some day the true story may be told @johnisthekeyforsherlock - Tumblr Blog

Sherlock had been especially irritable for days. Demanding. Twitchy. The low point of the addiction cycle where the next hit was agonizingly far away and nothing else mattered.

John liked the man very much, he really did, but his patience had grown quite thin this week. His work schedule at surgery had been more demanding with the uptick in seasonal flu, which correlated to the biting winds of approaching winter. Plus, John had also seen an increase in frequency of his PTSD-fueled nightmares. Stress was a contributing factor, and then his nightmares interfered with his sleep and caused his stress to worsen. So, that made coming home to Sherlock's poor mood and snide remarks particularly unpleasant. For the most part, he'd just stayed away whenever possible. Hid away in his bedroom, doing some journaling or attending to personal emails, something he frequently fell behind on due to his unpredictable schedule. Anything he could do to center himself without involving Sherlock.

One afternoon, John glanced at his watch and decided now was a good time to start getting ready. He went to his bathroom and washed his face first, taking a moment to enjoy the warm water on his skin. Maybe he should take a bath later.

As he was want to do, Sherlock popped up behind John like some horror movie poltergeist and began talking.

John yelled out in surprise and jerked, immediately shutting his eyes and gripping the razor in his hand tightly.

"Sherlock, I have a razor in my hands, you can not do that! I could have hurt myself."

"Yes but you didn't," Sherlock replied. "Did you see the new--"

"Sherlock, quit it," John snapped at him, giving him a warning glare in the mirror. He bent over the sink slightly and began shaving while he continued. "Whatever it is, no I haven't seen it, and no, I'm not going to. People have other things to attend to, you know."

"Boring." Sherlock's response to everything.

"Not everything has to be exciting!!" John blew up. "Jesus Christ, Sherlock. Has it ever occurred to you that I'm not your slave? No wonder you haven't got any friends."

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them but was too angry and tired at the moment to stop and apologize. He felt bad but God, Sherlock really was unbearable sometimes.

Behind him, Sherlock's eyes darkened to a stormy blue and his normally wide and searching pupils dilated slightly. One side of his mouth twisted. Silence while his gaze dropped to the floor.

"Did you even know that Molly Hooper has a housewarming party tonight?"

John was still angry but already the bite was gone from his tone. John avoided looking at him and focused on his shaving instead, internally cringing at the silence.

Sherlock turned on his heel and left. John sighed heavily, shaking his head and resting a palm against the sink while he met his own exhausted gaze in the mirror. He was glad to have an excuse to be away from the flat tonight.

John appeared in the living room a little while later, looking for a cardigan to put over his blazer. Sherlock was in his armchair, legs pulled underneath him and to the side. He'd put on his dressing gown and tugged it around his midsection for warmth. John wanted to say... something. The words I'm sorry were in his mind, but what came out instead was, "I'll be back later."

"If you haven't got a gift, take that."

Sherlock nodded to the gift bag that was laying on the table by the couch. John furrowed a brow and went to it, pulling out the box inside.

Cartier. An emerald studded gold bracelet.

John inhaled. "Sherlock..."

"I upset her a while ago. Said something about her nails that was apparently not good. Got that afterwards and haven't gotten a chance to give it to her yet. Said she liked the color green."

Sherlock's expression was unreadable as he reached for his violin and rested it underneath his chin.

"Th-Thank you."

Not knowing what else to say, John left and the waves of guilt crashed over him. He felt horrible.

To make matters worse, John stared out the window of his cab to Molly's new cottage and realized something.

He thought he'd been dreaming it, but no... he was sure now that it was real. On more than one night this week, when John would wake with a shout or gasp of terror from a bad dream, he noticed a few beats later that a soft lullaby would begin, floating over him from somewhere else. A violin, playing a melody that John could only just remember his mother playing for him as a child. That's why he thought he imagined it, but no. Sherlock had been comforting him from another room in the middle of the night in the best way he knew how.

God, what a right git he'd been. Saying Sherlock had no friends after he'd been doing some of the most considerate things John had ever experienced. And not calling attention to it, either. Same as the bracelet-- not caring if Molly thought it had come from John instead of him, just to make her happy and to make John look generous.

John pulled out his cellphone and called Molly, who picked up cheerfully. "Hi John! Almost here? Still coming, aren't you?" Despite being used to him having to frequently excuse himself from occasions with her due to his cases, Molly still sounded pitiful. Hopeful, but already crestfallen at the expectation of what she was going to hear next.

"Yes, Molly, I am coming, but I'll be a bit late, okay? Shouldn't be more than 30 minutes or so. I just wanted to let you know. But it will be worth it, I promise."

15 minutes later, John strode back into the flat, feeling much more confident this time. Sherlock happened to be walking into the living room at that moment, and stopped. He'd been tugging at the sleeve of his white button down underneath a navy blue suit jacket, pulling the twisted fabric flat.

"You look nice. Where are you going?"

Before he could answer, John shook his head impatiently and went on. "Never mind, doesn't matter. Saves me a bit of time, actually. Come on, we're going to Molly's party."

Sherlock stared.

John rubbed a hand over his mouth and sighed. "Look, Sherlock. I- actually came back because I was so distracted by your gift that I had forgotten my own and needed to grab it."

"Then grab it," Sherlock answered stiffly, and pushed past him into the kitchen for a glass of water.

John took a moment to consider his next words before following.

"I'm. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Okay? I shouldn't have said what I said earlier. Not only because it was mean but because it's not true. You've got friends." He wanted to mention the violin playing, but was too embarrassed.

"You should be with friends tonight. And give Molly that beautiful gift yourself. You can even say that that's from you as an apology, and that my gift is from both of us for a housewarming. How's that?"

Sherlock looked him over after a sip of water.

"Depends on your gift."

John smirked and left the room, returning a minute later to show off the blanket and candle that he'd gotten for Molly. Sherlock's thinly disguised expression of distaste even made him laugh. "C'mon, you."

In the cab, while the city lights passed them by and it was mostly dark and quiet, John felt it a little easier to speak.

"How... did you know that song that my mother played?"

"Know what song?"

"The one that..." John trailed off and smiled at the realization. Sherlock was playing stupid to let him off the hook. Couldn't go through with mentioning the experience or his gratitude for it if Sherlock had no idea what he was talking about. A soft exhale of amusement from John was the only sound between them until they arrived at Molly's house.

Molly's new cottage was quite charming, and it made for a warm and inviting location for a gathering. John and Sherlock even saw Lestrade milling about before they found Molly. She brightened immeasurably and flew at them both for hugs. "John, you made it! And Sherlock! So good to see you!" John had to stifle a laugh at Sherlock's pained and slightly panicked expression while being hugged, though he did lift a hand to hold her back.

"And you, Molly. You look wonderful."

Molly pulled away and beamed. The compliment likely made her entire year.

"Yes," John agreed with a smile. "And so does this house. It looks perfect for you. Congratulations."

"Thank you. Would you like some drinks?"

~~~~~~~~~

An hour or so later, John muttered in Sherlock's ear, "Now."

After Molly had deposited drinks in their hands earlier and flitted away to talk with other guests, John quietly mentioned that maybe Sherlock should give her the bracelet in private.

"Why?" Sherlock frowned. "Is it bad?"

"No, no. It's not that. It's good actually. It's just... well, you know how people talk. And sometimes, a man giving a woman jewelry can be interpreted as a romantic gesture."

"Oh." Sherlock continued to frown, not wanting that at all. "I'll.... do that in private then. And make sure she knows it's just because I'm sorry?" He glanced at John for approval.

"Sounds good. Just make sure to be gentle with her. You know she's... " Well. John wasn't exactly sure if Sherlock knew that Molly had a crush on him or not, and figured it wasn't his place to tell him.

"..... Well, it's her party. Don't want to upset her."

"Right."

So for the remainder of the hour John had been scanning the room, looking for an opportunity for Sherlock to get her alone. He actually felt bad telling him to go when he did; Sherlock had received a few comments from others about how nice it was to see him out on a purely social occasion and it seemed to relax him. Some moments, John saw him smiling at a joke that someone had made and taking a sip of his drink.

When John told him to though, Sherlock stood and straightened, smoothing out his suit jacket and putting down his drink in favor of the little box that contained Molly's bracelet.

"She's in the kitchen and I don't think anyone else is. Go on."

John stepped a few paces back to get eyeshot on the kitchen and tried not to look too much, but when he did, he felt a warmth in his body that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Sherlock looked completely different, placing a gentle but casual hand to Molly's arm to get her attention and smiling in a way that actually reached his eyes. He spoke more seriously to her for a moment in words John couldn't hear, and then gave her the small white box. John couldn't see her face exactly, but saw from her hand covering her mouth after opening the box that she was stunned. A moment later she was reaching for Sherlock again, grasping him in a very tight hug and shaking a bit. Sherlock's posture was more relaxed this time, and he brought both arms up. One to hold her back and another to place lightly in her hair, stroking it with his thumb. He said something quiet to her, and when Molly pulled back she answered him in kind, surely beaming again. Sherlock looked... happy.

John cleared his throat and pursed his lips to hide the fact that he'd begun to tear up a bit.

He loved that stubborn man. And tonight, he couldn't be more grateful that other people did too.