Chapter Text
I never thought that Sherlock Holmes would be the one I fell head over heels in love with.
He was a real quiet guy, always staying in the corner of our table or at the very end of the bar, sipping his Diet Coca Cola. He never drank with us, and I never questioned it.
In fact, I never really took notice of him. Friday nights were always about relaxing, ignoring my surroundings and responsibilities after long weeks at the clinics and hospitals. The only thing ever on my mind was getting shit pissed drunk, not the man in the corner quietly holding his drink in one hand and thumping his fingers rhythmically on the table with his other.
The first time he joined us was also the first time I ever saw Victor smile, his arm protectively wrapped around Sherlock’s waist, the tall, curly haired brunette smiling and blushing bright red whenever Victor placed a teasing kiss to his cheek. That night was also the night I really and truly thought I would die from alcohol poisoning; it was the first night out since Sarah left me, my long time girlfriend for the previous three years. It sucked, but I got over it, thanks to too many pints to count and my best friend Greg nursing me back from the worst hangover of my life.
I couldn’t really remember what happened the last hour I was at the pub that night, who was there or what was said, and I wouldn’t be told of the things that conspired until many years later, in the dark quiet of a small house in Sussex.
For weeks (and even months, though it pains me to admit it) after that night, Sherlock just became that bloke Victor brought to the bar the night after Sarah and I ended our relationship, nothing more, nothing less. He was just there, always quiet and never capturing my attention.
It was on a rainy Friday night that the mysterious younger man finally caught my eye again. A lot of our mates were out with a bad flu that was beginning to spread, leaving just me, Greg, one of the nurses from the hospital named Mike, and then Victor and Sherlock.
With a much smaller group of men sitting at the bar, it was much easier to make conversation with everyone. It started with the most recent topic of interest, being Greg and his wife’s announcement of a baby on the way, then led on to less interesting things like the current and misfortunate state of my relationship status. Sure I’d tried dating again, but no one had met my extremely high expectations. Sarah really had been perfect for me; she managed to deal with my frequent breakdowns from working in the hospital, understood my need for the laundry to be folded in a specific way (always zip the trousers before folding), and knew how to cook a really fucking delicious fry up. On top of it all, she was absolutely stunning.
To say I was stubborn when it came to women (and men too, of course) would be an understatement, which is why I found myself being relentlessly teased that night by Mike and Victor that I would never really settle down, even though I had been settled for the three previous fucking years. Honestly, the teasing from Mike could be handled; we’d gone through med school together and were practically attached at the hip. However, Victor...
Victor Trevor was a man I was not particularly fond of. The words cocky and obnoxious came to mind at first, maybe with a topping of arrogant and uncultured added for a little extra something. He was an absolute embarrassment to our little group, and if I was honest, an embarrassment to me even more, being the only other gay or bisexual man in the group until Sherlock showed up. What Sherlock saw in him was a complete mystery to me, to all of us really, but one we never questioned, probably because Sherlock was never alone and we were all far too terrified of Victor to try and make it that way, me especially.
I thought especially hard about it that night. Victor’s shirt was disgustingly tight and low, even for me, a man who liked his male partners with a little bit of femininity. He reeked of cheap alcohol, too much cologne, and hair gel. Truly disgusting, I thought as Sherlock sat stiff next to him, smiling occasionally but mostly just looking down at his drink (Diet Coca Cola, as usual). The most emotion I saw from him was during Greg’s drunken reenactment of a fall one of the rugby players had taken that afternoon, and it did surprise me quite a bit to hear a genuine laugh coming from him. To be honest, I’d only heard his voice a few times in the, oh, five or so months he’d been with Victor. I wasn’t sure if I was to blame for that, or if he was just a quiet guy.
While Victor was distracted and ordering another round for the group in that disgusting gruff voice of his, I took the opportunity to try and strike conversation with Sherlock, starting off with a simple “I wonder if the rain is going to clear up anytime soon”. Talking about the weather, typical. Wonderful job John, you stupid tit.
He seemed surprised to hear words coming in his direction, and sat up, looking around sharply before his eyes settled on mine.
I offered him a smile, to which he did not return. He just nodded, then adverted his eyes as Victor came along with the next round of drinks.
I watched Sherlock Holmes closely that night, studying the way his long pale fingers seemed to twitch every few seconds and the way his eyes were always cast downward. It was a shame, really; he had beautiful eyes, the kind of eyes that spoke of knowledge and growth.
As we parted ways, each one of us pulling up our hoods and looking for the closest cabbie to carry us home in our drunken haze, I looked closely at Victor and Sherlock as they walked away. Sherlock loomed over his boyfriend, but stepped timidly, not in long strides as a man of his height should. Sharp voices came as Victor caught me staring, so I turned my head and walked toward the main road in the opposite direction.
It was when I stopped on the corner and listened intently to the voices of the two men who were walking away quickly - one angrily, the other dejectedly - that I realized Sherlock Holmes was being walked back to his own personal prison.