a short based on a post i made prior
How did they get there? If youād have asked Sherlock, John was sure heād have no answer, and if Sherlock Holmes himself didnāt have an answer, it was safe to assume there wasnāt one.Ā
The only thing that was for certain also made absolutely no sense whatsoever: this was the turning point theyād silently waited for for years. The insanity of chasing criminals, the homely evenings spent in ordering from various take-outs, the yelling and fighting - not to mention the endless supply of body parts Sherlock seemed to have stored away somewhere, that heād end up piling into the fridge, solely to give John a fright in the mornings as he went to make his tea. That was all coming to a climax, except that word didnāt quite fit as it should have.
They were in their respective seats. John, in his own head all morning and night, pretended to read the paper, and Sherlock pretended not to notice it was a day old and John had already read it the previous morning. After all, who was he to point that out? If John wanted to read something, it was his flat too, so he should be able to do so. Splitting a millisecond, John tore his glassed-over eyes from the page and looked at Sherlock, long and hard, then spoke up.
āSherlock, thereās something I want to tell you.ā
His flatmate quirked a high eyebrow, and made a sound like,Ā āHm?ā
If heād seemed any less interested, John might have deflated back into the news heād read before and given up. Not now, though. Now, it was time. But...
āI canāt,ā Sherlock finally looked up at him,Ā āIām afraid to say it out loud.ā
Sherlock narrowed his eyes, and then concluded, rather excellently,Ā āThen mouth it to me.ā
John scoffed, unintentionally harshly.Ā āCome on, Sherlock. Whatās next, get Mycroft and Molly to play Chinese Whispers?āĀ
His nerves were getting the better of him now. He didnāt mean to sound rude - in fact, he wanted to sound warm, and lovable, because what he was going to say didnāt need to be any easier to reject. Regardless, his tongue ran away with him, so he made a mental note to mentally slap himself later.
āIāll have you know, Iām an excellent lip-reader.ā
John caught himself before he quipped anything smart, deciding heād done enough damage for now, even if Sherlock did seem to be taking it as a joke. In fact, Sherlock thinking it was a joke might have even been worse than him being offended, because that meant heād assume the entire thing was a joke, and so when John mouthed it to him, heād laugh, and Johnās heart would break.
āOkay.ā He settled for, then adjusted the paper heād put on the arm of his chair, awkwardly relaxing back into the seat,Ā āFine. But Iām only doing it once.ā
Sherlock nodded, then assumed his position of clasping his hands and resting his chin on them, leaning ever-so-slightly forward in his own chair. John inhaled, held his breath, and then exhaled. As naturally as anything in the world, he silently spoke the three words:
He hadnāt realised heād shut his eyes until he opened them, feeling his still-ajar lips trembling. Hell, heād gone and done it now, hadnāt he? This sinking feeling only stormed as he watched Sherlock watch him intently, and he could virtually hear the cogs turning, whirring out of control.
Sherlock had to have opened his mouth at least five times, only to have nothing come out, before he settled. Pursing his lips momentarily, then speaking so fast John could barely make out what he said. And when he did, he found a sense of both relief and major disappointment come crushing over him.
āPickle juice.ā Heād said, face completely straight, with no smirk in sight.Ā
No, he wasnāt a superstitious person. He didnāt look out for falling pianos every time he crossed underneath a ladder, nor did he panic when he passed Sherlock on the staircase. He didnāt greet lone magpies when he came across them, but this he had faith in. The universe was showing him it wasnāt quite time yet for Sherlock to know, and heād have to be okay with that. In time, he knew he would be. After all, theyād waited a long time already. How bad could it really be?
