Normally, I am quick to react – it has saved my life on several occasions. This time, it was of no lifesaving consequence, which was good, because I would no longer be among the living.
Afterthought and reflection regarding me as a person, had never been something I had given much thought. Almost everyone seemed to think that I was a freak and/or a psychopath, so my belated reaction to John Watson could very well be explained by my utter befuddlement when he called me amazing and extraordinary.
“You do realise that you are saying that out loud?” was my delayed response.
I wanted to kick myself for being so rude to this man who had praised my deductions about the dead woman dressed in pink.
His murmured apology did unspeakable things to my heart.
“Caring is never an advantage, brother mine.”
Mycroft’s voice and sound advice kept me from embarrassing myself by telling John that I was quite flattered by the praise. So, instead I ran from the crime scene and left John behind.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
***
I had no idea what I had done to make Sherlock run from the crime scene. Could it be my uncontrived outbursts when he disclosed the minutiae regarding the dead woman and her life? He did seem a bit conflicted about it. Incredulous, pleased, and nervous.
The DI looked at me like I was some sort of rare specimen, but he was too busy trying to make sense of Sherlock’s analysis to pay me any more attention after the man’s departure.
Outside, the female officer made more snarky remarks, which I tuned out. I walked around the corner to find a taxi I couldn’t afford. Instead, a black limousine stood waiting for me.
“Come with me Doctor Watson,” a woman said politely.
“Why would I do that?” I challenged her. “I’m going to – “
“It has everything to do with Sherlock Holmes. You will be driven back to Baker Street later. There is nothing to worry about, doctor.”
“And if I refuse?”
“John!”
Before my eyes, Sherlock appeared with a pink suitcase, glaring daggers at the woman who tapped furiously at her phone.
“Tell my brother to leave Doctor Watson alone, Anthea,” Sherlock chided.
Anthea just shrugged and slid into the back seat of the limousine. Seconds later it was gone.
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“My brother is quite overprotective of me. His default reaction to people connected with me is to kidnap and interrogate them.”
“Is he the British government or something?”
The bright smile Sherlock gave me, lit up the entire street.
“Precisely!” he exclaimed.
***
When I realised who had shot Jeff Hope, I swore to never again underestimate John. He stood some feet away from me and Lestrade, looking so innocent and benign. The urge to take him out to dinner, to learn everything there was to know about him, to maybe kiss him, overwhelmed me to the extent that I failed to register Mycroft’s arrival.
John stood and watched us bicker about Mummy, raising an eyebrow when he ascertained who Mycroft was.
“Doesn’t look very intimidating to me,” he murmured when we walked away from the ambulance.
There was only one thing to say after that.
“Dinner?”
“Starving”
***
My conclusions regarding Sherlock’s and Lestrade’s reactions to my praise, proved to be valid. Apparently, no one had ever given the man positive feedback, hence his surprise and scepticism when I poured my heart out, so to speak.
“It’s a scandal,” I told him when he explained himself.
“Don’t be so dramatic, John. That is my role,” he smirked.
God, I wanted to kiss that smirk off his face so badly.
I licked my lips while letting my eyes linger on that perfect cupids bow across the table at the Chinese restaurant. A blush graced his prominent cheekbones, and I balled my fists so hard it hurt. I wouldn’t put it past myself to pull him towards me for a proper snog if I relaxed.
“Home?” I inquired some ten minutes later when our plates were empty.
“Yes,” his husky voice replied.
Neither of us wasted any time once the door to 221B was locked behind us. It was a passionate collision of limbs which made me see stars. His lips were addictive at first contact, and I kissed him like a starving man, tugging at his curls, moaning into his mouth, pulling him closer, which at that point was an impossible feat.
“John,” he panted when we broke the kiss, looking flustered and baffled.
“You alright? What do you need?”
“Do you really want this with me? Because, if this is only an afterthought, or convenient – “
I put my finger on his lips to stop his ramblings.
“I want this. Not as a one-night-stand, or entertainment for a few weeks. I’ve already killed a man for you, haven’t I? The mere thought of not being in your orbit, of not living here with you, makes me nauseous, Sherlock. I know it’s early days, and I don’t trust people easily, but with you…you are the exception, an anomaly.”
His body sagged with relief at my admission and his lips found mine again.
***
Some weeks later, I was summoned to Buckingham Palace, where I found Sherlock wearing just a sheet. My life with the world’s only consulting detective was exciting, intriguing, insane, and utterly addictive.
Apparently, it was not too late to find a purpose in life, even when said life, just a few months earlier, had been dull and grey.
Now, we solve crimes together, I blog about it, and we never had any use for that second bedroom.
@flashfictionfridayofficial
Fandom: Encanto
Pairing: Bruno/Mirabel (before they knew about their "other" relationship)
Rating: M
Word count: 137
Warning: Uncle/niece incest (unknowing... at this point)
Also read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67386601
Mirabel's point of view in a certain scene from @heartniche's "The Catch" https://archiveofourown.org/works/55536388
Mirabel had heard whispers about what she was pretty sure Bruno just offered to do when he licked the front seam of those sweatpants that he scrounged up for her while she was showering off the worst day she'd had in America. She felt her face get hot at the thought of a man without "MD" after his name seeing her there, but Bruno had already seen (and tasted) what she had long been promised was baby fat that stubbornly persisted into her 20s... and still wanted to see (and taste) more.
So she hooked her thumbs into the too-tight waistband and shoved.
That she hadn't shaved down there since the last time she went to the beach was a passing afterthought as she came down from a high she hadn't known it was possible to reach.
