The Vibe - Chapter Five
The Vibe: CHAPTER FIVE
As it turned out, the repetitive thunk John could hear from the bathroom actually was coming from their flat.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” John asked, clutching at the towel around his waist.
Sherlock turned from the wall to give what he probably thought was a surreptitious glance up and down John’s not-quite-dry body, but John could feel every movement of that gaze. Sherlock turned back to the wall and threw the next knife at it. There appeared to be six of them imbedded in Mrs Hudson’s wallpaper.
“Getting rid of some frustration. It helps me think.”
“Because heaven forbid you go for a run or meditate like a normal person.”
Sherlock’s jaw clenched. “It’s writers block! Ever since you gave your blasted advice--“
“Advice?” John asked, lifting blankets and papers from the ground while still keeping hold of his towel. “About how you might need some actual emotion in there?”
“I’ve tried!” Sherlock said, pulling the knives from the wall before lining up and trying to hit the same spots again. “It doesn’t work! I’ve sat here for the past three weeks and nothing is coming.”
“Maybe you need a break from it?”
“I need to write, John. I need to write every day and I’m stuck. My brain refuses to start anything until this anthology is finished.”
“Can you at least stop ruining the wall? It’s going to come out of our rent, you know.”
He wasn’t surprised that Sherlock ignored that comment. “What are you looking for anyway?”
John looked up from his scavenging. “I had a basket of clean laundry here. Have you seen it?”
Judging by the blink-and-you’d-miss-it look of guilt that hit Sherlock’s face, it was obvious he had.
“The contents of that basket may have found the need to be rewashed.”
John stood straight, shoulders back and chest out like he would when about to reprimand one of his troops.
“And why would that be?”
“It may have gotten in the way of a full cup of tea.”
John could read between the lines. “You threw a cup of tea at my clean clothes? That pile contained my entire stash of clean underpants!”
“I’ve put them back through the machine.”
“That doesn’t help me now!” John rubbed at his temples with his free hand and took a deep breath. “I’m running late to open the store, so I’m not going to argue with you, but you have to find a better outlet for your frustration that doesn’t injure other people’s belongings.”
“You sound like Mycroft.”
“Your brother is a smart man.”
Sherlock sneered. “Then why don’t you go marry him?”
“I should,” he said more to antagonise his flatmate than actually meaning it.
Sherlock’s head turn was so quick John was surprised he didn’t have whiplash. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“You’d better hope he doesn’t ask, then. At least he wouldn’t ruin my clothes.”
John’s heavy footsteps up the stairs blocked out any grumbling coming from the lounge. He hurriedly threw on jeans and a jumper and rushed back down. At this rate he’d have to run to the store to get it open in time for the first of the staff to arrive.
“You’ll be in before lunch, yeah?” he asked, grabbing his keys. “We’ve got to go through this month’s P&L today.”
“I’ll be there,” Sherlock grumbled, sitting on the couch in a sulk with his arms folded. At least he’d stopped throwing sharp objects. “You found some pants then?”
“Nope,” John said as he unlocked the door and skipped down the stairs to the street. He thought he heard a groan coming from the flat, but it was probably just the door hinges.
***
John looked up from the spreadsheet so see a large coffee cup from his favourite café in front of his nose.
“Apology accepted,” he said, taking it.
Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t apologised for anything.”
“You’re forgiven anyway.” It was the closest thing John was going to get for the tea-meets-pants incident, after all.
“What are you up to?” Sherlock asked, crossing to his side of the desk to view the spreadsheet John was working on.
“Just checking all the invoices have been entered.” Sherlock was standing so close John could smell his aftershave. It was his favourite scent on him, and for moment John wondered if Sherlock knew that before concluding that of course he would. This was Sherlock and he was trying to get back into John’s good graces.
“So boring,” Sherlock pouted. “Surely there’s something more interesting to do.”
“Until the books are balanced there is no such thing.”
They worked steadily through lunch, sitting side-by-side to cross check each other’s work, shoulders bumping occasionally, feet tapping each other when they stretched. For all that Sherlock seemed to be oblivious to emotion, he sure was good at sending John mixed signals. One minute he would be flirting, the next apologising for it, and the one after that invading his personal space.
When they had finally finished, John stretched and put his pen down.
“God, where did the day go?”
“Time flies when you’re doing the world’s most boring work.”
“Perils of running a small business.” John smiled. “Well, I best be off. You’re on close tonight, right?”
“You’re not staying?”
It was probably a fair question, it wasn’t like John wasn’t known to stay behind way later than he needed to.
“Nope. Got a date.”
“With Sarah?”
“Of course. There’s no one else I’m seeing right now.”
“Right.” Sherlock cleared his throat and stood from the desk, creating some distance between them. “I guess I won’t expect you home tonight, then.”
“It’s only a second date.”
“And that’s stopped you before?”
Sherlock said that with such disdain that John had to take a breath to calm himself. Sherlock sure knew how to make his blood boil. And he of all people commenting on his sex life? Like he never slept around?
“This might be news to you, but you are not actually my boyfriend.”
“I don’t have boyfriends.”
“Then stop acting like a jealous one!” John gathered up his jacket. “I like Sarah, I enjoy her company. We are going out tonight, and I do not need to check in with you as to whether or not I’m coming home.”
He left the office before he could get another cutting response, taking the long route home and letting the cool breeze wash over him. Just because Sherlock was happy with casual sex and not having anyone to go home to didn’t mean he had the right to judge John because he did.
Sure, he did have Sherlock to come home to now, much better than his sparse and dank empty apartment, but that wasn’t coming home to a loved one, no matter how much affection he felt for the tosser. It wasn’t coming home to a kiss or a cuddle, maybe a quick shag before dinner. It wasn’t someone to curl up on the couch with and debrief about his day. The sex was probably on offer if John ever wanted to take Sherlock up on it, but that was all it would ever be, and John wanted more.
And now he’d met Sarah. Smart, pretty, comfortable Sarah. John thought maybe, just maybe, they could have a future together. He could have that someone to come home to.
Still, later that night when Sarah invited him up for a nightcap, he declined, citing an early morning of work and kissing her on the cheek before he left.
He crept up the stairs to 221B a little after 11:00PM, ignoring Sherlock’s gaze as he walked up to his room, still feeling the aftertaste of resentment for his earlier behavior. He decided a quick shower was in order to wash away the irritation of the day and stood under the warm, soothing spray until it started to run cold. When he got back to his room, feeling refreshed and relaxed, he found a hot cup of tea and the latest issue of his favourite medical magazine on his bedside table.
John was smiling as he fell asleep.
***
“Sherlock, come here.” John beckoned him over with his hand.
“What is it?”
“I want to show you something.” He lowered his voice. “Look at that couple in the aisle over to your right.”
Sherlock observed for a moment, considering. “Lesbians. Together maybe two years? Recently moved in together. Looking to spice things up although the shorter one is skeptical.”
John stared at him, a look of awe on his face. “As amazing as that is, watch them.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Look for the cues. The taller of the two, notice how she’s always touching her girlfriend? Even when she is getting something from the shelf, she keeps her other hand on the small of her back.”
“So?”
“This is how your characters can show more emotion, more feeling. Look at the admiration on the other woman’s face. Eyes are wide and bright, she leans into the touch. And you’re quite right, she does seem skeptical, but she’s giving it a go because she wants to make her girlfriend happy.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he took in more data. It’s not like he hadn’t seen behaviour like theirs before, he’d just never translated it in a way that could possibly improve his book.
“Huh.”
“This is what your story needs. Observations like that. Show the reader that your characters actually like each other more than just physically.”
He was trying to catalogue their behaviours and the subtle physical reactions when a thought suddenly occurred.
“Wait a moment.” He glanced around the store. “Where’s Anderson?”
John’s eyes followed Sherlock’s. “He should be straightening up the costume section after that Hen’s group tornado’d through it this morning.”
“He should be, but he rarely does as he’s told when there’s attractive lesbians in the store.”
Without another word, they both went for the stairs leading to the costume department at the same time. They found Anderson transfixed, looking at them over the bannister.
“What are you doing?” John whispered in his soldier voice which had way more power than Sherlock thought John was aware of. A shiver ran down his spine.
Anderson’s facial expression could only be labelled dreamy. “Aren’t they lovely?”
“They are customers!”
“They are lesbians who are about to buy a strap on.” Anderson sighed. “Which do you think will be wearing it?”
Sherlock was about to answer with the taller one, obviously but was interrupted before he could begin.
“Enough of this. Get to the storeroom and start unpacking the pallet that came in this morning.” John’s order was met with a hunching of shoulders as Anderson descended down the stairs.
“There’s cameras out there!” Sherlock reminded him, and watched Anderson divert his path towards the men’s room instead.
***
“Lunch!” Sally called out. It was always like herd of elephants descending on their food. Sherlock approached the counter like a normal person in control of their appetite, but the view ahead stopped him in his tracks.
Molly looked up at him and smiled, and Sherlock almost did a double take to make sure it was her. Her usual calf-length skirt and high-necked twin set had been replaced by a v-neck wrap dress that barely skimmed her knees. Her hair, usually pulled back in a braid, was loose, and she was wearing lipstick.
“So what’s his name?” Sally asked, eyes sparkling like she was about to hear a piece of delicious gossip.
Molly’s blush went all the way down her neck. “Uh, Peter. He’s a forensic pathologist at St Bart’s.”
Sherlock’s eyes widened at that. Of all the people dear, sweet, vanilla, innocent Molly could go on a date with. And yes, it was obvious she had a date this afternoon.
“What does that mean?” Sally asked.
“I’m not sure exactly-“
Sherlock cursed how uneducated his team appeared to be. “It means he cuts up dead bodies.”
“Sherlock!” John scolded, giving him a look. Right, that was the kind of information he probably should not be imparting when Molly had finally found the courage to see someone in a romantic sense.
“You mean he does autopsies?” Molly asked, her mouth pulling into a smile, eyes lighting up. “Wow. That would be fascinating!”
Sherlock exchanged a surprised look with John.
“Thanks for letting me know, I’ll have so many questions to ask him on our date, now!”
Conversation shifted to ex-boyfriends and girlfriends with unusual jobs until everyone had finished eating and it was time to get back to work. Molly stayed with them the entire time, so Sherlock helped her pack up.
“So, you’ve had your session with Irene, then?” It wasn’t a question. The hair, the clothes, the air of confidence that surrounded her, all evidence.
The blush, once again, carried down to her chest. “It was enlightening.”
“I’m sure it was.” Sherlock placed the unopened drinks back into the basket. “I am glad to hear you have a date.”
She looked surprised. “You are?”
Sherlock shrugged. “It is apparent that humans find happiness in sharing their life with another. I wish you to be happy.”
She smiled “Thank you.”
“So who is this Peter? Aside from his work?”
He noted the shy smile as she began speaking. Is that how one looked when speaking of a potential flame? He would have to note it down for his book.
“He comes into the café most days, and we’ve chatted every now and then. I thought he might have liked me, but then again, I’ve always been so shy around men.”
Interesting. “Why did you think he liked you?”
“The little things, you know,” she started. “Like if we were busy, he’d linger until it wasn’t so we could chat. His fingers would often brush mine when he handed over his money. One day he brought me in a magazine because I’d told him I was wanting to grow my own organic vegetables. You know? Things like that.”
“I see.”
“A bit like you and John, really,” she said, packing the last of her items into the basket, completely missing the look of confusion that crossed his face. He and John? “You know, how you’re always touching each other, and when you come to the café you always get him the caramel slice, and if he comes to the café he always gets you one of those biscuits you’re so fond of?”
Touching each other? Buying each other things the other would like? They did indulge each other occasionally, true, but was this typical of a relationship?
“We’re not together. I don’t have relationships, remember?”
“Oh,” she said. “I overheard your friend say something once, and then when he moved in with you I just assumed… oh, nevermind. My mistake.”
“Friend?” Sherlock didn’t have many friends, let alone many that would speak of he and John being together. Unless it was Mycroft trying to plant the seed in Molly’s head. Interfering toff bastard.
“The short one? Bit of an accent. Maybe Irish?”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, breath hitching momentarily. “Jim Moriarty?”
“Yes, him! He could have been speaking of another Sherlock, maybe?”
“My name is not exactly common.” Sherlock was distracted. Who was Jim speaking with, and why was he assuming John was his partner? Was it only from John’s comments when escorting him home after Sexpo?
“It isn’t, is it? Oh well, I must be off. My date is coming up in the next hour.”
He watched her walk towards the door and called out to her.
“Molly!”
She turned around.
“I’m glad to see that The Woman has, for once, had such a positive influence. You look very pretty.”
“Thank you. I haven’t had much confidence in that department these past few years. It’s kind of nice to look forward to something no matter what the outcome will be, you know?”
Sherlock thought of John and everything Molly had just said about the behaviour of two people who had romantic feelings for each other. “I might do.”
***
Sherlock spent the rest of the day watching John for these signs Molly spoke of. It appeared that she was speaking the truth. If John was to walk past him, he would grab Sherlock by the hips as he walked by, ostensibly to keep him out of his way, but perhaps not? And Sherlock also found himself drawn to him in a way he was not previously conscious of. They often knocked shoulders or elbows or clapped a hand on each other’s shoulders if they were sharing a joke.
And John did make him tea, quite often, actually. And Sherlock always looked to see if there was a new issue of his favourite medical or sports magazines when he picked up the morning paper.
Could it be true? Could Sherlock be emitting signs of potential courtship towards his best friend? That he is attracted to John is hardly a surprise, he’d made those intentions clear almost from the start. But John had never taken him up on the offer, even when he was more subtle about it. He’d deduced that John would have to feel a similar level of attraction, but being the emotional creature he was, did not seem satisfied with what would essentially be a one night stand.
A few nights later, he was laying on the couch watching tele when John got home from date number three with Sarah. For as long as he’d known John, he had never known him to come home after a third date.
He put two cups of tea on the coffee table.
“Come on, head up,” John said so he could sit down on the couch too. Sherlock raised himself enough for him to drop down, then rested his head on John’s thighs. It was familiar. Comfortable.
“This is such a lie,” John said after a few minutes, gesturing to the TV.
“He’s telling the truth,” Sherlock responded.
“How can you tell?”
“It sounds far-fetched, but he keeps looking up, so he is recalling actual events that have happened.”
They turned their attention back to the television as the guest on Would I Lie To You pressed the button to reveal their story was actually true.
“You’re brilliant. Why do you even watch this show if you can tell who’s lying?”
“I enjoy David Mitchell’s humour.”
“Ah, of course you do.”
A few hours later, Sherlock was rudely woken by a sharp noise coming from the television. He lifted his head, slightly disoriented, to see that he was still on the couch, head still pillowed on John’s legs.
“Sorry,” John whispered, hitting the buttons on the remote to turn the volume down a few clicks. “Go back to sleep.”
As tempting as that was, his brain had already semi-engaged, analysing everything as he had since that conversation with Molly.
He felt comfortable. The fact that he could fall asleep with his head resting in John’s lap was evidence enough of this. It’s not something he would ever even contemplate doing with other people. In fact, he made sure never to fall asleep in the presence of anyone. So why was John different? Why did he feel this level of comfort, safety, and most bewilderingly, affection? It was becoming problematic, to the point where Sherlock hadn’t been on a night on the town since John had moved in, and that was most unlike him. Even his own brother used to call him promiscuous. But he hadn’t felt the need for the outlet of another body, flesh against his own. He wanted John. He’d wanted him almost from the moment he saw him. Even when he had attempted to train his brain to reject the possibility, his libido had not cooperated. So what did this all add up to? Could he be capable of a romantic dalliance? For John, who was not looking for anything else, particularly with him, could he do it?
Of course, the only way to test the hypothesis would be to experiment. And oh, how he wished to experiment on the man he was leaning against. It would be simple to just turn his head and press a kiss against his hipbones, rake his fingertips under John’s shirt to feel warm skin.
In his dream-like state he didn’t realise his thoughts were becoming actions until he heard John’s sharp intake of breath.
“Sherlock, what are you doing?”
Sherlock sat up slowly and looked into John’s eyes. There was hesitation there, a touch of wariness, but underlying that was curiosity, want, and it blazed a trail down his spine and settled warmly in his gut.
Sherlock didn’t want to speak, it had gotten him into trouble one too many times and he couldn’t risk spooking John, not when he finally seemed to be open to Sherlock’s actions. Instead, he moved to straddle John’s thighs. He could sense John watching his every move, could hear the cadence of his breath speed up, so it wasn’t a surprise to see John surge up at the same time as Sherlock lowered his head.
John’s lips felt soft against his own, but good. So good. Everything Sherlock had been expecting and yet more. He was used to the adrenaline rush when kissing someone new. Used to the excitement of testing and tasting and discovering, the feel of unmapped territory. But this was John. John, and the rush came with the addition of goosebumps and sparks flying out from wherever he touched him, wherever John touch Sherlock. It felt amazing, it felt inevitable, and Sherlock wondered if he would wander through life never experiencing anything like this moment ever again.
A moan escaped his throat when his tongue pushed against John’s and that seemed to be the thing to douse John with cold water. He shoved Sherlock away with a hand to the chest, and dammit, Sherlock knew his voice would be his undoing.
“What the hell?” John said, his eyes tight with what could only be anger. His breathing continued to come rapidly and a red flush was staining his cheeks, so it was obvious the kiss wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “Seriously, what the hell? You know I’m seeing someone!”
“Hardly. You’ve been on three dates and not one of them has even come close to the past thirty seconds we have experienced.”
“That’s not the point!” John said, dislodging Sherlock and getting up from the couch. “We’ve talked about this! You said you were not going to do this anymore.”
“But you want it! You want it as much as I do!” And Sherlock was confident of that. From all of his observations over the past week he was positive John wanted this.
“But I need more!” John countered, not denying. “You know this! I’m done with one-nights and instability. I want someone who wants me always, not just when it’s convenient to them! Can you honestly tell me that person is you?”
Sherlock’s silence probably spoke volumes.
“Don’t screw with my head like this, Sherlock. I don’t deserve it.”
Sherlock got up and started pacing. “I don’t know what I am anymore!”
“Well I do.” John’s tone was strong, confident. “You’re someone who is used to getting sex on the regular and you haven’t been out in a while so you’re looking for a distraction. Do me a favour, go out and sleep with some random so you stop targeting me.”
With that, he stormed towards the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom, leaving Sherlock to stew. He picked up John’s empty tea mug and threw it against the wall.
It didn’t clear his head.
***
The next few days were awkward. John had the day off work after the couch incident and succeeded in avoiding him all day. It rankled Sherlock more than he thought it would. He’d been known to piss someone off deliberately just to get a few days of silence. From John it was infuriating. Fortunately, he had deigned to get some words from him today, although it was still stilted and mostly revolved around product placement of his date’s vibrators. How could he continue to go out with her after that kiss they shared? That one kiss before John put him right back in his place.
Jaw clenched and with a sense of determination, Sherlock strode towards the pub. John was right, this infatuation was not a relationship. Sherlock didn’t do relationships and cursed himself for ever feeling confused over his feelings for John. It was the lack of sex and nothing more, and the sooner he got some the better off they would all be.
He was wearing his tightest pants and a fitted black t-shirt and he was going to go to the pub he always had the most success with in the past. He would find someone a few inches shorter, broader and blonder than himself, and he was going to get this ridiculous crush out of his system. Then he could move on with his life of bedding whoever took his fancy, John could marry Sarah, and they could remain the best of friends. Until John decided to open up a practice with Sarah and work in medicine again, which he was obviously planning on doing soon anyway, leaving John without a friend and without a flatmate.
He wasn’t too far from his destination when he felt his mobile vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out, ready to send it to his voice mail when he noticed the sender was the The Vibe’s security company.
“The front register alarm has been activated,” they said when he answered the call.
“What can you tell from CCTV?”
“Not much. There is a man standing behind the counter, but he seems calm and whoever he is talking to is sheltered by a pillar. Should we send someone to investigate?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, his evening would have to be delayed by a few minutes.
“No need, I’m only five minutes from the shop. If I haven’t called you back in fifteen minutes, send someone then.”
No doubt it would just be John and Sarah anyway, and really, he did not want to know what heterosexual courting activity they were up to.
Sherlock changed direction and headed for work.
***
Sarah arrived at the store at 6:30PM. John let her in via the staff entrance and took her hand, leading her to the front of the shop.
There, in the centre of the store’s main entrance, was the display of Sarah’s sex toys.
Her grin stretched to her eyes and she took a deep breath. “This is so exciting.”
“What do you think?” John grinned. Sarah’s mood was infectious.
“As much as I hoped, as much as I knew I had a good product, I had no idea that I would one day see them on a shelf.”
“We’ve commenced an online marketing campaign for them as well. I expect them to sell well.”
John always thought that Sarah looked prettiest when she smiled, and right then, she looked positively radiant. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem room in his thoughts for anyone but Sherlock and that awfully timed brilliant kiss they shared. He couldn’t get it out of his head.
“Our reservation is for seven o’clock. I might just go powder my nose before we leave.”
John squatted behind the counter and tidied up the bags and other items while Sarah was off in the bathroom. Technically, this was date number four, and John was fairly certain it was going to be the last. They were headed dangerously into friends territory, and while he would normally try and put an end to that, he did know that he was the reason why. He and his stupid feelings for his stupid flatmate.
It was ridiculous, John wanted a relationship, Sherlock didn’t. If John ever gave in he knew what the consequences would be; he’d wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and they would carry on as if nothing had ever happened. Sherlock would slowly grow bored with John and they’d go their separate ways, John holding onto the ludicrous hope that one day they might be more and Sherlock moving onto other people who took his interest.
He liked Sarah, he did, and he hoped they could continue to be friends. He knew they could not be anything else.
Maybe he needed to take some of his own advice. Before he’d met Sarah, his desires were leaning toward the male form. He was aware now that it was due to his growing attraction toward Sherlock, not that he would have thought that then. Maybe what he needed was to find a tall, lean wanker for a bit of a fling, get the urge out of his system, and when he met someone like Sarah again, he’d be better positioned to give her all of his attention like he should be now.
He heard a shuffle behind him and went to turn around, about to ask Sarah if she was ready for dinner. He stopped in his tracks when a voice an octave deeper than his date’s registered in his ears. A voice with a slight Irish lilt. The store had been closed for hours and it was obvious Sherlock was nowhere in sight. There was no way he was there for purposes less than nefarious.
Using the reflexes ingrained from his stint in the army, he brushed his fingers against the distress alarm and stood slowly from his crouch.
“Why is he so fascinated with you, Doctor Watson? Medium level intelligence, generic looks.” John raised his hands in surrender and slowly started to turn to face him, not wanting to make any sudden moves. “And you’re such a predictable little puppy, still working late into the night to please your master. Of course I was going to find you here. You make things too easy.”
When John had finally made his 180-degree turn, he found himself face to face with Jim Moriarty.
And staring right down the barrel of a gun.
Next part...
As it turned out, the repetitive thunk John could hear from the bathroom actually was coming from their flat.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” John asked, clutching at the towel around his waist.
Sherlock turned from the wall to give what he probably thought was a surreptitious glance up and down John’s not-quite-dry body, but John could feel every movement of that gaze. Sherlock turned back to the wall and threw the next knife at it. There appeared to be six of them imbedded in Mrs Hudson’s wallpaper.
“Getting rid of some frustration. It helps me think.”
“Because heaven forbid you go for a run or meditate like a normal person.”
Sherlock’s jaw clenched. “It’s writers block! Ever since you gave your blasted advice--“
“Advice?” John asked, lifting blankets and papers from the ground while still keeping hold of his towel. “About how you might need some actual emotion in there?”
“I’ve tried!” Sherlock said, pulling the knives from the wall before lining up and trying to hit the same spots again. “It doesn’t work! I’ve sat here for the past three weeks and nothing is coming.”
“Maybe you need a break from it?”
“I need to write, John. I need to write every day and I’m stuck. My brain refuses to start anything until this anthology is finished.”
“Can you at least stop ruining the wall? It’s going to come out of our rent, you know.”
He wasn’t surprised that Sherlock ignored that comment. “What are you looking for anyway?”
John looked up from his scavenging. “I had a basket of clean laundry here. Have you seen it?”
Judging by the blink-and-you’d-miss-it look of guilt that hit Sherlock’s face, it was obvious he had.
“The contents of that basket may have found the need to be rewashed.”
John stood straight, shoulders back and chest out like he would when about to reprimand one of his troops.
“And why would that be?”
“It may have gotten in the way of a full cup of tea.”
John could read between the lines. “You threw a cup of tea at my clean clothes? That pile contained my entire stash of clean underpants!”
“I’ve put them back through the machine.”
“That doesn’t help me now!” John rubbed at his temples with his free hand and took a deep breath. “I’m running late to open the store, so I’m not going to argue with you, but you have to find a better outlet for your frustration that doesn’t injure other people’s belongings.”
“You sound like Mycroft.”
“Your brother is a smart man.”
Sherlock sneered. “Then why don’t you go marry him?”
“I should,” he said more to antagonise his flatmate than actually meaning it.
Sherlock’s head turn was so quick John was surprised he didn’t have whiplash. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“You’d better hope he doesn’t ask, then. At least he wouldn’t ruin my clothes.”
John’s heavy footsteps up the stairs blocked out any grumbling coming from the lounge. He hurriedly threw on jeans and a jumper and rushed back down. At this rate he’d have to run to the store to get it open in time for the first of the staff to arrive.
“You’ll be in before lunch, yeah?” he asked, grabbing his keys. “We’ve got to go through this month’s P&L today.”
“I’ll be there,” Sherlock grumbled, sitting on the couch in a sulk with his arms folded. At least he’d stopped throwing sharp objects. “You found some pants then?”
“Nope,” John said as he unlocked the door and skipped down the stairs to the street. He thought he heard a groan coming from the flat, but it was probably just the door hinges.
***
John looked up from the spreadsheet so see a large coffee cup from his favourite café in front of his nose.
“Apology accepted,” he said, taking it.
Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t apologised for anything.”
“You’re forgiven anyway.” It was the closest thing John was going to get for the tea-meets-pants incident, after all.
“What are you up to?” Sherlock asked, crossing to his side of the desk to view the spreadsheet John was working on.
“Just checking all the invoices have been entered.” Sherlock was standing so close John could smell his aftershave. It was his favourite scent on him, and for moment John wondered if Sherlock knew that before concluding that of course he would. This was Sherlock and he was trying to get back into John’s good graces.
“So boring,” Sherlock pouted. “Surely there’s something more interesting to do.”
“Until the books are balanced there is no such thing.”
They worked steadily through lunch, sitting side-by-side to cross check each other’s work, shoulders bumping occasionally, feet tapping each other when they stretched. For all that Sherlock seemed to be oblivious to emotion, he sure was good at sending John mixed signals. One minute he would be flirting, the next apologising for it, and the one after that invading his personal space.
When they had finally finished, John stretched and put his pen down.
“God, where did the day go?”
“Time flies when you’re doing the world’s most boring work.”
“Perils of running a small business.” John smiled. “Well, I best be off. You’re on close tonight, right?”
“You’re not staying?”
It was probably a fair question, it wasn’t like John wasn’t known to stay behind way later than he needed to.
“Nope. Got a date.”
“With Sarah?”
“Of course. There’s no one else I’m seeing right now.”
“Right.” Sherlock cleared his throat and stood from the desk, creating some distance between them. “I guess I won’t expect you home tonight, then.”
“It’s only a second date.”
“And that’s stopped you before?”
Sherlock said that with such disdain that John had to take a breath to calm himself. Sherlock sure knew how to make his blood boil. And he of all people commenting on his sex life? Like he never slept around?
“This might be news to you, but you are not actually my boyfriend.”
“I don’t have boyfriends.”
“Then stop acting like a jealous one!” John gathered up his jacket. “I like Sarah, I enjoy her company. We are going out tonight, and I do not need to check in with you as to whether or not I’m coming home.”
He left the office before he could get another cutting response, taking the long route home and letting the cool breeze wash over him. Just because Sherlock was happy with casual sex and not having anyone to go home to didn’t mean he had the right to judge John because he did.
Sure, he did have Sherlock to come home to now, much better than his sparse and dank empty apartment, but that wasn’t coming home to a loved one, no matter how much affection he felt for the tosser. It wasn’t coming home to a kiss or a cuddle, maybe a quick shag before dinner. It wasn’t someone to curl up on the couch with and debrief about his day. The sex was probably on offer if John ever wanted to take Sherlock up on it, but that was all it would ever be, and John wanted more.
And now he’d met Sarah. Smart, pretty, comfortable Sarah. John thought maybe, just maybe, they could have a future together. He could have that someone to come home to.
Still, later that night when Sarah invited him up for a nightcap, he declined, citing an early morning of work and kissing her on the cheek before he left.
He crept up the stairs to 221B a little after 11:00PM, ignoring Sherlock’s gaze as he walked up to his room, still feeling the aftertaste of resentment for his earlier behavior. He decided a quick shower was in order to wash away the irritation of the day and stood under the warm, soothing spray until it started to run cold. When he got back to his room, feeling refreshed and relaxed, he found a hot cup of tea and the latest issue of his favourite medical magazine on his bedside table.
John was smiling as he fell asleep.
***
“Sherlock, come here.” John beckoned him over with his hand.
“What is it?”
“I want to show you something.” He lowered his voice. “Look at that couple in the aisle over to your right.”
Sherlock observed for a moment, considering. “Lesbians. Together maybe two years? Recently moved in together. Looking to spice things up although the shorter one is skeptical.”
John stared at him, a look of awe on his face. “As amazing as that is, watch them.”
“What am I looking for?”
“Look for the cues. The taller of the two, notice how she’s always touching her girlfriend? Even when she is getting something from the shelf, she keeps her other hand on the small of her back.”
“So?”
“This is how your characters can show more emotion, more feeling. Look at the admiration on the other woman’s face. Eyes are wide and bright, she leans into the touch. And you’re quite right, she does seem skeptical, but she’s giving it a go because she wants to make her girlfriend happy.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as he took in more data. It’s not like he hadn’t seen behaviour like theirs before, he’d just never translated it in a way that could possibly improve his book.
“Huh.”
“This is what your story needs. Observations like that. Show the reader that your characters actually like each other more than just physically.”
He was trying to catalogue their behaviours and the subtle physical reactions when a thought suddenly occurred.
“Wait a moment.” He glanced around the store. “Where’s Anderson?”
John’s eyes followed Sherlock’s. “He should be straightening up the costume section after that Hen’s group tornado’d through it this morning.”
“He should be, but he rarely does as he’s told when there’s attractive lesbians in the store.”
Without another word, they both went for the stairs leading to the costume department at the same time. They found Anderson transfixed, looking at them over the bannister.
“What are you doing?” John whispered in his soldier voice which had way more power than Sherlock thought John was aware of. A shiver ran down his spine.
Anderson’s facial expression could only be labelled dreamy. “Aren’t they lovely?”
“They are customers!”
“They are lesbians who are about to buy a strap on.” Anderson sighed. “Which do you think will be wearing it?”
Sherlock was about to answer with the taller one, obviously but was interrupted before he could begin.
“Enough of this. Get to the storeroom and start unpacking the pallet that came in this morning.” John’s order was met with a hunching of shoulders as Anderson descended down the stairs.
“There’s cameras out there!” Sherlock reminded him, and watched Anderson divert his path towards the men’s room instead.
***
“Lunch!” Sally called out. It was always like herd of elephants descending on their food. Sherlock approached the counter like a normal person in control of their appetite, but the view ahead stopped him in his tracks.
Molly looked up at him and smiled, and Sherlock almost did a double take to make sure it was her. Her usual calf-length skirt and high-necked twin set had been replaced by a v-neck wrap dress that barely skimmed her knees. Her hair, usually pulled back in a braid, was loose, and she was wearing lipstick.
“So what’s his name?” Sally asked, eyes sparkling like she was about to hear a piece of delicious gossip.
Molly’s blush went all the way down her neck. “Uh, Peter. He’s a forensic pathologist at St Bart’s.”
Sherlock’s eyes widened at that. Of all the people dear, sweet, vanilla, innocent Molly could go on a date with. And yes, it was obvious she had a date this afternoon.
“What does that mean?” Sally asked.
“I’m not sure exactly-“
Sherlock cursed how uneducated his team appeared to be. “It means he cuts up dead bodies.”
“Sherlock!” John scolded, giving him a look. Right, that was the kind of information he probably should not be imparting when Molly had finally found the courage to see someone in a romantic sense.
“You mean he does autopsies?” Molly asked, her mouth pulling into a smile, eyes lighting up. “Wow. That would be fascinating!”
Sherlock exchanged a surprised look with John.
“Thanks for letting me know, I’ll have so many questions to ask him on our date, now!”
Conversation shifted to ex-boyfriends and girlfriends with unusual jobs until everyone had finished eating and it was time to get back to work. Molly stayed with them the entire time, so Sherlock helped her pack up.
“So, you’ve had your session with Irene, then?” It wasn’t a question. The hair, the clothes, the air of confidence that surrounded her, all evidence.
The blush, once again, carried down to her chest. “It was enlightening.”
“I’m sure it was.” Sherlock placed the unopened drinks back into the basket. “I am glad to hear you have a date.”
She looked surprised. “You are?”
Sherlock shrugged. “It is apparent that humans find happiness in sharing their life with another. I wish you to be happy.”
She smiled “Thank you.”
“So who is this Peter? Aside from his work?”
He noted the shy smile as she began speaking. Is that how one looked when speaking of a potential flame? He would have to note it down for his book.
“He comes into the café most days, and we’ve chatted every now and then. I thought he might have liked me, but then again, I’ve always been so shy around men.”
Interesting. “Why did you think he liked you?”
“The little things, you know,” she started. “Like if we were busy, he’d linger until it wasn’t so we could chat. His fingers would often brush mine when he handed over his money. One day he brought me in a magazine because I’d told him I was wanting to grow my own organic vegetables. You know? Things like that.”
“I see.”
“A bit like you and John, really,” she said, packing the last of her items into the basket, completely missing the look of confusion that crossed his face. He and John? “You know, how you’re always touching each other, and when you come to the café you always get him the caramel slice, and if he comes to the café he always gets you one of those biscuits you’re so fond of?”
Touching each other? Buying each other things the other would like? They did indulge each other occasionally, true, but was this typical of a relationship?
“We’re not together. I don’t have relationships, remember?”
“Oh,” she said. “I overheard your friend say something once, and then when he moved in with you I just assumed… oh, nevermind. My mistake.”
“Friend?” Sherlock didn’t have many friends, let alone many that would speak of he and John being together. Unless it was Mycroft trying to plant the seed in Molly’s head. Interfering toff bastard.
“The short one? Bit of an accent. Maybe Irish?”
Sherlock raised an eyebrow, breath hitching momentarily. “Jim Moriarty?”
“Yes, him! He could have been speaking of another Sherlock, maybe?”
“My name is not exactly common.” Sherlock was distracted. Who was Jim speaking with, and why was he assuming John was his partner? Was it only from John’s comments when escorting him home after Sexpo?
“It isn’t, is it? Oh well, I must be off. My date is coming up in the next hour.”
He watched her walk towards the door and called out to her.
“Molly!”
She turned around.
“I’m glad to see that The Woman has, for once, had such a positive influence. You look very pretty.”
“Thank you. I haven’t had much confidence in that department these past few years. It’s kind of nice to look forward to something no matter what the outcome will be, you know?”
Sherlock thought of John and everything Molly had just said about the behaviour of two people who had romantic feelings for each other. “I might do.”
***
Sherlock spent the rest of the day watching John for these signs Molly spoke of. It appeared that she was speaking the truth. If John was to walk past him, he would grab Sherlock by the hips as he walked by, ostensibly to keep him out of his way, but perhaps not? And Sherlock also found himself drawn to him in a way he was not previously conscious of. They often knocked shoulders or elbows or clapped a hand on each other’s shoulders if they were sharing a joke.
And John did make him tea, quite often, actually. And Sherlock always looked to see if there was a new issue of his favourite medical or sports magazines when he picked up the morning paper.
Could it be true? Could Sherlock be emitting signs of potential courtship towards his best friend? That he is attracted to John is hardly a surprise, he’d made those intentions clear almost from the start. But John had never taken him up on the offer, even when he was more subtle about it. He’d deduced that John would have to feel a similar level of attraction, but being the emotional creature he was, did not seem satisfied with what would essentially be a one night stand.
A few nights later, he was laying on the couch watching tele when John got home from date number three with Sarah. For as long as he’d known John, he had never known him to come home after a third date.
He put two cups of tea on the coffee table.
“Come on, head up,” John said so he could sit down on the couch too. Sherlock raised himself enough for him to drop down, then rested his head on John’s thighs. It was familiar. Comfortable.
“This is such a lie,” John said after a few minutes, gesturing to the TV.
“He’s telling the truth,” Sherlock responded.
“How can you tell?”
“It sounds far-fetched, but he keeps looking up, so he is recalling actual events that have happened.”
They turned their attention back to the television as the guest on Would I Lie To You pressed the button to reveal their story was actually true.
“You’re brilliant. Why do you even watch this show if you can tell who’s lying?”
“I enjoy David Mitchell’s humour.”
“Ah, of course you do.”
A few hours later, Sherlock was rudely woken by a sharp noise coming from the television. He lifted his head, slightly disoriented, to see that he was still on the couch, head still pillowed on John’s legs.
“Sorry,” John whispered, hitting the buttons on the remote to turn the volume down a few clicks. “Go back to sleep.”
As tempting as that was, his brain had already semi-engaged, analysing everything as he had since that conversation with Molly.
He felt comfortable. The fact that he could fall asleep with his head resting in John’s lap was evidence enough of this. It’s not something he would ever even contemplate doing with other people. In fact, he made sure never to fall asleep in the presence of anyone. So why was John different? Why did he feel this level of comfort, safety, and most bewilderingly, affection? It was becoming problematic, to the point where Sherlock hadn’t been on a night on the town since John had moved in, and that was most unlike him. Even his own brother used to call him promiscuous. But he hadn’t felt the need for the outlet of another body, flesh against his own. He wanted John. He’d wanted him almost from the moment he saw him. Even when he had attempted to train his brain to reject the possibility, his libido had not cooperated. So what did this all add up to? Could he be capable of a romantic dalliance? For John, who was not looking for anything else, particularly with him, could he do it?
Of course, the only way to test the hypothesis would be to experiment. And oh, how he wished to experiment on the man he was leaning against. It would be simple to just turn his head and press a kiss against his hipbones, rake his fingertips under John’s shirt to feel warm skin.
In his dream-like state he didn’t realise his thoughts were becoming actions until he heard John’s sharp intake of breath.
“Sherlock, what are you doing?”
Sherlock sat up slowly and looked into John’s eyes. There was hesitation there, a touch of wariness, but underlying that was curiosity, want, and it blazed a trail down his spine and settled warmly in his gut.
Sherlock didn’t want to speak, it had gotten him into trouble one too many times and he couldn’t risk spooking John, not when he finally seemed to be open to Sherlock’s actions. Instead, he moved to straddle John’s thighs. He could sense John watching his every move, could hear the cadence of his breath speed up, so it wasn’t a surprise to see John surge up at the same time as Sherlock lowered his head.
John’s lips felt soft against his own, but good. So good. Everything Sherlock had been expecting and yet more. He was used to the adrenaline rush when kissing someone new. Used to the excitement of testing and tasting and discovering, the feel of unmapped territory. But this was John. John, and the rush came with the addition of goosebumps and sparks flying out from wherever he touched him, wherever John touch Sherlock. It felt amazing, it felt inevitable, and Sherlock wondered if he would wander through life never experiencing anything like this moment ever again.
A moan escaped his throat when his tongue pushed against John’s and that seemed to be the thing to douse John with cold water. He shoved Sherlock away with a hand to the chest, and dammit, Sherlock knew his voice would be his undoing.
“What the hell?” John said, his eyes tight with what could only be anger. His breathing continued to come rapidly and a red flush was staining his cheeks, so it was obvious the kiss wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “Seriously, what the hell? You know I’m seeing someone!”
“Hardly. You’ve been on three dates and not one of them has even come close to the past thirty seconds we have experienced.”
“That’s not the point!” John said, dislodging Sherlock and getting up from the couch. “We’ve talked about this! You said you were not going to do this anymore.”
“But you want it! You want it as much as I do!” And Sherlock was confident of that. From all of his observations over the past week he was positive John wanted this.
“But I need more!” John countered, not denying. “You know this! I’m done with one-nights and instability. I want someone who wants me always, not just when it’s convenient to them! Can you honestly tell me that person is you?”
Sherlock’s silence probably spoke volumes.
“Don’t screw with my head like this, Sherlock. I don’t deserve it.”
Sherlock got up and started pacing. “I don’t know what I am anymore!”
“Well I do.” John’s tone was strong, confident. “You’re someone who is used to getting sex on the regular and you haven’t been out in a while so you’re looking for a distraction. Do me a favour, go out and sleep with some random so you stop targeting me.”
With that, he stormed towards the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom, leaving Sherlock to stew. He picked up John’s empty tea mug and threw it against the wall.
It didn’t clear his head.
***
The next few days were awkward. John had the day off work after the couch incident and succeeded in avoiding him all day. It rankled Sherlock more than he thought it would. He’d been known to piss someone off deliberately just to get a few days of silence. From John it was infuriating. Fortunately, he had deigned to get some words from him today, although it was still stilted and mostly revolved around product placement of his date’s vibrators. How could he continue to go out with her after that kiss they shared? That one kiss before John put him right back in his place.
Jaw clenched and with a sense of determination, Sherlock strode towards the pub. John was right, this infatuation was not a relationship. Sherlock didn’t do relationships and cursed himself for ever feeling confused over his feelings for John. It was the lack of sex and nothing more, and the sooner he got some the better off they would all be.
He was wearing his tightest pants and a fitted black t-shirt and he was going to go to the pub he always had the most success with in the past. He would find someone a few inches shorter, broader and blonder than himself, and he was going to get this ridiculous crush out of his system. Then he could move on with his life of bedding whoever took his fancy, John could marry Sarah, and they could remain the best of friends. Until John decided to open up a practice with Sarah and work in medicine again, which he was obviously planning on doing soon anyway, leaving John without a friend and without a flatmate.
He wasn’t too far from his destination when he felt his mobile vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out, ready to send it to his voice mail when he noticed the sender was the The Vibe’s security company.
“The front register alarm has been activated,” they said when he answered the call.
“What can you tell from CCTV?”
“Not much. There is a man standing behind the counter, but he seems calm and whoever he is talking to is sheltered by a pillar. Should we send someone to investigate?”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, his evening would have to be delayed by a few minutes.
“No need, I’m only five minutes from the shop. If I haven’t called you back in fifteen minutes, send someone then.”
No doubt it would just be John and Sarah anyway, and really, he did not want to know what heterosexual courting activity they were up to.
Sherlock changed direction and headed for work.
***
Sarah arrived at the store at 6:30PM. John let her in via the staff entrance and took her hand, leading her to the front of the shop.
There, in the centre of the store’s main entrance, was the display of Sarah’s sex toys.
Her grin stretched to her eyes and she took a deep breath. “This is so exciting.”
“What do you think?” John grinned. Sarah’s mood was infectious.
“As much as I hoped, as much as I knew I had a good product, I had no idea that I would one day see them on a shelf.”
“We’ve commenced an online marketing campaign for them as well. I expect them to sell well.”
John always thought that Sarah looked prettiest when she smiled, and right then, she looked positively radiant. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem room in his thoughts for anyone but Sherlock and that awfully timed brilliant kiss they shared. He couldn’t get it out of his head.
“Our reservation is for seven o’clock. I might just go powder my nose before we leave.”
John squatted behind the counter and tidied up the bags and other items while Sarah was off in the bathroom. Technically, this was date number four, and John was fairly certain it was going to be the last. They were headed dangerously into friends territory, and while he would normally try and put an end to that, he did know that he was the reason why. He and his stupid feelings for his stupid flatmate.
It was ridiculous, John wanted a relationship, Sherlock didn’t. If John ever gave in he knew what the consequences would be; he’d wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and they would carry on as if nothing had ever happened. Sherlock would slowly grow bored with John and they’d go their separate ways, John holding onto the ludicrous hope that one day they might be more and Sherlock moving onto other people who took his interest.
He liked Sarah, he did, and he hoped they could continue to be friends. He knew they could not be anything else.
Maybe he needed to take some of his own advice. Before he’d met Sarah, his desires were leaning toward the male form. He was aware now that it was due to his growing attraction toward Sherlock, not that he would have thought that then. Maybe what he needed was to find a tall, lean wanker for a bit of a fling, get the urge out of his system, and when he met someone like Sarah again, he’d be better positioned to give her all of his attention like he should be now.
He heard a shuffle behind him and went to turn around, about to ask Sarah if she was ready for dinner. He stopped in his tracks when a voice an octave deeper than his date’s registered in his ears. A voice with a slight Irish lilt. The store had been closed for hours and it was obvious Sherlock was nowhere in sight. There was no way he was there for purposes less than nefarious.
Using the reflexes ingrained from his stint in the army, he brushed his fingers against the distress alarm and stood slowly from his crouch.
“Why is he so fascinated with you, Doctor Watson? Medium level intelligence, generic looks.” John raised his hands in surrender and slowly started to turn to face him, not wanting to make any sudden moves. “And you’re such a predictable little puppy, still working late into the night to please your master. Of course I was going to find you here. You make things too easy.”
When John had finally made his 180-degree turn, he found himself face to face with Jim Moriarty.
And staring right down the barrel of a gun.
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