a second before coming back to his senses.
"What the... that's preposterous!"
"It's fine. I know there is nothing fluffy to me when I'm in this body, so - "
"No, Sherlock, listen!"
Forgetting all about decency and self-consciousness and what should be done and what should not be done, John grabbed his friend's head very much like Sherlock had grabbed his during the Black Lotus case, when he had been trying to make him remember the ciphers he had seen on a wall. John did not spin Sherlock around, however, and just forced him gently to look down at him.
"Your body doesn't matter. I love you in any form."
Sherlock stared, surprised by both the gesture and the words.
"But you don't like me touching you when we're both human. I thought..."
"Didn't I hug you yesterday morning?"
"Yes, but... wasn't that just a test? One that failed, too. You didn't like it."
"No, I - "
"Don't lie, John," Sherlock cut in, fairly annoyed. "I could tell you felt awkward, and you suddenly jumped back when I reminded you that you were naked..."
"I was just embarrassed!" John protested. "Look, I..."
Frustrated with his lack of eloquence, John decided to act instead, and wrapped his arms around his friend tightly, pressing him close.
"I'm just afraid to do something you wouldn't like."
Sherlock frowned, feeling very tired all of a sudden.
"Fine. You don't have to force yourself. I'm going to bed."
John was so shocked to hear Sherlock say "I'm going to bed" that he let him escape the embrace and push him back gently.
Sherlock closed the door behind him and looked at his empty bed in the semi-darkness of the room. Everything was fine. Today had been a good day after all. John would stay in Baker Street, indefinitely.
Sherlock undressed and put on his blue gown as he heard John go up to his own room. He did not understand why he felt so miserable, but the bright side of it was that he would probably wake up as a tiger, and get John's attention again. He lay down on his bed and looked at the ceiling.
Z. Zoology. He did not like what the word conjured up in his mind (namely, one soft and furry Eastern cat...), and so skipped it. Y. Yearning. Yearning? Where did that come from? He had no data stored in mind palace about such a useless notion. Ignoring the various memories of the past few weeks that flashed across his field of vision, he went on. G. Gaze. Naturally, he saw mainly a dark blue one, and rolled his eyes. What could he possibly have filed about "gaze"? This was stupid. He should just pick a domain and stick to it.Poisons, he thought, not stopping to wonder why this was the first thing that came to his mind.A. Atropine. Tropane alkaloid. Anticholinergic drug (parasympatholytic) extracted from Atropa belladona, Datura stramonium, and Mandragora officinarum . (RS)-(8-methyl-8-azabicyclo[3.2.1]oct-3-yl) 3-hydroxy-2-phenylpropanoate. E. Ethylene glycol. Organic compound. Automotive antifreeze. Odorless, colorless, sweet-tasting. Ingestion can result in death. Ethane-1,2-dio. L. Lilium longiflorum. Also known as Easter Lily. Plantae, Angiosperms, Monocots, Liliales, Liliaceae. Toxic to cats: causes acute renal failure. Causes death when ingested in larger amount.
Sherlock's breath caught in his throat and he suddenly looked away from the ceiling, trying to dispel the unease and the cold that was spreading to his body. Just then, the door to his room was pushed open, and a man wearing pyjamas came in quietly. Sherlock blinked, wondering whether he was dreaming.
"Are you asleep?" John asked.
"No," Sherlock replied in a daze.
John closed the door and came to sit on the bed.
"Can we cuddle tonight?" he inquired.
Sherlock stared, confounded.
"Yes," he said, noting he was completely unable to utter more than one syllable.
Because it was dark, he missed John's smile. The doctor slid under the blanket and the sheet, inviting Sherlock to do the same. Sherlock, of course, complied happily, not believing his luck.
Hesitantly at first, John snuggled up closer, not quite daring to wrap his arms around Sherlock. The taller man, however, did dare. Since he wasn't sure whether his gesture would be welcome or not, his hug was more than just a little clumsy. But when he felt John sigh in contentment and rest his head against his chest, a wave of sheer warmth washed over him and he relaxed, shifting so as they would both be comfortable for the night.
"Goodnight, Sherlock," John murmured, and Sherlock could feel his friend's heart hammer in his chest, against his own. He smiled unwittingly, and spontaneously stroked John's hair to slow down his heart beats.
"Goodnight," he whispered, and all thoughts of poisons and yearning vanished from his mind.
«(o.o)» . «(o.o)»
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tbc
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