Just friends (Sherlock BBC)
Title: Just friends
Characters/Pairing(s): John&Sherlock
Rating: G
Warnings: None?
Spoilers/Timeline: No actual spoilers, it happens in some undefined time, when boys are chasing bad guys and eating for free in restaurants.
Summary: Just friends. Isn't it hateful?
Word Count: ~1,228
Beta: NONE!
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. And I sort of enjoy this lack of responsibility.
A/N: Deals with much despised phrase "just friends" and describes amazing relationship between John and Sherlock.
There's a new restaurant, open for barely few weeks and a great hit, as it'd seem. People are talking about it and it looks like half of the London tries to get a table there. Sherlock saved the owner's daughter from kidnappers and of course he and John simply stroll into the main room and get a table without so much as ringing beforehand.
It’s good too, because they didn’t have the time to ring anyone past few days, as they run after a ring of overly clever gun sellers. They finished the case this morning, which if you ask John is always a good way to start a day. Especially if Sherlock’s mind is still stimulated by the chase and he’s not dropping from exhaustion. Then they’re hungry and happy, ready to have a good time of their evening.
"Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson!” Welcomes them mister Flyter, the owner of the restaurant, as they settle down by their table. He speaks hurriedly, flushed and smiling. Clearly very busy and highly enjoying the fact. „So pleased to see you! Everything you order of course is on me, I will never pay my debt to you anyhow. Glad you decided to drop by here on your date, I strongly recommend anything from our desserts’ list, it seems to be the biggest hit of our restaurant!"
"It's not a date, we're just friends," explains John with a tired amusement of someone who had this conversation hundreds of times before.
"Oh, sorry, sorry, of course," Flyter apologizes breathy, already beckoning the waiter. "I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’ve got to dash. The place is incredibly busy and I still need to have an eye on everything, I’m told I will come down after few months of owning this place. For now I’ll leave you in Paul's capable hands, enjoy your evening!"
"Thank you," offers John with an easy smile.
Sherlock barely speaks a word for the rest of the night.
*
"If you're sulking it'd have a better effect if I knew what it is all about," remarked John lightly on his way to the kitchen.
He really did need some strong tea after the sweetness of the decadent slice of cake he finished his dinner with.
"Hmm?" hummed Sherlock from his chair, picking up his violin and running his fingers over the strings.
"What's up with you?” asked John, standing in the kitchen doorway, looking at his friend and waiting for the water to boil. It didn’t seem like a serious enough sulk to abandon tea-making. „You were in a good mood and then suddenly closed up."
"Oh. It’s nothing, I'm fine."
"Yeah, you're great. Especially communication seems to be your forte."
Sherlock glared at him. By now it seemed his automatic reaction to John’s sarcasm, though it only encouraged the doctor.
"If you need to know I disliked how you explained that we're just friends."
"Well,” frowned John, „we are, aren't we?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and started playing angrily, purposefully looking away from the other man.
John left him to it, going back to the kitchen to collect his thoughts and finish the tea. He was sure; it was for times like this that tea-making rituals were created. Too bad they only had bagged tea from Tesco.
He stirred the sugar in Sherlock’s cup far longer than necessary.
Sherlock moved his bow more as if he was punching someone than playing music. The sounds he produced were sharp and angry, but still beautiful and definitely music, notjust his moody violin abuse. Anger then, thought John, probably mixed with a bunch of other emotions, but no actual intention to annoy John enough to leave.
He placed Sherlock's drink on the table and curled himself on his own chair, hands wrapped around a hot cup. He listened to the music and stared into his tea, still unsure of what to say.
Sherlock stopped playing rapidly as John sipped his first mouthful of tea, reaching for his own cup. He always was impatient with waiting for it to be cold enough to drink, it was the reason why he usually drunk it with milk. Otherwise he'd just spent few minutes staring at the hot beverage and urging it to be drinkable and then get distracted by something only to come back to his tea already stone cold. John's fond amusement usually won with irritation as he made fresh tea.
He smiled now, thinking about it.
"Listen," he said carefully, his voice calm and warmed by his thoughts. "I'm not really sure what you're angry about, Sherlock. If you were anyone else, I'd think you want me to tell people that we're lovers..."
Sherlock snorted derisively.
"Yes, ridiculous, I know. And you know I care for you, very much. Do you... not consider me a friend? You said you do, but I don't know, maybe you don't want people to know that? Which is even more ridiculous really, they all already do, but..."
"I don't mind you telling people we're friends. I mind that both them and you always have to add the stupid ‘just’ before it. We're not friends, John. We're just friends. Like, yes, we could be more, but we're not. And yes, you need to correct them, because you're just friends with me, but you still hope you will be more with someone else! And-"
"Well, I do hope to some time get a steady girlfriend, yeah. Maybe even a wife one day, if I find a woman crazy enough, who knows."
"And you probably will, John, women seem forget their sense with you, that's not the point!" Snapped Sherlock angrily, like he always did, when John calmly interrupted his rants.
"Yeah, thanks. Don’t tell my possible future wives I'm a health-hazard to wake their sense, would you?" he asked mildly, knowing that even if he’d truly mean it, Sherlock would disregard the plea completely. „And sorry, but I still don't see the point.”
"The point is, John, that you love me. You go crazy when I do something stupid, you worry yourself sick when I'm in danger, you're sacrificing your other commitments to be with me or take care of me, when you think I need it. The scale of your feelings I can evoke is almost unimaginable! You can't be more for someone else, if you felt anything stronger, you'd explode!"
John snorted, on the tip of his tongue reply that not everyone feels as Sherlock does, but something stopped him. He never cared for anyone more than for Sherlock. He did love the mad wanker, even if mentioning it out loud made him cringe because of all the wrong implications that brought.
"You won't be 'more' with anyone, John. Different, yes, but not more."
Their eyes met and after a second John nodded slowly, understanding Sherlock’s point and accepting that it was the truth, whether John liked it or not.
"Yeah, you're probably right, you absorbing sod. You do realize if I say to people we're friends, not lovers, they're going to hear 'just friends' in this anyway?"
"People are stupid, I don't care what they think."
"Well, your current sulk is saying something different, but... Oh. Oh."
"Always so slow," growled Sherlock.
"Yes, sorry. Deal with it,” replied John without heat. „Me getting it is enough, isn't it?"
Sherlock hid his smile with a teacup.
"It'll do."
the end
If you like what you see, perhaps you'd like to check out my Commission Post
Characters/Pairing(s): John&Sherlock
Rating: G
Warnings: None?
Spoilers/Timeline: No actual spoilers, it happens in some undefined time, when boys are chasing bad guys and eating for free in restaurants.
Summary: Just friends. Isn't it hateful?
Word Count: ~1,228
Beta: NONE!
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. And I sort of enjoy this lack of responsibility.
A/N: Deals with much despised phrase "just friends" and describes amazing relationship between John and Sherlock.
There's a new restaurant, open for barely few weeks and a great hit, as it'd seem. People are talking about it and it looks like half of the London tries to get a table there. Sherlock saved the owner's daughter from kidnappers and of course he and John simply stroll into the main room and get a table without so much as ringing beforehand.
It’s good too, because they didn’t have the time to ring anyone past few days, as they run after a ring of overly clever gun sellers. They finished the case this morning, which if you ask John is always a good way to start a day. Especially if Sherlock’s mind is still stimulated by the chase and he’s not dropping from exhaustion. Then they’re hungry and happy, ready to have a good time of their evening.
"Mister Holmes, Doctor Watson!” Welcomes them mister Flyter, the owner of the restaurant, as they settle down by their table. He speaks hurriedly, flushed and smiling. Clearly very busy and highly enjoying the fact. „So pleased to see you! Everything you order of course is on me, I will never pay my debt to you anyhow. Glad you decided to drop by here on your date, I strongly recommend anything from our desserts’ list, it seems to be the biggest hit of our restaurant!"
"It's not a date, we're just friends," explains John with a tired amusement of someone who had this conversation hundreds of times before.
"Oh, sorry, sorry, of course," Flyter apologizes breathy, already beckoning the waiter. "I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I’ve got to dash. The place is incredibly busy and I still need to have an eye on everything, I’m told I will come down after few months of owning this place. For now I’ll leave you in Paul's capable hands, enjoy your evening!"
"Thank you," offers John with an easy smile.
Sherlock barely speaks a word for the rest of the night.
*
"If you're sulking it'd have a better effect if I knew what it is all about," remarked John lightly on his way to the kitchen.
He really did need some strong tea after the sweetness of the decadent slice of cake he finished his dinner with.
"Hmm?" hummed Sherlock from his chair, picking up his violin and running his fingers over the strings.
"What's up with you?” asked John, standing in the kitchen doorway, looking at his friend and waiting for the water to boil. It didn’t seem like a serious enough sulk to abandon tea-making. „You were in a good mood and then suddenly closed up."
"Oh. It’s nothing, I'm fine."
"Yeah, you're great. Especially communication seems to be your forte."
Sherlock glared at him. By now it seemed his automatic reaction to John’s sarcasm, though it only encouraged the doctor.
"If you need to know I disliked how you explained that we're just friends."
"Well,” frowned John, „we are, aren't we?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes and started playing angrily, purposefully looking away from the other man.
John left him to it, going back to the kitchen to collect his thoughts and finish the tea. He was sure; it was for times like this that tea-making rituals were created. Too bad they only had bagged tea from Tesco.
He stirred the sugar in Sherlock’s cup far longer than necessary.
Sherlock moved his bow more as if he was punching someone than playing music. The sounds he produced were sharp and angry, but still beautiful and definitely music, notjust his moody violin abuse. Anger then, thought John, probably mixed with a bunch of other emotions, but no actual intention to annoy John enough to leave.
He placed Sherlock's drink on the table and curled himself on his own chair, hands wrapped around a hot cup. He listened to the music and stared into his tea, still unsure of what to say.
Sherlock stopped playing rapidly as John sipped his first mouthful of tea, reaching for his own cup. He always was impatient with waiting for it to be cold enough to drink, it was the reason why he usually drunk it with milk. Otherwise he'd just spent few minutes staring at the hot beverage and urging it to be drinkable and then get distracted by something only to come back to his tea already stone cold. John's fond amusement usually won with irritation as he made fresh tea.
He smiled now, thinking about it.
"Listen," he said carefully, his voice calm and warmed by his thoughts. "I'm not really sure what you're angry about, Sherlock. If you were anyone else, I'd think you want me to tell people that we're lovers..."
Sherlock snorted derisively.
"Yes, ridiculous, I know. And you know I care for you, very much. Do you... not consider me a friend? You said you do, but I don't know, maybe you don't want people to know that? Which is even more ridiculous really, they all already do, but..."
"I don't mind you telling people we're friends. I mind that both them and you always have to add the stupid ‘just’ before it. We're not friends, John. We're just friends. Like, yes, we could be more, but we're not. And yes, you need to correct them, because you're just friends with me, but you still hope you will be more with someone else! And-"
"Well, I do hope to some time get a steady girlfriend, yeah. Maybe even a wife one day, if I find a woman crazy enough, who knows."
"And you probably will, John, women seem forget their sense with you, that's not the point!" Snapped Sherlock angrily, like he always did, when John calmly interrupted his rants.
"Yeah, thanks. Don’t tell my possible future wives I'm a health-hazard to wake their sense, would you?" he asked mildly, knowing that even if he’d truly mean it, Sherlock would disregard the plea completely. „And sorry, but I still don't see the point.”
"The point is, John, that you love me. You go crazy when I do something stupid, you worry yourself sick when I'm in danger, you're sacrificing your other commitments to be with me or take care of me, when you think I need it. The scale of your feelings I can evoke is almost unimaginable! You can't be more for someone else, if you felt anything stronger, you'd explode!"
John snorted, on the tip of his tongue reply that not everyone feels as Sherlock does, but something stopped him. He never cared for anyone more than for Sherlock. He did love the mad wanker, even if mentioning it out loud made him cringe because of all the wrong implications that brought.
"You won't be 'more' with anyone, John. Different, yes, but not more."
Their eyes met and after a second John nodded slowly, understanding Sherlock’s point and accepting that it was the truth, whether John liked it or not.
"Yeah, you're probably right, you absorbing sod. You do realize if I say to people we're friends, not lovers, they're going to hear 'just friends' in this anyway?"
"People are stupid, I don't care what they think."
"Well, your current sulk is saying something different, but... Oh. Oh."
"Always so slow," growled Sherlock.
"Yes, sorry. Deal with it,” replied John without heat. „Me getting it is enough, isn't it?"
Sherlock hid his smile with a teacup.
"It'll do."
the end
If you like what you see, perhaps you'd like to check out my Commission Post