Work Text:
John was standing in the middle of the living room, Mary's ghost would never return. The conversation was over. He had confessed to Sherlock that he had betrayed her, he had confessed that he was not the man she thought he was, but he had also said that he would try to become a good one.
He put his hand to his face and began to cry. He felt the need. The tears came out without stopping and fell silently to the floor.
Sherlock sat in the chair holding a cup of tea. He remained motionless, undecided on what to do, then placed the cup on the table next to his chair and stood up slowly advancing in John's direction. He hesitated, for fear of being rejected again, while John continued to sob. He took courage and with one hand he wrapped around John's arm, while with the other he reached his neck and slowly laid his hand on it.
"It's okay," the detective said softly.
He pulled his friend close to his chest as the tears threatened to come out.
"No, it's not okay." John replied between the sobs.
"No...but it is what it is."
Sherlock put his cheek on John's head with a sigh, then closed his eyes. They remained there in that long-awaited embrace for who knows how long.
John wrapped his arms around the other's torso, and placed his face full of tears on his friend's chest. Sherlock's hand was still on John's neck stroking him softly. Nothing more intimate had ever happened between them, this moment was just them. There at 221b Baker Street, in that living room, with the fire crackling, the warmth of their bodies, the infinite affection they were showing, an affection that perhaps went beyond mere friendship. The detective's hand landed on John's soft silver hair and his long pale fingers slowly crept into it. A hint of a smile appeared veiled between the doctor's lips at that touch. He sniffed having finished crying and cleared his throat a little embarrassed at how things had evolved. Sherlock let go and the two split up. Nobody wanted that but it would have been even more embarrassing if they had stayed there for much longer.
John rubbed his eyes with his face facing the floor.
He wasn't gay at all, then why did he feel this way? So safe in those arms that had welcomed him and held him tightly to his chest. He had felt his heart rate speed up considerably, hoping that somehow Sherlock wasn't noticing. But leaning his ear to the other's torso he had noticed that Sherlock's heartbeat was also irregular. Why?
"Molly and Lestrade will be here in twenty minutes. It's your birthday and we wanted to celebrate. We'll go at Angelo's." Said then John with a final smile.
—————————
In the evening John, Molly and Lestrade accompanied Sherlock to the front of the house. The only one to go upstairs was John, the other two refused the offer to go up saying that they would have to get up early the next morning to go to work.
"Would you like something to drink?" the detective asked.
"A cup of tea, thanks Sherlock."
The man put the water into the kettle and then turned it on. While Sherlock was preparing hot drinks, John, not knowing what to do, began to observe the books in the library. In his mind he said as soon as he read the headlines which he had read and which not, just to pass the time to dispel the embarrassment.
"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked aloud from the kitchen
"Um, looking at your books"
"They are not only mine, you know."
"No but, I'm at your house so technically..."
"Our house."
"What?" John whirled around, surprised.
"Our house." Sherlock paused and sighed "You can come back whenever you want, John."
"I- ugh...there's Rosie, it's complicated."
"Oh yeah right... Rosie, I forgot, I shouldn't forget, sorry, I understand."Sherlock said hastily as he pulled two tea bags out of the box.
"It doesn't matter." John looked down thoughtfully.
He wanted to go back to Baker Street. For real. He wanted to relive those days that now remained alive only in his memory. Breathing in the smell of gunpowder after Sherlock made another hole in that poor wall, next to the yellow smile. Making tea for himself and Sherlock, after finding a severed head in the fridge and shouting curses in three different languages learned on the spot.
Walking around the house in a bathrobe with hair dripping with water, sitting in his armchair and reading the newspaper illuminated by the warm light of the London morning. He would have liked to have taken Rosie there. Growing her up in that apartment, he had nothing that bound him to his current house. Everything led him to Baker Street. He missed that life and he missed Sherlock. As a friend, perhaps.
He did not understand the reason of those thoughts. He just thought he was confused, maybe it was his fast heartbeat, or Sherlock's. A thousand thoughts per second arose in his head, too fast to grasp and examine them properly, they ran from side to side and he did not understand.
"Here." A voice that seemed to come from another dimension called him back to reality.
Sherlock stood motionless in front of him, two steaming mugs in both hands, handing one to John.
"Oh, thank you. " Said the doctor still confused.
"You are welcome."
They sat down in their respective chairs, slowly sipping the hot tea.
John blew on the drink to cool it but to no avail. He realized he was being watched and looked up.
The glassy eyes of his friend were firmly planted in his now, without showing any kind of emotion they remained there staring at him. John felt in awe, he couldn't keep his gaze so he coughed, cleared his throat and turned his head to the side. He looked back at Sherlock this time more prepared.
"Sherlock, why are you staring at me like that? Is something wrong?"
Sherlock stood silent for a few seconds leaving those questions unanswered. He raised the cup to his mouth and took a sip of tea.
He leaned forward in the chair and rested his elbows on his knees.
"No, um I was just thinking I should go get changed."
"Oh, uh okay go ahead."
"Wait here."
"I'm not moving." Hummed John.
Sherlock returned to the living room after putting on his clothes and over his blue robe.
John had finished his tea in the main time, and had placed the cup on the coffee table next to Sherlock's chair.
It was getting very late, it was already late when they got home and John was risking not to find a cab around at that time. He would have to walk a long way to find an empty one.
"I, um, I think I have to go."
"Rosie?"
"No, Rosie is with Molly, I'll pick her up in the morning before I go to work."
"Oh okay then why-"
"It's late, Sherlock, I risk not finding a cab and I'll have to walk a bit."
"Right, okay, I'm sorry."
Sherlock wanted John to stay, he missed him so much, but he didn't want to insist. He was terrified that John would be angry with him. He didn't want to be selfish and he had to respect John's decision.
John went to retrieve the jacket hanging from the coat hanger and put it on very slowly. He wanted to say something but he didn't know what. He wanted to stay but something was holding him back. And then? What happens if i stay? He wondered.
Sherlock looked at him resigned from his chair. John walked over to him knowing he wouldn't get up to greet him. Knowing Sherlock he would stay there until he heard the door close, then he would get up and look at him through the window, drive off in search of a cab and disappear into the darkness.
"I'll go then, goodnight Sherlock and happy birthday." He said softly in a sweet tone. He reluctantly put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder and rubbed it on it as a caress.
They looked into each other's eyes, from top to bottom and vice versa, John smiled and turned away taking his hand off the detective's shoulder, ready to leave.
Immediately after turning he felt a grip that had grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. He gasped slightly, taken by surprise.
As he turned to the chair Sherlock's warm low voice spoke the one word John wanted to hear right now.
"Stay."
Having said that Sherlock slowly let go of his vest and unsure took the hand of his best friend.
John could now clearly feel his heart push against his chest as if he wanted to get out. He could not breathe regularly, did not understand what was happening and was trying unsuccessfully to predict what would happen next. But he could only live that moment when their hands were taken and it was the best feeling in the world.
Sherlock then repeated what he had just said.
"Stay"
"I.."
"Please John, for me."
Sherlock looked so frail right now that John was melting internally. The low lighting, coming only from the kitchen lamp and the burning fire, made the pupils of both of them dilated. The black of the pupils only brought out the color of Sherlock's eyes, who in the meantime had risen from his chair.
"Alright, I'll stay."
Sherlock smiled, as he hadn't done for a long time. He gathered all his courage knowing that the gesture he was about to make was quite risky and with his free hand he reached John's cheek.
The only audible noises were their breathing, which had become much more irregular and intense, their heartbeat and the crackling of the fire. Sherlock was the first to speak.
"I missed you."
John smiled and a tear ran down his cheek. The detective promptly wiped it away with a slight smile.
"God, Sherlock, I missed you too."
Their bodies approached very slowly, and neither of them knew what he was doing.
They had stopped using logic and only followed the emotions and impulses of the moment. Life is too short and too long not to risk it and to have the remorse of having done nothing. Their noses brushed now, their breaths crossed, their hands on their backs and faces, everything that was going on in that room was anything but platonic.
Not resisting anymore John with one hand brought Sherlock's head towards him, making their lips meet.
Sherlock immediately returned the kiss, and his hands wrapped around John. He felt the other's hands sneak between his curls, so he took his cheeks in his hands and intensified the kiss. Every problem in his life seemed less important in that moment, while he kissed John.
The detective was incredulous. Was this really happening? He had dreamed and longed for these moments for seven years now, never hoping they would really come true. John's lips were warm and soft, in that moment they were his lifeline in a world that was falling apart. His hands now traveled along John's back, squeezing him to his chest to never let him go again.
They parted only to catch their breath but their hands were still there, nailed. Forehead to forehead, they breathed heavily, smiles on their faces. Sherlock did not cherish all the joy inside and began to storm John's face. The doctor could feel his limbs turning jelly as he was being kissed like that.
"Sherlock." He could only say this.
The detective gave him one last long kiss on the lips. Then he pulled away from the other's face.
"John." He replied.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock ..." started John, and in that instant the youngest felt his heart breaking into a thousand pieces, you could see from the change in his expression, and immediately opened his mouth to say something.
"John I-"
"No please let me finish, that's not what you think."
The tension then left his body as if it were a material thing capable of carrying weight.
"I'm sorry," John continued, "I've been so blind and because I chose to be. I've always been attracted to you, even though I say I'm not gay. I'm not, I'm bisexual, but that's not the point. The point is that I was a perfect idiot. Repressing my feelings brought only more pain to both of us. Sorry for hurting you and making you feel wrong. I don't deserve you, I don't deserve someone as wonderful and perfect as you. You deserve the best and I'm not- "
"Shut up."
"What?"
"Say no more."
"Sherlock, I'm sorry, I-"
"It's not this John. Stop apologizing to me. I know you feel guilty, but it doesn't matter anymore. I'm not saying it's all forgotten, because memories and events will always carry them with us, they are part of us, they remind us of what we have been and what we are now. Both the good and the bad are important. It is life. Things happen and many times they drag us along. Now we just have to learn to live with them and accept them as well."
Sherlock spoke with an impressive naturalness, and he said everything he had never said in his life. He raised his hand and placed it on John's soft, warm face. He walked over and put his lips on the other cheek and as soon as he pulled them away there is a faint kissing sound, almost like a snap, but sweeter. Then continue, trying to ignore the shy smile that was born on John's face.
"There will be time to talk and time to shut up. We will understand and behave properly. Now we are too tired, we deserve some rest." It was at that precise moment that John realized that he was not attracted to Sherlock, but that he was really in love with him. He was sure of it. And he was also sure there would be a chance to let him know.
"You're right Sherl." He said he widening his smile.
The other replied in the same way, then extending his hand to him invited him to follow him.
Later they both took a shower, separately, to take the tiredness off their bodies, Sherlock had worn clean home clothes and had lent just as many to John, who had nothing with him.
John looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and a shiver ran down his spine. It was cold. Arriving in the living room Sherlock offered him a cup of hot tea. They drank slowly sitting in their respective armchairs while exchanging glances and smiles of understanding. John offered to wash the cups, he rolled up his sleeves and immediately got goosebumps. Sherlock saw them, took all his courage and as John began to dry the cups he went behind him and hugged him, wedging his face between the neck and shoulder of the other. John winced, a mixture of surprise and another rush of chills. He felt Sherlock's lips kiss his neck and jaw, and he hoped that moment would never end.
"Bed?" The detective asked hopefully.
"Mhmh. Sounds like a good idea to me."
"Okay then. Come on John."
John got under the covers before Sherlock, hoping to warm up immediately. Sherlock closed the door and turned off the lamp. He reached John and turned his body so that he was in front of the doctor.
"Come closer so I can warm you up." He whispered to him.
John came over and kissed Sherlock’s soft lips. The younger returned the kiss.
"Thanks, Sherlock." And then he came even closer in such as way to be hugged by Sherlock.
The other smiled and continued, "Are you happy?"
"Immensely."