“Brother?” Mycroft asked, surprised to see Sherlock at his door.
“Yes, well, no need to stare,” he snapped, pushing past his brother and into the apartment. He moved straight to the kitchen, unravelled his scarf, placing it on the counter, and grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl, biting into it aggressively.
Mycroft watched as Sherlock paced alongside the kitchen counter in silence. He did this when he was worked up. He’d spit it out eventually. While he waited, Mycroft grabbed a crystal tumbler and opened his freezer to pull out some vodka. He poured himself a bit and then held it up in question to his brother. Sherlock waved him off impatiently. Apparently drinking wouldn’t help. Mycroft knew to wait in silence until Sherlock was prepared to speak.
“He’s just… so infuriating!” Sherlock finally burst out with.
“I can only assume you mean John.”
Sherlock flashed his brother an angry glare.
“Want me to have another little talk with him?” Mycroft offered.
“Don’t you dare,” Sherlock snapped, pointing his half devoured apple at his brother.
“Okay but you’re here. You have… feelings to express apparently.”
“Huh. Feelings.” Sherlock scoffed and continued to pace in silence for a time and Mycroft let him. “The thing is, there’s this case. And John’s reaction has been… difficult to understand.”
“Right…”
“When he first moved in, he asked…” Sherlock paused, looking at his brother to assess his level of judgement. Mycroft wasn’t giving anything away.
“He asked me about my situation.”
“Situation?” Mycroft asked.
Sherlock simply gave his brother a look in answer and continued. “Yes, and I said the usual.”
“Not your area?” Mycroft checked.
“Quite so.”
“Seems reasonable,” Mycroft agreed. “You barely knew each other and given Dr Watson’s hobby of serial dating, I can’t see how—“
“He’s bisexual.”
“Oh? I hadn’t… spotted that.”
“Well he covers it well,” Sherlock mumbled, clearly irritated by it.
“He told you this?” Mycroft asked.
“No.”
“Okay… then…” Mycroft was confused.
“Only, now, we’re dealing with a case and it seems to really be bothering him. I can’t understand how it should bother him, though, if he is also…”
“Not publicly though,” Mycroft suggested. “Publicly, he makes a point of being straight.”
“True. Although to be precise he always says he’s not gay.”
Mycroft paused. He didn’t like seeing his brother so distressed. It often coincided with danger nights. “Sherlock, won’t you sit. The pacing is… distracting.”
Sherlock hesitated, ready to argue as usual and instead pulled out a stool and sat at the centre bench.
Mycroft relaxed against the opposite bench. “So tell me,” he began, before taking a sip of vodka. “I can decipher why the case might be bothering John - perhaps some hidden truths he’s not ready to acknowledge - but why is it bothering you so?”
Sherlock munched quietly on his apple for a while.
And Mycroft sighed. “Oh. I hadn’t noticed it before. But now I see it.”
“What?” Sherlock asked, annoyed.
“You love him.”
Sherlock instantly choked on a piece of apple and stood up again, beating at his chest to move the piece of apple lodged there. He shot his brother an angry glare.
Mycroft simply stood watching his brother flail about dramatically with a knowing smirk. “Confirmed,” he said, when Sherlock finally sat again. Without a word he grabbed another glass and poured his brother some vodka after all, sliding the glass across to him. “I can’t believe I hadn’t seen it until now,” he said.
“Well you are the slow one,” Sherlock teased, taking a sip and sitting back down.
“Lucky for you John is the slowest.”
Sherlock gave him another annoyed look.
“What do you need then?” Mycroft asked more gently.
“He’s oblivious. Irritatingly so. I don’t think he’s aware of his own identity. I can’t… see a way past it.”
Mycroft took a leisurely sip of his drink. “When we were children, Mummy used to read us a book. I don’t know if you remember it. Well, she read it to me and so I assume to you also. The one with the ribbons?” Mycroft asked.
Sherlock frowned. “Why would I keep a children’s book in my mind palace?”
Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Well the gist of it was about two people who loved each other so much that a connection grew. Two ribbons that tied them together. Tied their hearts together. And everywhere they went these ribbons connected them. No matter how far, the ribbons just grew long enough to keep them connected. I think Mummy used to read it so we understood that when they travelled so much, we were all still connected through love.” He huffed then, realising how it sounded. “The idea that someone could fly to another country entirely and still have their ribbons remaining connected is, of course, completely ridiculous and romanticised. Children are so gullible and stupid,” he scoffed.
Sherlock laughed. “Speak for yourself. I clearly dismissed it early on, which is why I hold no memory of it. I never took you for such a romantic, though.”
Mycroft snorted, looking down at his drink. “Actually, I loved that book so much. I used to read it to myself even when they were away. There was something… hopeful in it,” he admitted. “I think part of the reason I’ve remained single is because I refused to give any time to anyone who wasn’t worth that kind of love. I never found it.”
“You’re not dead yet, brother,” Sherlock said, suddenly feeling very sorry for his older sibling. Sherlock did tease him constantly about being a sad, lonely old man, but in truth he had always hoped Mycroft might find someone to share his life with.
“It’s fine. I’m… comfortable,” he said stiffly. They remained together in silence for a long time. Finally, Mycroft decided to impart his wisdom.
“When I first met John. When I picked him up and tested him, I was… quite taken aback. He was nothing like any of your other friends. He was instantly loyal, virtually unshakeable, in fact, yet with a vulnerability he tried desperately to hide. I couldn’t have found a more perfect partner for you, with all the resources I have at my disposal. The two of you connected instantly and I saw it.”
Sherlock looked up. “Saw what?”
“Ribbons,” he said softly, finishing his drink. Sherlock looked taken aback.
“You want my advice?”
“Please,” Sherlock said, watching his brother closely.
“John has trust issues, yet he trusts you. But he doesn’t really trust himself. He’s never going to tell you he has an interest. He’s never going to admit to being bisexual. He’s going to assume you are too far above his station in life. He’s going to assume you have deduced everything about him, including any feelings he has about you. He knows how you operate. He will expect you can see and hear his every thought and are wilfully ignoring them out of disinterest. I suspect all it would take, to win him, is to make the first move and he would topple over the cliff with you.”
“I see,” Sherlock said, swallowing hard.
“That is, if he will allow himself to admit he has feelings for a man. He could just as easily deny it to the death,” Mycroft added.
“Well that’s been very helpful,” Sherlock said, the comment dripping with sarcasm.
“You asked,” Mycroft replied smugly.
Sherlock stood and reattached his scarf to his neck. He swallowed the last of the vodka and gave his brother a little bow.
“Thank you brother. I will take that advice with the usual level of disregard that I always give it.”
Mycroft pursed his lips tight. He had tried.
And with that, Sherlock stormed out of the apartment again, out into the snow.
Warnings: very very brief mention of being bipolar ??
Synopsis: Based on the btswritersguild December prompt: “I can’t believe I got stuck on a ski lift with you, of all people”. You and Hoseok had never gotten along. Maybe all it takes to become friends is to get stuck on a ski lift together.
A/N: I wanted to upload this fic like nxt month so i dont just disappear on you guys for like three months again, but winter and the holidays ARE LITERALLY OVER. so yah. i decided to post it rn ahahha
“He’s coming?” you spit out in distaste.
Seokjin places a hand against his head in annoyance at your complaints and intensifying frown.
“Please, Y/N,” he rolls his eyes. “Stop being a child.”
You frown, pulling on your snow boots instead of the Nike slides you lounged in during the long drive up to the mountains.
The door on Jin’s side slams closed, leaving you to struggle to put on the ski jacket over your thick bundles of clothes. Bracing yourself for the cold, you quickly pull on your beanie and slip on your hood, then step out through the car door.
You shiver as the cold, sharp wind hits your cheeks and your less layered legs.
You trudge through the thin layer of snow laying on top of the asphalt towards Jin who was holding the trunk half-open due to being distracted by a text on his phone.
“Hey!” you bark, startling Seokjin from his wits which makes you burst out in laughter.
“Ah! You scared me!” he yells with a slight smile, eyes blown wide. You roll your eyes at his overreaction and open up the trunk.
“Technology in this modern world,” you mutter as Jin snickers at your comment.
Jin slips his phone into his back pocket before slightly nudging you over to help carry out the stack of snowboards and skiis. Your friend group had split up, making you and Seokjin go off on the roads with all the snowboards and skiis loaded in the trunk while the rest were bringing themselves and other small necessities.
“Don’t mind Hoseok too much,” Seokjin grunts, lifting some snowboards out as you help unload some of the skiis. “If you guys start arguing, I’m going straight back home without you.”
You roll your eyes as you start putting on your gloves. “If we start arguing, that’s totally your fault. Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”
“Because then you wouldn’t come!”
“Of course I wouldn’t!”
Jin rolls his eyes. “Exactly my point. You’ve been avoiding the whole group since our winter break started. You didn’t even come to the Christmas party!”
“What’s the big deal if I don’t show?” you mutter.
“We all miss you, Y/N,” Jin pouts. “Don’t forget that you and Hoseok are our friends despite you guys butting heads all the time.”
You sigh, nodding in defeat.
It was known to your whole friend group that you despised Hoseok. Despite the man being a beacon of light and even managing to befriend Yoongi who was quite similar to you, Hoseok was unable to break through your dense wall.
In the beginning, you found Hoseok’s bright energy annoying and his jokes not funny at all. As Hoseok realized his usual friendly antics were not working around you, he switched to teasing you which really felt like you were getting made fun of. But was it really bullying if you were also spitting out savage remarks and ten times more hot-headed than him?
If someone saw it, they would be persuaded that you were the bully and Hoseok was the victim.
The thing that angered you even more was that your retorts only seemed to encourage Hoseok to talk to you and mess around.
You even tried to ignore him, but that deemed impossible when that boy really got on your nerves from the way he blindingly smiled at you with a knowing glint in his eye while quietly saying a back-handed insult that only made the others burst out in laughter.
Honestly, it was more of a playful joke than a harmful insult but you truly could not stand Hoseok’s annoying, shrill laughter and spiteful voice which made everything sound like an insult to you.
Jin hums in satisfaction, about to open his mouth, probably to nag you some more, before he lets out an “oh” and starts waving around his arms like a madman.
You grit your teeth, hoping Hoseok wasn’t the group that came up yet.
The universe is never on your side.
You remain standing still, taken aback when it is, in fact, Hoseok whose group came up to the ski resort first. You make a slight disgruntled noise when you make direct eye contact with him as soon as you turn around. You quickly avert your eyes when Hoseok’s lips curl into a bright, toothy smile and instead turn around before he can fully greet you to wave your hand at the smaller man next to him.
“Glad you’re still alive after those three hours in the car with Seokjin,” Yoongi says, making Jin shoot him a glare.
“Hey! I’m not that bad to be around,” he frowns, turning to you. “Right, Y/N?”
You merely shrug in response, making the other boys laugh at Jin’s pouty expression.
“It’s cold!” Jimin shouts, curling his body over. Taehyung and Hoseok take the opportunity to jump on Jimin’s back and it soon turns to a loud, giggly group hug between the three men.
You sigh, refraining the strong urge to roll your eyes as Jin starts joining the weird tackle/hug and Yoongi merely stands still with eyes blank, mumbling nagging words at them.
To your relief, the last group arrives soon after, Jungkook having driven Namjoon, Seri, and Hyejoo over.
Seri and Namjoon animatedly talk about something, both always having been interested in similar topics, while Jungkook and Hyejoo awkwardly shuffle over to the rest of you.
You almost want to laugh at the pairs’ awkwardness who were known as the two most distant friends in the group, besides you and Hoseok.
Hyejoo immediately jogs over to you once she sees you waving at her. She wraps you in a hug, dramatically leaning all her weight onto you.
“I MISSED YOU, Y/N!”
You giggle as you step away from her with a smirk. “How was the car ride?”
Hyejoo sighs with a tense smile. “As awkward as it can be. Why did Namjoon insist he sit in the back with Seri?”
Your eyes slightly widen at the unexpected information. “What?”
Hyejoo nods, briefly glancing at the said pair with playful bitterness. “Those two have been hitting it off. It’s weird, considering how they weren’t that close until the past few weeks.”
You furrow your brows with a soft “huh” but before you can think of anything of it, Jin declares that everyone grab their boards and someone collect the amount for the ski lift pass.
You decide to take charge of collecting the money, going around and collecting the bills from each person.
“How much?”
You look up at the question to see Hoseok staring down at you with a small smile for the first time that day as Taehyung counts the bills from his wallet on the other side of Hoseok.
You suddenly feel weirdly light-headed. “Uh. . .”
“Eight dollars!” Taehyung answers for you, handing over the correct amount to you with a boxy grin. “Are we the last ones?” he asks, lifting his board to hold it under his arm.
You nod as Hoseok pulls out his little bag from under his thick jacket and Taehyung shuffles off to the side. You hold in a snort at the sight of Hoseok’s bag, having seen that in every single trip your group went on.
It was cute. Not that you would ever say that out loud.
You quickly count through the pile of cash and realize you and Hoseok were the ones remaining to pay as Taehyung shouts Jimin’s name, running up the snowy hill with some struggle from the extra weight and thick clothes.
You breathily laugh at Taehyung’s humorous figure, slightly shaking your head at his actions and rummage through your pockets for your bundle of cash that you had set aside prior to the trip to pay for your own pass.
Not being able to feel the bundle, you grow slightly panicked. You hated losing money, and your empty pockets make you heavily sigh.
Hoseok gives you the eight dollars, eyeing you curiously at how you take it with a grim line on your face.
“Everything okay?” he asks, slightly concerned.
You give him an odd glance. Why would he care?
“Uh. Yeah,” you say, feeling the awkward tension settle in between the two of you. You quickly turn around and start heading up the hill behind the rest of the excitedly talking group, wondering if you should just ask Hyejoo or Jin for extra cash.
“Y/N,” Hoseok calls, his grip going to your wrist to stop you.
You subtly pull your wrist away from him, ignoring the weird tingly sensation as you turn around.
“Yes, Hoseok?” you ask with a tense look.
“Are you broke?” he jokes.
You squint at the man’s teasing smile and huff.
“No,” you say sharply with a frown. “I just. . . I don’t know where my money went. I think it fell out while I was changing or something.”
Hoseok shrugs, immediately taking out another eight dollars from his pouch.
Before you can even protest, he firmly squishes the bills into your palm and takes your board from your side. He nearly sprints up the snowy incline, none less humorously than Taehyung’s running figure, yelling Taehyung’s name to wait up for him and ignoring your call for him to get back here and take back his money and return your board.
“What the hell?” you breath out, obviously not having expected this kind gesture.
You force out the rush of thoughts that threaten to enter your mind and instead, remain your indifferent self.
You arrive at the ticket booth, exchanging the eighty dollars with ten ski lift passes and trudge over to your friends.
“Y/N’s here!” Seri announces. All of them crowd around you, grabbing the passes and attaching it onto one another.
You fiddle around with the zip-tie, successfully attaching it to your ski jacket’s zipper and look around for Hoseok who had taken your board.
“Y/N!”
You whip around to see Jimin waddling over to you with your board under his left arm. With a small grunt, he places it down in front of you.
“Hoseok said this was your board?” Jimin states as if in question.
You lightly smile at his slight confusion, fully understanding why Jimin was so taken aback by the fact that Hoseok even had your board in the first place and then nod in response.
“Thanks,” you say, taking the board. “He took it earlier since I had to go to the ticket booth.”
Jimin nods, satisfied with your answer and turns back around to easily join in on a conversation.
“Is anyone going to ride right now?” you hear Seokjin ask.
“Me!” you shout as your arm shoots up in the air. Seokjin nods, gesturing you to follow him to the lift. You hop after him in the snow and strike up a conversation, missing the way Hoseok fondly smiles as he trudges along after the two of you.
“Jin hyung!” a voice calls from behind, making you turn around after entering through the automatic gates that lead you into the lift.
Taehyung jogs up to the two of you, a boxy smile on his face as he makes his way right in front of you.
“Can I get on the lift with Jin hyung?” Taehyung asks with a pleading look in his eyes.
“No,” you blurt out immediately, with no hesitation which automatically causes a pout to be etched onto Taehyung’s face.
“Why’re you guys just standing here?” Hoseok asks, finally catching up with you guys in the line.
“I would like to Tae,” Seokjin starts, unintentionally ignoring Hoseok. “But I’m worried that one of these two is going to end up dead.”
Hoseok cracks up at Jin’s comment as you wince at Hoseok’s loud laughter.
“Glad you’re aware, Mr. Kim,” you roll your eyes, walking past the rest of them as Taehyung continues to whine behind you.
You strap one foot on your board, preparing to get on the lift with Seokjin standing next to you as your turn comes closer. Quickly, it’s your turn to get on the carpeted loading station. As you shuffle over, you hear a yelp from Seokjin as his figure suddenly disappears from next to you.
“Seokjin?” you say, confused, but you’re already getting ushered into the lift with Taehyung haphazardly pushing Hoseok in next to you.
No. No. NO. NOOO.
“SEOKJIN!” you yell, arm helplessly reaching behind you as your seat gently jerks forward, going up the incline.
“Y/N!” you hear Jin dramatically shout back.
You heavily sigh as you watch Seokjin and Taehyung take their own seats, leaving one empty lift between you and them.
A snort leads you to frown, turning your upper body back around.
You shoot Hoseok a glare as he looks away from you with an obvious smile on his face.
“What’s so funny?” you say, venomously.
He turns around, facing you with amusement in his eye. “You and Jin hyung. If someone saw, they would think you were Jack and Rose on the Titanic.”
You scoff, crossing your arms in front of your chest, deciding to look down at the plush snow instead of Hoseok’s annoying face.
“What’d you do for Christmas?” Hoseok suddenly asks, interrupting the soft buzzing noise of the lift’s machinery that filled up the silence.
You turn to look at him in confusion which he responds with raised brows.
“What?” he asks defensively.
You huff, choosing to look straight ahead of you. “Why’re you being so nice today?”
The corner of Hoseok’s lip tilts up. “What do you mean? I’m always nice.”
You resist a groan, already able to hear the amusement in his voice.
“Nevermind.”
You side-eye the man who’s slightly curled up against the end of the rail slightly shaking with laughter.
It takes your entire willpower to smother the smile all the way down to your toes that threatens to form on your face from Hoseok’s contagious, bubbly laughter.
“You never answered my question,” Hoseok says after a few moments of silence.
You sigh, fiddling with the half-open pocket on your ski pants. “My parents came over in the morning. We ate breakfast and I spent the rest of the day on Netflix.”
“How come you didn’t come to the Christmas party?”
You turn to him with slight surprise. Why did he even care if you were there or not?
“Because-”
Suddenly, a creak sounds from the large gears attached at the top of the pole a few meters away from and your seat jerks forward into a stop.
“Eep!” Hoseok squeaks, as he feels his body lurch forward with the lift that starts to swing.
Your instincts take over, one hand grabbing the side rail and the other reaching out for Hoseok. It appears that Hoseok’s hands have the same reflexes.
You both panickly look at each other and look down.
Your hands were intertwined.
You gasp, pulling away as Hoseok sputters out an apology, hand darting back into his lap.
A few beats of silence pass as the lift slows down into a stop and you realize that it wasn’t moving at all.
You audibly sigh, the previous hand-holding incident quickly being forgotten and instead annoyance filling you.
“We’re stuck?” Hoseok dumbly asks as if he didn’t want to accept the fact.
You roll your eyes, giving him a judgemental side-eye. “Well, does it seem like we’re moving?”
“I can’t believe I got stuck on a ski lift with you, of all people,” you mutter without much thought, looking off to the side and staring enviously at the freely snowboarding and skiing people.
You hear Hoseok scoff and for a second, you fear if you took it too far.
“Am I that bad?” he asks softly, eyes narrowed and looking straight forward.
Was he offended? Maybe you took it too far?
“Uh. . .” you let out a noise, confused on how to respond to this serious side of Hoseok.
He remains silent, tense.
You might’ve taken it too far.
“N-No,” you say quietly, barely reaching Hoseok’s ears. “Sorry. I was just kidding.”
Hoseok lets out a slight sigh, seeming to refuse to turn to you. You wonder if he was joking with you until he opens his mouth and glances at you.
“Didn’t sound like you were kidding,” he states bitterly. You straighten up at his tone that you’ve never heard from him before. He was never this directly upset with you.
“Hoseok,” you say firmly, disliking the guilt that seeps into you. “I was just kidding. Getting stuck on the lift sucks in general, not just because I’m stuck with you.”
“HEY! GET OFF OF ME! WE’RE BOTH GOING TO FALL DOWN AND DIE. DO YOU WANT TO DIE? I DON’T WANT TO DIE WITH YOU!” Seokjin yells, his blaring voice echoing across the whole ski resort.
You sigh, wincing at the ringing in your ears from Seokjin’s pitchy voice. “In fact, I would much rather be stuck here with you rather than listen to Jin scream right next to me.”
Hoseok cracks a smile. “Poor Tae.”
You stare at him a bit questionably at how he was slightly smiling again.
Was this guy bipolar?
Hoseok turns to you abruptly with a wide smile on his face now. “So you don’t completely hate me.”
You squint your eyes at him. “What?”
Hoseok slightly laughs. “I’m not actually mad. I just wanted to see how you would react.”
Your jaw drops, but surprisingly you don’t feel too angry.
“At least I know I’m better to be stuck on a lift than with Jin,” he laughs.
You offer a breathy laugh, turning away from Hoseok’s infectious laughter and staring down at the snow to try to suppress your smile.
You miss the way Hoseok beams at the sound of your soft laugh.
Before a complete awkward silence can settle down, the lift suddenly jerks forward, the gears groaning to start moving down the numerous skiiers and snowboarders.
With a soft yelp from Hoseok and an iron grip on the rails from you, your lift starts moving.
And for the first time, you let your lips crack into a smile at the sound of Hoseok’s nervous laughter.
The screech came from the bathroom, piercing the peaceful surrounds of Baker Street. Sherlock had been waiting, his supine position on the couch absolutely and entirely for this purpose. He had intentionally opened the newspaper to cover his gleeful smirk.
“Sorry, John. I didn’t hear you. Do you need something?” he asked sweetly. He waited behind his newspaper as he heard the sound of John padding angrily across the apartment, his bare feet slapping along the floorboards. Sherlock remained steadfast in his nonchalance.
The silence extended between them for too long, as Sherlock waited in eager anticipation, until John finally cleared his throat deliberately. Sherlock dropped a corner of the paper, just long enough to see what John was angry about, and then chose to return his paper to its original position.
“Sherlock!” John yelled again, more angrily this time.
Sherlock finally conceded and dropped the paper to his stomach. “What is it John?” he asked, trying his best to sound annoyed. He had waited hours for this, after all, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch.
“I’m green!” John shrieked.
It took all of Sherlock’s best acting skills not to burst out laughing.
“So it seems,” he replied calmly instead.
“So it seems? SO IT SEEMS?!” John roared. “What have you done?”
“I’ve been here reading my paper you can’t possibly…”
“Sherlock!”
Sherlock shoved his paper to the side and threw his legs off the couch to stand up. He moved around John, saving his silent giggles for while he was standing at the back of John, out of view.
“Hmmm interesting…”
“Sherlock,” John moaned.
“This wasn’t the expected outcome, I have to say.”
“I told you. No more experiments!”
“Did you use the …”
John fired him an irritated look. “Whatever you think I used, I clearly did. How else would I be bloody green?”
“Ah.” Sherlock replied simply.
“Ah? AH?! Sherlock! That’s all you can say?” John yelled. “Reverse it.”
“I can’t reverse it,” Sherlock said calmly. “John, you’re entirely green.”
“I KNOW!!” John’s face would have been beet red from anger if he wasn’t already entirely green.
Sherlock finally cracked, the beginning of a laugh bubbling out. He tried to stop it which only made a strangled snorting sound. “Sorry,” he added quickly, trying to straighten his expression.
“I have a date… correction, had a date.”
“Oh, John, I had no idea. I’m sorry,” Sherlock simpered but it wasn’t convincing. John levelled a furious glare at him.
“Perhaps if you try honey?” he suggested.
“Honey?”
“Yes. All over. Cover your face in it.”
John was already starting for the kitchen. “Just honey? That will work?” he asked excitedly.
“Well, I have no idea. It certainly can’t hurt.”
“Sherlock!” John screamed. He stormed back to the lounge shoving the container of honey into Sherlock’s grip, before grabbing his coat and his keys. He pulled the door open angrily.
“John, it’s best not to go out. You are green, after all.”
John pointed at him angrily, unable to speak from his fury. They stood there in silence and then he slammed the door behind him.
John, of course, knew Sherlock was right. He couldn’t leave the house looking like this. But he also wouldn’t give his flatmate the satisfaction of being right, either.
He stormed down to Mrs Hudson’s apartment instead and knocked.
When she opened the door she squealed loudly. Sherlock would know where he was now.
“John!” She cried, then leaned in close to whisper. “I don’t know how to tell you this dear… But… You’re green.”
———
More to come- hopefully each day! Thanks for the December prompt list @notjustamumj
Sherlock stormed into the lab as usual with all the confidence of a man who owned the place.
“Molly. Good, you’re here. I need to see the body. It's imperative that we do it as quickly as possible. I have suspicions about new bruising and you know how time is of the—“ Sherlock froze and blinked at the sight in front of him.
“Oh, hello Sherlock, John. Lovely to see you both,” Molly said brightly.
John also froze and looked at the desk where Molly was working. Her hair was in a mess, a knot clasped violently with a clip and almost as much hair falling out of it. She was typing away at the computer, her desk covered in papers. On top of the papers, though - and the cause of their staring - was a small ginger kitten padding up and down over her work. As they stared, it found a pencil to paw at.
“Ah… Molly…?” John began, looking up at Sherlock and back at the bench. Sherlock looked deeply offended.
Molly had paused to take a sandwich out of her mouth when she first spoke to them but had already returned it back to its resting place in her mouth, as she typed furiously again. “Hmmm?” she asked, not even looking up at them.
“Cat,” Sherlock spat out.
Molly lifted the sandwich out again. “Sorry?”
“You have a cat,” Sherlock said stiffly.
“Oh yes, this is Milo. Say hello, Milo,” she said to the animal, which only seemed to offend Sherlock more. The kitten meowed back appropriately.
“Molly, this is a lab,“ Sherlock said with a frown.
“So?” She laughed, abandoning her sandwich to the plate this time.
“Well, there’s… certain levels of hygiene that should be… should be…” Sherlock didn’t really have a good answer for her and looked to John for support.
“Sherlock, everyone here’s dead except for me. I'm fairly certain it's not going to cross contaminate or anything is it?” She laughed at him.
“The cat’s walking all over your paperwork. What about your filing system?” He tried instead.
“What about it, Sherlock?” She looked over at him and he was clearly beside himself. “You can't seriously be worried about a kitten?
“Well now I've lost my train of thought,” he sighed in frustration, watching the cat bite at some papers and spin around to tackle the pencil again.
“Do you not like cats, Sherlock?” Molly asked, mildly horrified.
“They’re dreadful creatures. They have no respect for human emotions, or personal boundaries. They can ignore the people close to them for days on end,” he scoffed angrily.
“Sounds familiar,” John mumbled.
“Excuse you?” Sherlock turned to look at him, wounded that his partner was not agreeing with him.
“Pretty sure that's the criteria you gave me before I moved in,” John reminded him.
Molly giggled. “I think you might be right, John.”
“Yes, I think you are, indeed, like a big cat, Sherlock. And you always curl up on the couch in funny positions… run around restlessly in the middle of the night...” John continued, starting to enjoy himself.
“You actually are very like a cat,” Molly agreed.
“Shut up,” Sherlock huffed, no quick retort ready to hand. “I was here for actual work.”
“Yes, yes. You wanted to see a body? Is this about the man with four wives?” Molly checked.
“Three wives… and a husband,” John pointed out.
Sherlock didn't miss the fact that John was once again stuck on that point.
They began to follow Molly out of the lab to head to the other room with the bodies. Sherlock felt something tug on his pants, and looked down to find the kitten biting at the hem.
“Ugh, Molly,” he groaned.
She turned to see Milo, biting and pulling at his expensive suit pants leg and couldn’t help smirking, before putting on a stern face. “You wanted me to get the body out? You deal with the cat.”
Sherlock let out a frustrated sigh, bending down to pick it up so he could keep walking. Milo immediately leaped out of his hands, and onto the shoulder of his coat, startling him. John snorted at the expression on Sherlock’s face. He looked mortified, horrified as the cat crawled along his shoulder and then up over the lapel to find a position between his coat collar and his curls, snuggling against his neck.
John suddenly blushed and was surprised by his reaction. He wasn't sure why, but the cat looked so comfortable snuggled against his flatmate. It seemed to be a cozy position that gave the kitten great satisfaction. Sherlock always seemed like such an uncomfortable being. He didn't seem like someone who would like to be cuddled, or enjoy affection. He didn't like attention from what John had seen. Never had dates over, never mentioned going on them. Was he asexual? Aromantic? Just generally disinterested? John had given up asking after the one attempt he had made to gauge Sherlock’s relationship status. The man certainly seemed oblivious to any of Molly’s advances, in any case. And he always mocked people in relationships when it came up on cases, or seemed to not understand the intricacies of them. John was always having to fill in the gaps for him.
And yet this cat had cuddled right against him. No hesitation. And suddenly, John kind of wished, just for a moment, that he was the kind of friend that Sherlock would like to cuddle up to.
“Do you need any assistance?” John asked.
“No, I suppose he can just stay there now,” Sherlock asserted.
“Oh, look! How adorable, he loves you already!” Molly exclaimed as she looked over to see what had happened.
“Yes, well it's quite a nuisance that he's making of himself,” Sherlock grumbled.
“Oh, you like it,” Molly scoffed.
“It's like a little massage gun that's purring against my neck,” he scoffed back at her.
“People pay good money for those massage guns,” Molly commented.
Again, John blushed at the idea. What was all that about all of a sudden?
“Yes. Well, that was all very cute,” Sherlock said to the kitten, “but I have work to do.” He tried to remove it and put it on the ground again. Milo meowed in the most adorable little cry and padded along behind Sherlock as he moved forward again.
Once they were all in place, Molly unzipped the body bag and Sherlock pushed forward impatiently. He grabbed gloves from the nearby container and snapped them on, leaning in to start taking note of the body. As he was looking, the kitten clawed its way up his pants leg, then onto his coat, to get back up to his position against Sherlock’s neck. Even from a couple of feet away John could hear the purring, like a little engine. He smiled, covering his mouth to stop himself from laughing aloud, afraid of embarrassing Sherlock. The kitten was struggling to balance while Sherlock leaned over the body, desperately shuffling, and adjusting its weight to stay perched there. It was irritating Sherlock to no end. He kept trying to flick it angry glances, but hidden under his chin, he couldn’t level the right amount of irritation at it.
“Why don't I do this and you can direct and observe?” John suggested.
“Fine,” Sherlock announced angrily, stepping back and snapping his gloves off throwing them into the nearby bin. He folded his arms across his body in absolute defeat and fury.
John grabbed some fresh gloves and took over, moving the victim’s arm to lift it and look at his ribs. “You're right, Sherlock, there's fresh bruising here that wasn't there the other day,” John said. “Just as you thought.” He looked up and couldn’t help smiling at the scene before him. Sherlock, looking like an aloof security guard, but with an adorable orange kitten nestled and purring under his ear, eyes closed in absolute ecstasy.
“I have to think about all of this, Molly. Can we get photos please?” Sherlock asked.
“Oh, yes, certainly.” She moved to the side and got a camera and then started taking some photos. “Um… actually… I was going to ask… if I saw you… if you would like to maybe come to my Christmas party?” She stumbled over the words awkwardly.
“Oh, we already have a couple of Christmas events,” Sherlock said absently, not making eye contact.
John gave him a stern look. “Didn't think there was anything going on. When is it?” John asked her.
“Next Saturday night?” She asked, her face lighting up.
“I’m sure we can make that work,” he agreed. “Can't we Sherlock?”
“Fine. Send me the details,” he grumped as he started to walk out of the lab.
“Ah… Sherlock?” John called after him.
“What?” Sherlock turned around to find Molly and John watching him expectantly.
“You can pack that up for us, can't you, Molly?” he said, assuming he was in trouble for leaving without cleaning up.
“No… ah…” Molly stuttered out.
“Sherlock, just…” John tried. Sherlock was clearly oblivious.
“What, John?” He asked in annoyance.
John sighed, removing his gloves as he walked over to Sherlock, grabbed the kitten from its position against Sherlock's neck and gave him a look. He walked it back over to Molly. “Sorry, Molly,” he said, handing Milo to her.
Sherlock, who now felt slightly embarrassed and affronted at the error, left the lab in a huff.
“Thanks John,” she said with a little smile. “Doesn't like cats,” she mumbled under her breath.
“Oh, he says that about a lot of things,” John said. “But we know his bark is always worse than his bite. I think he quite enjoyed that kitten cuddle. Milo is very cute, Molly.”
She giggled. “Thank you,” she said sweetly, as John left to find his sulking detective.
— —
Thanks @notjustamumj for the prompt list
This one is for @phoenix27884 today. You know which kitten this is. His name’s been changed for anonymity 🤭
“Do we really have to go to this party?” John moaned.
“Greg asked, and he asks for very little from us. It’s with the people from the Yard, John. They felt like we should be there,” Sherlock explained, as he rifled through his closet. “I think he just wants us there for emotional support.”
“Look, we both hate people. Why would we go to a party?” John argued, frowning as he watched from the corridor. Sherlock was invested, shoulder deep in his closet.
“We're doing Greg a favour. Besides, they’re celebrating the big break in the case. We need to be there for that.”
“Do I get extra credit for working out that it was the fourth wife?” John said, puffing out his chest.
“Yes, yes, they’re very impressed by that, John,” Sherlock said excitedly.
“Do we need to bring anything?” John asked, still standing awkwardly in the corridor, still wondering what on earth Sherlock was fussing with in his sacred bedroom.
“No.” Sherlock paused to look at John for a moment. “Maybe a tie?”
“Oh really? That posh? Okay?” John disappeared to get a tie.
By the time John came back out of his room, Sherlock was in the lounge, jiggling impatiently on the spot, his coat already on and buttoned up. John paused, assessing the situation. Something was not right but he couldn’t put his finger on it. When Sherlock looked up at John, finally, he froze with an odd expression on his face.
“What?” John asked, pausing on the stairs. Sherlock continued to stare at him. “What? Was this not what you had meant?” John pressed on, suddenly doubting his wardrobe choice. He had settled on a Christmas themed tie but it was a particularly classy one that was a deep maroon silk with a very subtle holly embroidered onto it. One of his terrible ex-dates had given it in an over enthusiastic gesture. John had taken her on a second date and she apparently thought he was a permanent boyfriend. It had ended badly but the tie had stayed in the wardrobe because it was actually lovely. He never had cause to wear it and something had possessed him to put on a fancy tie, to impress Sherlock and now, Sherlock looked… possibly disgusted at it, at least that was the only thing John could attribute his particular expression to. It resulted in a very silent cab ride to the pub in which John had no idea what to say to rectify the situation.
Sherlock paid the fare while John stepped out and made his way into the pub to get out of the very cold night. When he paused in the foyer to undo his jacket, he caught sight of Sherlock on the pavement heading in, already undoing his coat. He caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s outfit under his coat now that it was open.
“What are you…” John paused, mouth gaping open as he caught sight of it. “Ah… wearing?” He took in the sight of Sherlock as his friend entered the foyer and took off his coat properly.
“But… You told me to wear…” He was completely confused.
“Well, it’s a Christmas party, John,” Sherlock replied, somehow keeping a straight face.
“I wore a bloody Christmas tie. You told me to! What the hell is that?!” he shrieked, pointing at Sherlock.
“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked calmly.
“Come on, Sherlock. What are you wearing? Is that my jumper?” John asked again.
“I'm just… borrowing it,” Sherlock said, raising his nose high in the air defensively. “Sherlock Holmes, you have never worn a Christmas jumper in your life. I don’t even think I’ve seen you in a jumper, period. What are you doing?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You're going to stretch the wool out! You’re way taller than I am,” John said in frustration.
“Hush, John. Let’s head in before we miss the start of the party,” Sherlock said as John glared at him.
Now, he felt completely out of sorts. Standing in his button up shirt with his classy tie, beside Sherlock Holmes in one of his bloody Christmas jumpers. The jumpers that Sherlock teased him about. Constantly. Only now, Sherlock was wearing one. His favourite, in fact and…
“You were fishing this out of your closet,” John suddenly realised.
“Hmmm?” Sherlock hummed the question as if he hadn’t really heard it.
“You were trying to find this… in your closet. Why was it in your closet?” John asked angrily.
Sherlock ignored him and walked past him to ensure they got moving, and the moment John walked in, he realised the whole group were all wearing terrible Christmas jumpers.
“Whaaat is happening, Sherlock?” John whispered, feeling incredibly out of place. “Did you forget to give me the memo?”
Everyone let out a cheer and flooded towards them, with excited greetings, and pats on the back coupled with congratulations. The whole team seemed so excited to see them both. John had an out of body experience as he tried to process what was happening - everybody else in what could only be described as ugly Christmas jumpers, even though John liked quite a few of them. This was exactly why he was the butt of all of Sherlock’s fashion quips wasn’t it?
Finally Lestrade tapped his keys against his beer glass to silence the team in their little corner of the pub, settling the rabble.
“Well, John Watson,” Lestrade said, to which the whole team cheered. “We’ve been waiting for the day you would finally snag a win. Sherlock always outdoes you - and all of us - and this time, you outdid Sherlock and we thought we would celebrate with you. Besides, this arrogant arse needed to be taken down a peg or two.” Everyone chuckled and made noises of agreement. “And as your Christmas jumpers are always a source of Sherlock's teasing, we told him that since you were the genius this week, he had to wear one of your jumpers… case in point,” he added, pointing to Sherlock’s jumper, to which everyone cheered. “And in return we agreed we would all wear a bad Christmas jumper too.”
“So, I'm the only one here without a Christmas jumper,” John mumbled under his breath.
Sherlock leaned in closer to him. “Correct, but you wear them the rest of the time, so we felt like it was a fair trade.
John blushed and tried to laugh along as he drank his beer, taking it faster than he should, in a bid to get out of this whole nightmare as quickly as possible. He wanted to enjoy the glow of the recognition. He had helped break the case open. But somehow the fuss over it just made him feel like they were pointing out how stupid he was the rest of the time. Stupid little John, with his stupid little jumpers.
It wasn’t even an hour later when John slammed his third beer down, interrupting one of Greg’s sorry. “Yeah, I’m… gonna go,” he said, storming through the pub, past his coat and made it out to the street to try and hail a cab.
By the time he had found a cab to stop, Sherlock was by his side, silently watching. He had the coat on and had John’s jumper in his hands. They sat quietly through the entire trip home as John ground his teeth together. They got all the way up to the flat before John finally snapped.
“Is that really how you see me, Sherlock? Just the idiot who wears the bad jumpers?”
Sherlock looked as if he’d been slapped. “No, John, it was all in good sport. We thought you would have a laugh with us.”
“I know they see me like that. But do you really see me… like that?” he asked, his voice quieter.
“No. Of course not. Of course not.”
Sherlock stood in the same room, but didn’t seem to be able to look at John now. His shoes were suddenly very interesting, apparently.
“John, I'm sorry.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “We just thought it would be fun. You always seem, to me at least, to be feeling… or perhaps I make you feel… lesser and like a tag along and I wanted you to be the main character.”
John looked surprised but not long enough to get rid of his feelings of complete humiliation. “Yeah, well, you know, once in a while, it would be really nice if I wasn't the main character that was also having the piss taken out of them you know? Like being green, being drugged, being teased, being pointed and laughed at. It’s like I’m the Robin to your Batman…” He frowned at the ground. “That’s not what I… wrong example…or maybe what I mean is… it’s like…people treat me like… I’m your secret gay lover who’s downtrodden and can't tell the world and I…”
“No,” Sherlock tried to scoff casually at his remarks. “Of course you’re not.” His face heated at John’s words.
“You know, just for once… for once I would like to just be John Watson, just normal John Watson without any…” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his faces. “Just forget it. It sounds stupid now.”
Sherlock stood awkwardly unable to think quickly enough to fix things, to say the right thing.
“I'm going to bed,” John snapped. He grabbed his jumper off the chair Sherlock had draped it carefully on and stormed upstairs. He slammed his door louder than he meant to and then sat, sulking on the bed for quite some time. Finally, he realised the jumper smelled of Sherlock now. Irritatingly, infuriatingly, impossibly. Before he could stop himself, he lay down on the bed, fully clothed, and cuddled the jumper tightly to his chest. He lay there unmoving until he drifted off to sleep.
A quiet night at home was in order after the busy investigations of the day.
John sat reading in his chair, by the fire, very quiet, and very still. Sherlock felt it best not to disturb him when he was in such a mood so he settled on some violin time on the other side of the room.
Sherlock played for a while, moving between a series of songs and not able to settle on any one particular piece. He was too distracted. The moment between them, in the snow, would not leave his mind. Being so close to John, touching him so intimately, had not been something he had planned, and now, he feared he had overstepped.
John hadn’t said a single word since they had returned home and it was unsettling.
Sherlock worked his way through some Mozart, Brahms, Beethoven and even an arrangement of a Beatles song he knew John tended to like, even him along to, hoping to elicit a response. Somehow filling the awkward silence between them seemed incredibly important right now. He was speaking through music to his friend.
But what exactly was he trying to say? He didn’t even know. John had been the one stable thing in his life, the rock he could rely upon. And strangely, while Sherlock didn’t agree with everything John had been implying in his rants about the case, he did agree with him about the devotion to one person. And hadn’t they been that to each other for the longest time already? The two of them against the rest of the world? Whatever John’s issues with men stemmed from, Sherlock understood that he had a devoted friend and companion in John Watson. Whatever it meant to his flatmate, he knew what it meant in his own head and nothing ever needed to change. He never expected it to. In Sherlock’s mind, they would live out their lives working together as they had been in a de facto arrangement that was ambiguous to everyone around them but perfectly natural to the two of them, so long as no one said anything about it. Sherlock never planned to make his feelings known to John. He could see it would distress John to hear it, or at least he firmly suspected so. Maybe one day, years from now, things may progress but he knew not to assume it would ever change beyond the happy situation they were in. John seemed happy, when he wasn’t moping and thinking, at least.
Sherlock wandered as he played, sometimes looking out the window at the street below, sometimes moving closer to the fireplace for warmth, drifting across John’s field of vision casually.
He felt John’s eyes on him often and wondered what was going through that mind of his.
The case was troubling John. Was it really just the four marriages? Or was it the fact that the victim was bisexual? Sherlock had wondered since the day they met, if John had been hitting on him at the restaurant. But then after that, he had maintained a steady stream of awful women who spent their time mocking John and Sherlock’s connection. John was incredibly quick to announce he wasn’t gay, and the dates felt like some kind of direct message to prove something to Sherlock and anyone else who spotted him out. John Watson liked women. But he never seemed happy with them, aside from getting off, obviously, which, if Sherlock was honest, didn’t even seem to improve John’s mood anyway. But even so, he understood it to be John making a point, and scratching some kind of itch which never abated.
Was it possible that the case bothered John so much because he saw himself in the victim? A man who couldn’t make up his mind where his heart lay?
Or was it truly the lack of respect and health and safety John felt was on display in being sexually and emotionally prolific.
Sherlock needed to gather more data. John Watson was a fascinating work of art that he never tired of looking at and learning from. So many contradictions and hidden messages. A code he was yet to break.
“That one,” John finally whispered softly with a little smile.
“Hmmm?” Sherlock asked.
“That piece. That’s my favourite.” He let out a contented sigh and went back to reading.
Sherlock added it to the catalogue. Bach. John liked it when he played Bach.
— —
Thanks for reading. Let me know if you want to be tagged!
After a long interview with wife number two, a follow up interview with the best friend (who also happened to know spouse three - the husband) and a visit to a restaurant in the neighbouring town which had been the source of many of the victim’s dates and dealings, John and Sherlock found themselves walking back towards Baker Street. The tube had been delayed due to track works and there was not a cab in sight, so an evening stroll was in order.
“The husband seems genuinely devastated,” John said. “At least according to the friend’s account. But how does one sit comfortably with knowing two of the spouses and not… Do you really believe she didn’t know?”
Sherlock walked for a moment, quiet in thought. “It’s possible.”
“Possible but not likely,” John scoffed. “Do you think the victim seems the type to get married without an audience or without at least a photo?”
“Plenty of people in this world don’t feel the need to document their every meal and bowel movement, like some do,” Sherlock retorted.
“No. I agree but their wedding?” John argued. “Do you think they each married the same man, two of them also shared the same supposed best friend without ever knowing there was a connection to the very same man?”
Sherlock stopped walking to look at his friend. “I think there’s a great many things friends don’t really know about each other. Don’t you?” he asked. He gave John a probing look.
Something had been bothering John for days. It seemed apparent - when he was green - that the source of his frustration lay in the predicament he has been in thanks to his irresponsible flatmate and friend. However, as the colour faded from his skin, and as the case became more intriguing, it only seemed to irritate John further.
“What’s really bothering you, John?” Sherlock finally asked.
“What? Nothing. No.” John glanced up at Sherlock and then at his feet.
“You haven’t been yourself all week.”
“I was green remember, Sherlock?” he replied.
“You haven’t been green for days, John.” Sherlock levelled a look at him. “This case has really bothered you.”
“I just think marriage is more sacred. More special. It should be shared with the one person that means the entire world to you. It should be about committing to the one person who understands you and loves you despite all your flaws.” John swallowed hard.
“Did I miss a memo? Did the government send a decree? Is that not what it is now?” Sherlock asked.
“He married four people!” John cried out.
“But why does that make you angry?” Sherlock pressed.
“I don’t know. Some people are never lucky enough to have that. We all grow up instinctively expecting to find the one. Assuming that at some point the planets will align but it’s not actually true is it?” John said bitterly. “Sometimes that doesn’t happen and people end up alone all the time, yet we still behave as if we will eventually find our way there.” He sighed heavily. “I’m old now. And I’m certainly not getting any closer to meeting the kind of person who would…”
Sherlock held up a hand to stop him talking. He looked towards the sky. “It’s snowing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” John huffed. “It’s too early for snow.”
“And yet,” Sherlock began.
He was going to argue with John about the weather but he didn’t need to. A large snowflake fell from the sky and landed on John’s cheek, right beside his nose. It was crisp and beautiful and sat there against the skin without the slightest sign of melting. Sherlock couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.
John looked at Sherlock, his eyes widening at the realisation and then tried to looked down at it. His eyes began to cross as he looked down and Sherlock had to try hard not the laugh. It was quite simply adorable. He wished he could read John’s mind, wished he could understand what John was thinking, why he was so angry about this case.
John was so important to him, always had been, always would be but it pained him to see John grappling with the idea of being alone, as if he didn’t recognise that Sherlock was right in front of him.
Sherlock reached down and lay his palm on John’s cheek. John froze in surprise, his eyes searching Sherlock’s in confusion, completely unsure what was happening.
Sherlock looked at John’s face. At all of it. The beautiful shade of blue of his eyes, lost and searching for meaning in Sherlock’s behaviour, his blonde grey mix of hair scruffed up from all the activity of the day, with more snowflakes also balancing precariously at the front, threatening to add to the one perfect snowflake on his inner cheek. His jacket was all askew and it took a lot of self control from Sherlock to only make this one move. He knew he had one opportunity and then John was likely to bolt in fright. There was something about men together that panicked him.
“John—“ he said so very gently and he allowed himself the slightest lifting of a smile on his lips as John closed his eyes.
The sound of his name said so gently, clearly elicited a response from John - whether he would acknowledge it later or not. By the time he had opened his eyes again, Sherlock had returned his expression to a neutral, passive gaze. But now, he used his thumb to gently wipe back and forth over the delicate skin beside John’s nose, where the snowflake had landed, his thumb accepting the cold ice and collecting against his skin instead, removing it from John’s cheek.
John closed his eyes again and the most delicious little blush rose on his cheeks that delighted Sherlock.
“Mmmm?” He hummed in question so softly, Sherlock wasn’t sure he had made the noise at all.
“Come on, let’s go home,” Sherlock suggested quietly. He couldn’t help taking one last look at John’s flushed face before walking on ahead. The moment safely catalogued in his mind palace to enjoy later.
——
Thank you for following along! Let me know if you want to be tagged
The case had indeed been interesting. A man, found dead in a house that he, seemingly, had no connection to at all. His wife had reported him missing and a dead body had been reported, found in a nearby town, both reports of which, coincidentally aligned . After the wife had given the positive ID, the challenge had been to discover why he had ended up in that particular house.
In fact, it turned out that several people had reported the same man missing. Three days later, they had established the man had, in fact, married himself off to four different people. Three now very unhappy women and, surprisingly, a man as well.
None of them were happy about this news but it surprised Sherlock to see how very unhappy it made John.
They were sitting in a spare conference room at the Yard, waiting for Lestrade to finish a phone call. Sherlock sat on the corner of the long conference table, his feet on a chair, and John was seated a little further up the table, playing with the evidence bag that contained the five golden rings - from the four widows and the victim.
“It makes me so angry… that someone would…” John stopped himself fidgeting and left the bag on the table, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms.
Sherlock watched him in silence, giving his flatmate his full attention. Thankfully, for the sake of their friendship, Sherlock had been right. They had experienced two uncomfortable days and by the third day, John’s skin looked only a bit sallow. In the right light you could still see a tinge of green there but otherwise, he was all but back to normal.
“Why angry?” Sherlock prompted.
“Well firstly, because marriage should be sacred. If someone chooses to commit to it, it should be performed before God as a sacred commitment. How did he get away with four? And a man too?”
“I didn’t take you for a bigot John.” Sherlock raised his brow.
“No… not… Not like that… I just…” he sighed. “I have some ingrained personal issues to work on, clearly.”
“I had no idea you were so traditional, or religious. You never talk about that,” Sherlock said quietly.
John sat in silence, deep in thought. The weight of the world seemed to be on his shoulders.
“When we met, you said… That it was all fine. But it’s clearly not, is it?” Sherlock said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.
John frowned. “I don’t see what this has to do with that?”
Sherlock looked at him, trying to gauge where John’s head was at. He wasn’t connecting any dots at all. But to Sherlock, the connection was as clear as day. John wasn’t only defensive about his sexuality, he was seemingly struggling with seeing it in other people too. “Do you really have a problem with the fact that he married a man?”
“I have more of a problem that he… married four people, honestly. And they didn’t know… and he was…” John rubbed a hand over his face trying to wrestle with and communicate his thoughts in real time. “Medically speaking, he put them all at risk. They loved him in good faith, and now, all four spouses have to go through STI tests, HIV testing… He’s made a mess of their lives. Imagine finding out you just lost your spouse… but that he was also cheating, all at the same time. And so much of it!”
“And morally?” Sherlock prompted.
John shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I think, does it? He’s dead and he’s left a mess behind.”
Sherlock knew John had a complicated relationship with his family and the church and had always been cagey about his sexuality and placing both himself and Sherlock in certain boxes to reconcile with things inside his head. John’s ridiculous “not gay” rants whenever any innuendo was placed at their feet, and a series of other passing comments, had made it very clear to Sherlock, that John had a lot of issues to work through. He decided it was best to let the topic go for now at least.
“And second?” he asked instead.
“Second?” John looked confused.
“You were angry about the Ten Commandments apparently…”
John flashed him an irritated look. “That’s not—“
“… and secondly?” Sherlock prompted again.
John reached out and grabbed the bag off the table and held it up. “Somebody died, and all I can think about is that bloody irritating carol… Twelve Days of Christmas? Five gold rings? It’s looping in my head,” John said. He looked up at Sherlock with a comically pained expression all of a sudden.
Sherlock burst out laughing and John couldn’t help following along.
“I know, I know. Terribly inappropriate,” he choked out between giggles.
Lestrade chose this moment to find them. He frowned. “I see you two are giving this case your usual level of focus.”
Sherlock held up a hand in apology as they settled their giggling.
“It seems a neighbour had a security camera. We need to interview wife number two. Coming?” Lestrade asked. “If you can hold it together, that is.” He turned on his heel and left.
Sherlock gave a little jump from the table and straightened his coat while John stood, pushing in his chair and pocketing the five gold rings in their little bag. He headed for the door first and behind him he heard Sherlock hum the last line of the carol for his benefit. He couldn’t help snorting, and flashed Sherlock a look of warning as they went on their way.
