Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1th October

Chapter Text

2th October

"Sherlock are you sure we're in the right place?" John came to a halt and looked around. Sherlock continued but turned when John wasn't by his side anymore. 

"Yes I'm sure," he said and took John's hand, dragging him forward. They walked out of the woods and into a…

"This is a graveyard," John stated. He stared at the tombstones with wide eyes. Sherlock clutched his hand and kept on walking without saying a word. John followed obediently. 

The church, which seemed pretty small from a distance, started to loom over them. John shivered and walked closer to Sherlock. 

“You’re completely sure this is right?” he asked looking up at Sherlock. Sherlock kept on walking around the church, giving no signs of having heard John’s question.

“This place is giving me weird vibes,” John continued when Sherlock didn’t answer. They had now walked past the church and Sherlock was leading John to the far end of the graveyard.

“I have hundreds of maps stored in my mind palace. This is the right place,” Sherlock said with a monotone, but confident voice. “Here we are.” 

They had stopped before a grey tombstone, the name unreadable after so many years. The stone was leaning a little to the left. 

“I did this,” Sherlock said, following the slanted line of the stone. He stepped forward to touch the chipped side. John looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Please don't tell me you were a child-graverobber," John sighed. Sherlock glanced up at him before turning back to the tomb, walking to the back of it. He crouched down and brushed away some of the dirt on the stone. John followed after and crouched down beside Sherlock. As Sherlock dug away some of the grass a line in the stone came into sight. 

"I had this map when I was young, my uncle gave it to me for my birthday. I don't think it was real. Of course, I didn't know that when I was younger." Sherlock breathed in through his nose, rubbing his thumb over the crack.

"I was obsessed with the map, I had to find the treasure. And the map led me here. So I dug up this random man's grave. The chi here is from my shovel. That was the first time I saw real human bones. Which also sparked my attraction to the human anatomy."

John placed a hand on Sherlock's lower back. Sherlock had removed his hand from the stone and placed his elbows on his knees. 

John spread out his fingers, trying to touch as much of Sherlock as possible. Sherlock leaned into the touch and looked at John.

"That was why I made my mind palace," he said softly, almost a whisper. "To remember all about the human body."

Both men were quiet, Sherlock looking at the tombstone, John looking at Sherlock. 

"A little boy with a map to a non-existent treasure. The start of the great Sherlock Holmes," John said, making his voice posh, trying to get Sherlock to laugh.

Sherlock chuckled, his laugh rumbling in his chest. 

John stood up and reached out his hand for Sherlock to take. When Sherlock had reached his full height again, John intertwined the fingers. 

"It was very borderline to graverobbing though," John said, giving Sherlock's hand a squeeze. 

Sherlock giggled and tugged John closer to him, bringing his arm around John's shoulders. Side by side they walked to visit the next location on Sherlock’s map.

Chapter Text

3th October

The shower was running. Sherlock lay on the sofa, his dressing gown wrapped around him. One arm was flung over his face, and with the other arm he reached behind himself, feeling for his phone on the table. 

SH: John?

He heard John’s phone ping in the bathroom. The shower was turned off.

"Whatever it is you need, you can get it yourself!" John yelled from the bathroom. The water began running again. 

SH: I want it from you

The shower was once again turned off. 

"Sherlock!" John was getting annoyed. "Please wait until I'm done in the shower."

SH: I don't want to

"Sherlock for god's sake, let me finish my shower!"

Sherlock huffed and wrapped his gown tighter around him. He trashed around before getting up and walking to the bathroom door.

SH: coming in

John sighed when his phone pinged. "I told you-"

Sherlock interrupted him by walking inside and pulled the shower curtains. In the shower stood John, shampooing his hair, now yelling at Sherlock for invading his privacy. 

"I just wanted," Sherlock mumbled. John turned off the shower to hear him better.

"I just wanted a kiss," Sherlock repeated, still as silent as a whisper. John sighed before he chuckled.

"Why couldn't you wait until I finished?"

"'Cause I want it now." Sherlock pushed out his lower lip, making a small pout.

"C'mere," John said and leaned out of the shower, giving Sherlock a peck on his lips. Sherlock's face went from gloomy to happy in seconds and he strolled out of the bathroom. John turned on the shower again, but before he could finish he received a new message.

SH: thanks :)

Chapter Text

4th October

John breathed in the scent of Sherlock’s hair. He felt his head getting heavier so he rested his chin on top of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock’s head rose and fell in time with John’s chest. 

“I’m bored.”

John sighed and wrapped his arms tighter around Sherlock. He gave a little hum , acknowledging Sherlock’s statement, but didn’t bother to react.

Sherlock lifted his head and brought their noses together. 

“Bored,” he said, dragging the 'o'. Sherlock propped himself up on an elbow and lay on his side looking at John.

John felt the absence of Sherlock’s warm body but decided he didn’t have the energy to deal with a restless Sherlock right now. 

“Sherlock, we literally just had sex,” John said without opening his eyes. 

“That was an hour ago,” Sherlock scoffed. “Do you really expect me to sustain on such little stimulus John?”

John breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. “You’re a forty one year old man and you want to have sex twice in an hour.” John pulled the duvet over his shoulder. “When did you get such high stamina?”

“Come on John, don’t you think this is getting a bit boring?” Sherlock rolled over to his back and flung his arms to the side, one of them fallin on top of John. John lifted himself up on one arm and gazed down on Sherlock.

“Are you asking me if I think it’s boring to have sex with my gorgeous and fantastic boyfriend?” John asked, almost laughing at their conversation. He continued, “Who, if I may give my humble opinion, gives amazing head.”

Sherlock huffed. “I’m not saying you’re bad in bed. Or I for that matter. I only mean,” Sherlock breathed in, “don’t you want to experiment sometimes? Try something new?” 

He looked up at John with big eyes. 

“Please don’t tell me you’re gonna tie me up.” John gave Sherlock a stern glance. “‘Cause I’ve tried it before and it was not a pleasant experience.”

“Well that depends on how well you behave, Captain Watson,” Sherlock purred, giving John a wink. 

John brushed the hair on his forehead away. “Sherlock, I’m not kidding.” He raised his eyebrows. “Although you can continue with the 'Captain Watson' if you like,” John said smugly.

“Sounds good, Captain Watson,” Sherlock whispered and rolled over, his head now on John’s chest again. “I’ve got an idea.”

“Who would’ve thought.”

“John I’m serious.” 

John hummed and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head. “I’m listening.”

“Okay, so by the end of the week we both come up with something new to do in bed, and then we try it.” Sherlock looked up at John with raised eyebrows. “What do you think?”

“Sounds like a great idea, love,” John said, giving Sherlock a kiss. “As long as you’re not bored I’m the happiest man alive.”

Chapter Text

5th October

“He’s crossing the river now. John and I are following,” Sherlock said into the walkie-talkie. He pushed it down in his pocket and started to run towards the river. John followed at his heels. They stopped behind some trees and watched the man row closer towards them. The only sound was the ores in the water and the two mens’ heaving breaths. Sherlock tapped John’s arm and gestured towards the boat. “If all goes according to the plan we’ll be done here in ten minutes.” John nodded and kept his eyes on the boat.

As Sherlock was about to move forward John took his hand and pulled him back. The two men looked at each other, both telling the other to be careful; only with a look. Sherlock squeezed John’s hand, confirming that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. And with that, he was off.

John stood waiting for Sherlock to chase the man towards his hiding place. When he heard footsteps approaching he breathed in and out slowly before tilting his head to the side to see where the man was. John counted down from three before he sprang out from his place and in front of the man. The man tried to turn around but there stood Sherlock blocking his path. Sherlock and John closed in on him. When the man tried to escape, both Sherlock and John flung themselves at him; all three men falling to the ground. John put his knee between the man’s shoulder blades as Sherlock rose and fished out the walkie-talkie.

“We got him Lestrade. By the dock,” Sherlock said.

“Great job guys, we’ll be there in five,” John heard Lestrade’s voice say over the walkie-talkie.

A couple of minutes later Lestrade and his team showed up. Lestrade was talking to Sherlock, Sherlock filling him in on all the details. John stood in the background observing Lestrade’s team hauling up the man. Suddenly Sherlock stopped talking, his eyes on the man’s hands. Against his wrist the silver handcuffs glinted in the light of the flashlights. Sherlock looked back at John with wicked eyes.

John looked back in confusion before it dawned on him; Sherlock wanted to try the handcuffs in bed. John sighed but collected himself so as not to cause any suspicion. 

Sherlock finished talking to Lestrade and they were finally able to go home.

They sat thigh to thigh in the cab. Sherlock turned towards John, his thigh sliding against John's. John looked down at their legs, then up at Sherlock. Sherlock was sporting the most cunning smirk as he pulled out a pair of silver handcuffs from the inside of his coat. John groaned. 

Sherlock held John's gaze and with a deep voice he said, “Can't wait to try these in the bedroom.”

Chapter Text

6th October

John looked at himself in the mirror, straightened his shirt and ran his hand through his hair one last time. He put on his date shoes before he went down the stairs. Sherlock wasn’t ready yet so John leant on the doorframe, waiting for his boyfriend. Sherlock walked into the hallway, buttoning his suit jacket. When he looked up at John he froze. When John realized what it was he opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. 

“You’ve got to change.” Sherlock gave John a stern look.

“No way, I was ready first, you go change.”

“John, don’t be daft, we can’t both wear pink,” Sherlock said. “Besides, it suits me much better.” He waved a hand in the air, as if it was obvious that John should change.

John laughed sarcastically. “ I should change? You haven’t even worn that shirt before!”

John walked past Sherlock and into the sitting room where he seated himself in his chair. He crossed his legs and folded his hands nicely in his lap. “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

When Sherlock didn't move, John sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Sherlock,” he said, “this is my only clean shirt. I haven’t been able to do the laundry because of the cases. You know that.”

Sherlock crossed his arms getting ready to defend himself. “And you know that this colour suits me really well, would be a shame not to wear it.”

“Sherlock Holmes,” John exhaled, “go change your fucking shirt.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and walked over to John; so close that John was forced to spread his legs. He leaned down, putting his hands on the armrests. As Sherlock closed in on him, John grabbed his hips and pulled him into his lap. Sherlock looked at him with dark eyes.

“Better make me then, Captain Watson. ”

John inhaled a slow breath and exhaled through his nose. He put his hands on Sherlock’s hips and pulled him out of his lap. Sherlock scrambled up before John again. “You’re telling me you will change shirts if I give you a blowjob?”

Sherlock stared down at John and nodded. His eyes followed John as he slid forward in his seat. Sherlock let his mouth open slightly and he closed his eyes. John placed his hands on Sherlock’s thighs and circled his thumbs. 

“And you promise you will wear the tight white one?” John asked.

“Hmm,” Sherlock answered, already lost in the sensation of John’s hands. 

Sherlock Holmes in a pink shirt, who would’ve thought, John thought and opened Sherlock’s zipper. 

Chapter Text

7th October

John closed the front door and leaned down to pick up the shopping bags again. As he walked up the stairs he heard music playing inside the sitting room. John tiptoed up the last steps and peeked through the door watching Sherlock jump around and sing.

“Seventeen, se-se-seventeen, se-se-seventeen,” Sherlock sang, swinging his body to the rhythm. John walked in through the kitchen door and started to put away the groceries, Sherlock’s music being so loud that the sound of plastic bags were impossible to hear. 

“How does a bastard orphan, immigrant, decorated war vet unite the colonies through more debt?”

John smiled as Sherlock began to rap. He jumped around, the floor banging under his feet. 

When John put away the last can of beans, Sherlock had finished the first song and began a new song. John stood silently leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and smiling at Sherlock. The melody began playing and Sherlock started to rap. When he realized he came in wrong he started the song from the beginning again. John chuckled silently to himself. 

“How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore-” John raised his eyebrows at the lyrics, “-and a scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean in providence impoverished in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?”

John gasped softly when he recognized where the song was from. He stepped forward into the sitting room. “Why are you singing Hamilton?” 

Sherlock was startled and let out a small yelp before turning down the music. He turned around and tied his dressing gown tightly around his waist as if trying to appear more decent. It didn’t work. John laughed at Sherlock’s frown which made Sherlock raise his eyebrow. 

“Why are you laughing?” Sherlock asked, starting to put away the speakers and his phone. 

That made John laugh even more and he moved to the side, supporting himself on the back of his chair. He brushed his hand over his eyes to dry away the tears. “‘Cause of you,” John said, laughing even more. 

Sherlock stared at John with crossed arms, but started to walk to their room when John didn’t stop laughing. 

“Sherlock, wait.” John reached out for Sherlock’s arm catching it and turning Sherlock towards him. “I just didn’t know you had an interest in rap.” John stroked Sherlock’s arm making Sherlock loose the lines on his forehead. “Or musicals.”

“Since you’re so interested in my musical taste I’ll have you know that I have actually been interested in Hamilton, and musicals in general, since it came out.” 

John looked surprised at Sherlock. “Seriously?”

“Yup,” Sherlock nodded. John didn’t know what else to say. Sherlock liked musicals, this was completely new information. 

Sherlock started to walk away but John gripped his arm again. 

“So you’re telling me you like musicals. For how long?” John asked, a smug grin creeping onto his face. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice, lost in thought. 

“Hmm, maybe since I started drama class in fifth grade. I definitely knew I had a passion for acting, which you must have noticed by now, but I didn’t realize I could sing before eight grade. And that combined with the dancing lessons-”

John interrupted him. “So from a very young age then.” Sherlock nodded slowly. 

“Performed any?”

Again Sherlock nodded. 

“So that means there must be some video proof of eleven year old Sherlock singing and dancing which I have not seen.”

Sherlock suddenly understood what John was thinking and his eyes widened. 

“No, none at all,” he said too fast. 

John giggled and snaked his arms around Sherlock's waist. 

“Now I know what to ask your mother for Christmas.”

Chapter Text

8th October

“Oh congratulations boys!” Mrs. Hudson said, coming into the kitchen. She sat a plate with biscuits down on the table and seated herself in a chair. Sherlock looked up from the paper and John stopped making coffee. 

“What for?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Mrs. Hudson stared back and forth between the two men. “You of course!” she exclaimed, waving her hands. John and Sherlock hummed before going back to what they were doing. John brought down a third cup from the cupboard. 

“We haven’t said or done anything,” John said, leaning back against the counter. 

Their landlady collected her hands in her lap and gave John a stern look. “First of all, you are wearing Sherlock’s t-shirt,” she said, pointing at John before putting the hand back in her lap. Sherlock giggled softly from behind the paper. 

“And you mister,” Sherlock looked up, “ you are wearing John’s pants. They’re just visible over your pyjama trousers,” she continued, ignoring Sherlock’s surprised look. “And yes, I know whose pants are whose, cause I do your laundry more often than you think.” Now it was John’s turn to laugh. “Which we will forever be grateful for Mrs. Hudson,” he said.

“And don’t get me started on the touching.” Mrs. Hudson said. “There have been at least five occasions where I came up here and one of you was touching the other on the arm, leg, or back.” John and Sherlock looked at each other with wide eyes. 

“One time I even saw you kiss by the stairs when I was putting away my vacuum cleaner.” John blushed and turned around to pour them coffee. He put down the three cups and sat down beside Sherlock. 

“Don’t try to hide it from me anymore. I thought you would tell me by the end of the week, but then I didn’t hear anything so I took the matter into my own hands. So here I am, with biscuits, telling you I know your secret and that you shouldn’t hide it from me anymore.”

John felt flattered by Mrs. Hudson’s words and gave her a shy smile as a thank you. He put his hand on Sherlock’s knee when Sherlock uttered his gratitude. Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly before pushing the plate of biscuits towards them. 

When Mrs. Hudson had drunk her coffee, she gave John’s shoulder a squeeze and Sherlock an affectionate smile. She stopped in the doorway and turned around.

“Maybe you should consider moving the bed a little away from the wall. It makes an awful lot of sound.”

John and Sherlock burst out giggling as Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat, a smug grin on her face.

Chapter Text

9th October

The morning had been especially bad for Sherlock. One of his experiments had failed miserably. Luckily Lestrade had called with a case. It was only a two, but Sherlock really needed to get out of the house. 

He and John rode a cab to the Met, Sherlock sitting restless beside John. The cab stopped and John opened the door. Sherlock followed. 

“Sherlock, watch ou-” John tried to warn Sherlock, but he stepped right into the puddle the cab had parked in. Sherlock tipped his head backwards and groaned. This day could not get worse. 

He stepped out of the puddle and with soaking wet shoes, and went into the building. John had a comforting hand on his back. When they entered Lestrade and his team were walking towards them.

“We got a tip. The kidnapper is at Langford Primary School, we need to hurry,” Lestrade said, rushing past Sherlock and John. The two men turned and followed Lestrade out. As they stood on the pavement again Sherlock hailed a cab. As one was coming closer, both John and Sherlock moved towards the road. The cab didn't slow down, and before John and Sherlock could back up again, they were drenched in water from the puddle. 

Lestrade burst out laughing, but Sherlock didn't find it funny at all. He clenched his jaw and hailed a new cab, taking them to the school.

When they arrived back home, now both wet and cold, they hung up their coats to dry and peeled off layers of damp clothes. 

“Into the shower with you,” John said, pushing Sherlock from behind into the bathroom. Sherlock turned around to protest. 

“You're colder than me, you should go first.”

John sighed and tried to push Sherlock again. “Sherlock, we both know that you catch colds easily. Now get into the shower.”

Sherlock crossed his arms and stood his ground. “What do I get for going in the shower first?”

John scratched his upper arm and thought. “I'll help with the failed experiment.”

Sherlock studied John's face. “How did you know I needed help?” 

John smiled softly. “I'm not stupid. Now get into the shower before you freeze to death, you idiot,” he said, as Sherlock made a face and got into the shower. 

Chapter Text

10th October

“Good morning sleepy head,” John said as Sherlock walked by him and dumped himself in his chair. His coffee splashed a little over the rim when he put it down on the table. Sherlock stretched out, his legs bumping into John's. He wrapped his gown tighter around himself and leaned his head won on his shoulder, eyes closed. 

John chuckled low to himself. Sherlock smiled fondly at that. As John's laugh died out and the only sound left was their breathing, John felt like his life was fulfilled. 

Outside it was raining, the raindrops hitting the window frame with sharp taps. The sound of traffic outside was dulled by the rain. John was wearing his favorite knitted sweater, warm and content. Sherlock's feet were warming his, and his coffee was warm in his chest and stomach. 

After a sip from his coffee Sherlock stood up and walked up in front of John. He waited until John put away the paper before sitting down in his boyfriend's lap. John circled his arms around Sherlock, and Sherlock hiding his face in the crook of John's neck. The sound of raindrops filled the flat again. 

When John noticed Sherlock was dozing off, he gripped Sherlock's thighs and stood up. Wobbling, he walked to their bedroom and laid Sherlock down. As John pulled his sweater over his head, Sherlock stirred and took off his dressing gown, letting it fall to the floor. John climbed into the bed and pulled the duvet over both of them. Sherlock snuggled closer, making himself little against John's chest. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and kissed the top of his head. As they both slowly fell asleep, the only sound remaining in the flat was the rain outside the window.

Chapter Text

11th October

John walked out of the bedroom and poured himself a cup of coffee. When he entered the sitting room he gave Sherlock a kiss on the forehead before turning around and sitting down in his chair. As he put down his cup on the table he noticed two suits hanging on the door. Looking like they had just arrived from the cleaner’s.

“Sherlock, are those your suits?” John asked looking over at Sherlock. Sherlock turned his head slightly towards John but didn’t move his eyes from his laptop. He wrote for a few seconds more before turning his whole body.

“Hmm?” Sherlock tilted his head. John nodded towards the suits.

 “Oh those, they’re for a party.”

John raised his eyebrows in confusion but Sherlock didn’t notice and turned back to his work. John didn’t bother to question it so he drank up his coffee and went into the shower.

When he finished, his towel tight around the waist, he stumbled upon Sherlock in the hallway. Sherlock was dressed in one of the suits, a dark one with tartan pattern, and was holding the other in his hand. He handed the light tweed one to John and John reluctantly took it. 

“Remind me why I’m doing this again,” John said, staring amazed at Sherlock’s, normally uncontrolled, but now slicked back hair. 

“I told you,” Sherlock said, running his thumb over a drop of water on John’s collarbone, “we’re going to attend a party.” 

John stared at Sherlock in disbelief. He moved the suit from his right hand to left. 

“When did Sherlock Holmes attend parties?” John mocked.

ÅaSherlock groaned in irritation and rubbed his eyes. “Lestrade promised me a really good case if you and I would go.” Sherlock dropped his hands from his face and looked at John with wide eyes and a slight pout. John sighed.

“What’s in it for me?”

Sherlock’s eyes light up by the possibility to get a yes for an answer. “First of all, we get to spend more time together, doing what we love the most. The adrenaline pumping through our veins, running side by side, chasing criminals. I bet there’ll be lots of legwork. Might even need a gun,” he cocked an eyebrow, “and who is to handle that than the one and only Captain Watson?” Sherlock looked hopefully at John, hands still in the air after wild gesticulations.

John put a hand on Sherlock’s hip and kissed the side of his mouth. “i better get dressed then.” John chuckled and walked into the bedroom.

As they were sitting in the cab, side by side, Sherlock broke the silence. 

“Oh, I forgot.” He pulled out a small little plastic bag and emptied it in his hand.

“No, no way,” John protested. He pulled his face as far away as possible. 

“John come on, it fits the theme completely,” Sherlock begged.

John didn't say anything, just looked at Sherlock. Sherlock sighed and turned his head to stare out the window. 

A few minutes later they arrived and went out of the cab. Sherlock made an act out of being sulky; dragging his feet and making himself small. 

“Oh fuck it,” John sighed, “hand it over.” He reached out his hand. Sherlock beamed and handed the bag to John. John stuck the mustache on his face, and in they went smiling. 

Chapter Text

12th October

John walked up the stairs still giggling softly. “That was crazy Sherlock.” He dried a tear from the corner of his eye. Sherlock was following him up, still a bit out of breath. 

“At least we got you an ashtray,” Sherlock smirked. 

“I would say you in a sheet in Buckingham Palace was the highlight.” John grinned. He looked at Sherlock as they took off their coats. Sherlock met John’s eyes and blushed. 

“That wasn’t supposed to be the point. I had just woken up John!” Sherlock said, flustered. He ran his hands down his suit to straighten it. He grabbed the inside of his coat and fished the gift up from the inner pocket. “I hope you like the ashtray.”

“I like it very much, thank you.” John took off his cardigan and layed it over the back of his chair. “And you looked very cute in the sheet too,” John said softly. “You should walk around like that when I’m home.”

Sherlock turned his head and held John’s gaze. Slowly, he started to close in on John, backing him up against John’s chair. 

“So you’re saying you find me attractive?”

John rested his hands on Sherlock’s chest, fingering the top button. He looked up at Sherlock seductively. “I said cute, but yes, I also find you attractive.” John tipped his head backwards, baring his throat. Sherlock’s eyes traveled down his face and throat before finding his eyes again. “But you knew that already,” John said, smirking.

“Well, your pupil dilation rate did tell me quite a lot.”

John’s hands traveled  to Sherlock’s hips and he pulled them tighter together, Sherlock making a small grunt but keeping his face still.

“So you do actually observe,” John cocked an eyebrow, “not just strutting around, your arse only covered by a sheet.”

“Actually, I do both,” Sherlock corrected. “Don’t pretend you aren’t extremely turned on right now.”

John pushed Sherlock away from him and picked the tray from Sherlock’s hand. He walked over to the fireplace and placed it beside the lucky cat. 

“What do you think about this spot? Now everyone can see it.” John leaned back against the fireplace. Sherlock crossed his arms and looked at John with a smug grin. 

“Oh yes.” Sherlock lowered his voice, “everyone can see it.” His eyes traveled down John’s body and landed on his bulge, which was now very visible through his trousers. 

“As if you are unaffected,” John said, walking over to Sherlock, and kissed him deep and slow . He pushed their hips together before pulling apart, taking Sherlock’s hands and leading him down the hallway.

“Now off to the bedroom,” John commanded. “I wanna see you in the sheet.”

Chapter Text

13th October

“Sherlock!” John yelled. Sherlock quickly stepped away from the fishtank, his hands folded behind his back. 

“Yes?” he answered innocently, conveniently avoiding eye contact. 

“What the hell were you doing?”

“Nothing. Nothing whatsoever.” Sherlock did not meet John’s eyes, shifting his weight from leg to leg. John rolled his eyes. 

“Sherlock, I hope you remember that we need to give this room back to the hotel managers after we finish the case.”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“Then why did I catch you with your hand submerged in the fish tank?” John asked, giving Sherlock a stern glare. Sherlock rubbed his hands together nervously. “Hang on a moment. Weren’t there five goldfish in this tank?”

Sherlock turned his face to the side and rubbed his neck. John’s suspicious senses were tingling. “What did you do to those goldfish and why are these weird looking fish in here?”

Sherlock opened his mouth, no doubt to tell another terrible lie. John held up a hand, “I swear to god if you tell me another lie, we won't be having sex for the next week.”

Sherlock's eyes widened and he started speaking rapidly. “The body we found showed signs of hemorrhage but no external cause of it. This region is so close to the Amazon river, I couldn't help but suspect that the killer had used a fish as the murder weapon. And apparently, I was right. The candiru, is a scaleless, parasitic catfish of the family Trichomycteridae found in the Amazon River region. It grows to a length of about 2.5 cm so that's about this big.” Sherlock showed John an approximation of the length with his hands, and continued, “The candiru feeds on blood. It sometimes also attacks humans and has been known to enter the urethras of bathers and swimming animals. Once in the passage, it erects the short spines on its gill covers and may thereby cause inflammation, hemorrhage, and even death to the victim. It is translucent and eel-like and very easy to miss, which is why all the killer had to do was catch the fish and put it into our victim's swimming pool.” 

John stared at Sherlock. “Which means, the killer was-”

“The fisherman, yes. None of the other idiots around here knew of the fish. I was just trying to observe these fish to deduce the possible time of death, when you barged in on me and thought I was doing some damage to the room.”

“Which is not that far fetched, considering you blew up the flat two days ago.” John pointed out. Sherlock just muttered something under his breath and turned back to the giant fish tank. 

“I hope you haven't killed the goldfish though,” John said after a minute of silence. 

“Of course not, why would I kill them? They're in the bath. Go have a look if you don't believe me.”

“No, I believe that you're telling the truth.”

Sherlock turned back to John a smug grin on his face. “So, is the sex ban lifted, then?”

John giggled. “I couldn't resist a sexy Sherlock even if I tried. Especially not when he's been this clever.”

Chapter Text

14th October

John stretched his legs and wrapped the duvet over his shoulders. It was still dark outside so John rolled on his side, planning to find Sherlock and fall asleep again. He slung his arm over to the left side, the arm landing on the mattress with a soft thump. John lifted his head looking for Sherlock. At the foot of the bed he saw a dark figure sitting. 

“Sherlock?” John whispered softly. Sherlock didn't seem to hear him and continued to press his hands into his hair. John scrambled up and sat down beside Sherlock. He put an arm around the man and leaned in closer, pulling Sherlock towards his chest. Sherlock's face disappeared in John's faded grey t-shirt, and John’s fingers found their way into Sherlock’s curls. After a minute Sherlock let out a sob and brought his arms around John’s waist. They both tightened the embrace and John felt his shirt getting wetter in the front. 

“Shh, it’s okay Sherlock.” He cupped the back of Sherlock's head and pressed his face to the mop of curls on top. “It’s not your fault.”

Sherlock tightened his hands, almost pinching John’s sides. His eyes were red as he lifted his head and looked at John. “I could’ve saved them John. If I had done my job they would still be alive.” His voice cracked and he ducked down towards John’s chest again. John closed his eyes and rested his chin in Sherlock’s head as he cried against his chest. 

Chapter Text

15th October

Rain pelted down on John's forehead and he wished he had brought his umbrella. It was too late now; he was completely drenched. 

It took John another two minutes to reach Baker Street. He took off his jacket as soon as he entered and hung it up, letting the raindrops fall on the floor. Slowly he took off his shoes and lay them by the oven to dry. Upstairs he could hear the muffled sounds of Sherlock’s violin and silently he began climbing up the stairs. As he came closer he heard the soothing tune better, recognizing it as the one Sherlock had first written for him. John felt his shoulders sink down, and he could finally relax. 

He stood in the doorway watching Sherlock play, the fire burning, casting a beautiful light over Sherlock’s form. After a minute John entered the kitchen to make some tea. When he saw that the kettle was already on he stopped in surprise. 

Sherlock stilled his bow. “Yes, it was me,” he murmured, answering John’s unasked question. John stood in the kitchen, stunned. Sherlock had actually made tea for him. 

While waiting for the kettle to boil he headed to the loo, once again getting surprised by the hot bath that had been prepared for him. In all the years that John had known him, Sherlock had given him a glimpse of almost every aspect of his personality. The moody tantrum-throwing part, the cheerful part, the angry part, the passionate part. But never before had he gotten a glimpse of this tender, caring part of him; that does such thoughtful things for people. Sherlock was, of course, a thoughtful lover and he liked to please in bed, but it had largely been limited to that. Until now. It was a beautiful feeling indeed to be privy to this part of him outside of the bedroom.

He stripped and sunk into the bath. After finishing, he put on his pyjama trousers and the tee Sherlock had laid out for him. When he reentered the living room Sherlock sat in his chair, a tea mug in his hand, and on the table by John’s chair. John sat down and sipped the tea.

“It’s... not bad,” he said. Sherlock shrugged noncommittally. John wondered what he was thinking about. 

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. 

“May I ask why you’re being so nice today?” John looked up at Sherlock. 

“I am merely being considerate. Isn’t that what you usually tell me to do?” Sherlock placed his head in his hand, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. He lowered his gaze, and looked John up and down. “You’ve clearly had a rough day at the surgery, there were no cabs available so you had to walk all the way home. And you forgot your umbrella which led to you getting drenched in the rain.”

“Yes, true.” John put down his mug. “I’m still not used to you actually listening to something I say, though.”

“I listen to you all the time, John. Your inputs, although extremely mundane and obvious, are quite integral to the work.”

“Really, I’m flattered.” John rose from his chair and stretched his arms over his head. “Okay, well, I’m really tired and I need to sleep. Thanks for the bath and the tea. Goodnight, Sherlock.”

John began walking out of the room before Sherlock spoke. “So, um, you’re going to bed now?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I’ve read that after a long day, cuddles are said to be really beneficial for both parties involved. Although, to be honest, I never believed this to be true until I-”

John interrupted Sherlock by laughing. “Sherlock did you actually try to bribe me for a cuddle?” 

Sherlock looked away, embarrassed. John immediately felt bad for laughing at him. 

“Come here,” John said, pulling Sherlock into a hug. “Get this straight,” he spoke into Sherlock’s chest. “You don’t need to bribe me if you want to touch me or cuddle in bed. All you have to do is ask. Got it?”

Sherlock relaxed into the embrace but said nothing. They stood like that for a long time before Sherlock pulled back gently.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice low and uncertain. John gave him a small kiss on the lips.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

16th October

The sun had gone down hours ago and the flat was now comfortably silent. Sherlock sat in his armchair, working slowly on his laptop. Every now and then he would hum some recently composed piece and tap his foot against the carpet. The fireplace illuminated Sherlock’s profile and John smiled softly at the sight. He reached down, pulling the blanket further up his body, snuggling into the sofa. John closed his eyes, focusing only on the sounds of the fireplace and Sherlock’s laptop. The light from the fire danced before his closed eyes, the heat coming in waves on his body. Sherlock started to hum again, and John hummed softly with him, almost impossible to hear. When Sherlock heard John he stopped humming, listening to John for a second before joining in again. 

Sherlock got out of his chair to blow on the fire, making the sparks fly out into the room. He got up and took his laptop, placing it on the desk. There he stood, watching over John as he lay curled up on the sofa. Sherlock smiled before he started to hum on Etta James’ I want a Sunday kinda love. He saw the corners of John’s mouth turning upwards before he joined in on it too. 

Sherlock walked over to the sofa and sat down. He stroked his fingers through John’s hair and down his face; John leaning into the touch. John opened his arms, Sherlock happily crawling into the embrace. He buried his face in John’s neck, breathing in the scent of him. John sighed and relaxed, pulling Sherlock tighter. 

The room was even darker, the fire soon burning out. Sherlock stroked John’s side, lulling him to sleep. John’s breath started to even out, and when Sherlock noticed that John was almost asleep, he murmured a soft I love you against his collarbone. He took a deep breath and melted into John’s arms.

Chapter Text

17th October

Sherlock heard John call his name in the distance but he didn’t bother to answer. John would find him anyway. He put his hands on the railing and leaned in to get a closer look on the beehives. A hand touched the small of his back and he leaned into it subconsciously. 

“See anything you like?” John asked. Sherlock only murmured a reply, still keeping his eyes on the bees. A bee flew over to a pink flower and Sherlock’s eyes followed. John dragged his hand up to Sherlock’s shoulder and down his arm to take his hand. 

“I got this one for you.” 

Sherlock looked up at John, and then at the red balloon John held in his hand. A soft smile spread across Sherlock’s face and he took the balloon from John’s hand and squeezed the other as thank you.

“Anything interesting you would like to share?” John let go of Sherlock’s hand and leaned on the railing, studying Sherlock’s profile. Sherlock stood up straight in one fast movement and looked over at John with intense eyes.

“Someday we will get too old for the job we currently have.” Sherlock let his gaze wash over John’s face, but John didn’t seem to have any reaction yet. He turned his head to stare at the bees again.

“When that happens,” Sherlock took a breath, “I want us to move to a cottage on the countryside, get bees, I’m thinking the Italian honey bee, you could maybe write a book about our adventures, we could have passionate sex in a vintage bathtub,” an elder man beside them raised his eyebrow and John had to hide a smile. Sherlock didn’t care and continued, “and cuddle by the fireplace. You would get lots of time to read, and I to compose.” Sherlock looked John in the eyes. They were both silent, letting the idea sink in.

“What do you think?” Sherlock whispered when John didn’t answer. John’s eyebrows were drawn down in his face and he stared at his hands in thought. The red balloon casted soft red spots on John’s face. 

John looked up at Sherlock and grinned. He circled his arms around the taller man’s waist, Sherlock’s hands resting on John’s biceps. The balloon floated over them, making the light red. 

“I wouldn’t dream of anything else,” John said, and kissed Sherlock softly. The balloon smiled down at them, a promise of their future together. 

Chapter Text

18th October

Sherlock felt the smell of chlorine deep in his nose. The water was moving silently, the buzzing of the circulatory system annoying Sherlock’s ears. The sound of his shoes against the tiles was bouncing through the room. The door on the other side opened and when Jim from IT walked out Sherlock wasn’t surprised. He knew what was going to happen. Jim walked around the pool and stood a few metres away from him. 

“Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”

“Both.” Sherlock pulled up the gun without breaking eye contact. “Where’s John?”

Moriarty snickered. “So sweet. Sherlock missing his little pet.” Sherlock felt his hand shake and he brought up the other to stabilize the gun.

“Where. Is. He,” Sherlock said between gritted teeth. Moriarty straightened his cufflinks. He put his hands in his pockets and strolled towards Sherlock.

“It’s such a fluffy little fairytale you’ve created for yourself Sherlock.You and little Johnny.” He started to whistle. Every step was an echo inside Sherlock’s mind, sending shivers down his spine. 

“What have you done with him?” Sherlock was getting desperate. 

“Oh, not so calm anymore, are we?” Moriarty teased, now standing right in front of Sherlock’s gun. “Let me tell you Sherlock, he’s strong.” He raised his eyebrows and whistled a high pitch note which fell as he let out his breath. 

“What have you done?” Sherlock roared stepping forward and pressing the muzzle into Jim’s chest. Jim just smirked. With a snap of his fingers a door to Sherlock’s left opened and two men came out carrying John between them. His face was battered and he was bleeding from his nose. Sherlock felt his throat close. His whole body was vibrating. He tried to run towards John but he couldn’t. The tiles he had just stood on were turned into quicksand and the more he moved the more he sank. Desperately he tried to grab on to Jim’s legs but he was too far away. As he sank he caught a glimpse of John’s face; the face of a man that had been betrayed. 

Sherlock woke with his breath caught in his throat. He looked to his side seeing John sleeping soundly, face unhurt as it should be. John’s hand lay by his side so he took it carefully without waking John. Sherlock relaxed back into the mattress and stared up at the roof. He felt John squeezing his hand lightly and looked over at him again. John smiled softly at him and opened his arms. Sherlock crept into them and soon he was asleep again. 

Chapter Text

19th October 

“Happy birthday John!”

Sherlock came almost running up the stairs, a paper bag in one hand. John looked up from the book he was reading and watched his boyfriend as he took off his coat and settled himself in his armchair, paper bag in his lap. His legs were bouncing like an excited child on Christmas morning. 

“What have you got there?” 

Sherlock grinned wide and clutched the bag harder. “Your birthday present.”

“Oh is that so,” John said and settled himself in his chair, crossing his legs. He put away the book and looked fondly at Sherlock. 

“Yup,” Sherlock answered energetically, almost jumping out of his chair. He reached a hand down to John and John took it, letting himself be led to the kitchen. The bag made a thump sound when placed on the table and John was beginning to get worried about what Sherlock had gotten him.

Sherlock couldn’t stop grinning and carefully took out a jar from the bag. A jar with a human heart inside. John was stunned. 

“Wha- what is that?”

“It’s a heart!” Sherlock exclaimed. His eyes were scanning over John’s face, looking for a reaction. None came. “Don’t you like it?”

John opened his mouth to speak but no words came. The excitement Sherlock had just felt started to ebb away.

“I- I just, it’s very considerate of you, Sherlock,” John started, “but don’t you think someone may need that heart?” John turned the jar around, getting a look from every angle. “It looks relatively healthy and fresh from what I can see.” He let go of the jar and looked up at Sherlock. “Are you sure nobody needs it for a transplantation?”

“Of course I’m sure. I got it specifically for you.” Sherlock glanced down at his feet and clasped his hands together in front of himself. “I thought you may like it.”

John stepped forward and took Sherlock’s hands in his. “I do, I really do. It’s a beautiful gift.” John tried to meet Sherlock’s eyes but Sherlock refused. “Sherlock, I love it. Seriously. It’s one of the most meaningful gifts I’ve ever received,” John said. He moved one hand to Sherlock’s cheek. “Thank you.”

A soft smile appeared on Sherlock’s lips and John kissed the side of his mouth. 

“I’ll go place this on the bookshelf, so everyone can see my boyfriend’s undying love for me.” John walked over to the shelf with the jar and placed it in a secure spot. He turned around and the two men looked at each other fondly. 

I love you, Sherlock mouthed, and John felt his own heart fill with affection. 

Chapter Text

20th October

Sherlock leaned back against the door, his towel slung over his shoulder. He gazed out over the pool area with lowered eyes. He crossed his arms and smiled at a passer-by to seem less suspicious. Chatter and laughter filled his head but he could still hear John grunting behind the door. Sherlock’s train of thought came to a halt and he turned towards the door.

“John, stop complaining and get out here so we can find the thief.”

“Shut up, not everybody has a perfect body like you,” John said from the inside. Sherlock huffed. 

“I’ve seen your body before, there’s nothing wrong with it,” Sherlock sighed before opening the door and sticking his head inside. “Have I not mentioned your amazing thighs?” Sherlock smirked, looking into John’s eyes. John stuttered and Sherlock closed the door before he said anything. Inside the stall John rubbed his face, slung his towel around his shoulders, and went out. 

“About time,” Sherlock said under his breath. John slapped his arm. 

“I’m not deaf.”

Sherlock turned his head and looked at John with a smug grin on his face. John smiled back before starting to walk towards the sunbeds. Sherlock followed. They chose two beds close to the exit and laid down their towels before sitting down. John started to put sun-screen on Sherlock’s back and shoulders while Sherlock looked for their suspect.

“We know it’s a male, probably of low status, could be one of the servers,” Sherlock said as John started to rub on his shoulders. He gave Sherlock a little pat when he finished. “He will probably choose bags that are not well hidden as they are easier to reach.”

John nodded and looked over to the other side of the pool where two waiters were serving a group of women. John sat down in one of the sunbeds and reached for his book, reading slowly and looking out over the poolside. Sherlock walked over to the pool and jumped in. John got distracted by his boyfriend but turned his gaze back to the group of women after Sherlock had jumped into the water. Sherlock swam a couple of rounds before he settled into a slow pace. He kept his eyes on the servers. 

After twenty minutes in the pool, and no signs of the thief, Sherlock went up and sat down by John. He dried his wet hair, wet ringlets hanging around his face.

“Any idea who it can be?” John asked, closing his book. Sherlock laid back in the sunbed and put his hands behind his head, stretching out. John raised an eyebrow.

“Not yet, although I have three suspects.”

John sighed and put away his book. “Okay, spill.”

“The blond server over there-” Sherlock nodded to his left and John turned his head as discreet as possible, “-has been clinging to that family for the last thirty minutes.

“The young boy from that family over there has been sneaking around quite a bit, and then there’s another server.” Sherlock dragged his finger over his arm, smudging out a water drop. “Over there,” he said and averted his eyes to where the short server stood. 

Sherlock groaned and laid his head back. “Why did we take this case?” He looks over at John. “It’s so boring,” he said and dragged out the o. 

“Sherlock, you know we need the money right now,” John sighed, “so you’re going to solve this bloody case.” Sherlock huffed and closed his eyes. John dragged a hand through his hair before leaning in, his mouth close to Sherlock’s ear.

“You see that changing stall over there?” John’s breath ghosted over Sherlock’s ear and he shivered before opening his eyes and looking over to the empty stalls. He swallowed hard and gave John a short nod. 

John put his hand on Sherlock’s waist and rubbed small circles with his thumb. “I would love to take you into that stall and fuck you senseless while you moan my name in my ear, trying not to make a sound.” Sherlock whimpered. “But I can’t, because we’ve got a thief to catch.”

John leaned back again and opened his book. Sherlock looked at John with wide eyes.

“Well, you better get going Sherlock Holmes, ‘cause those stalls won’t be available forever,” John smirked as Sherlock scrambled up from the sunbed.

Chapter Text

21st October

“Sherlock!” John called out after him. He was having a hard time keeping up with Sherlock’s long steps as they ran through a backstreet, just about to round the corner. “Watch ou-” Before John could finish his sentence the robber jumped right in front of Sherlock, tackling him. As they fell John heard Sherlock’s skull hit the cobblestones and he sprinted over to Sherlock’s body, not caring that the robber got away. He fell to the ground and gripped Sherlock’s face carefully. His hand came back wet with blood when he slid his hand into Sherlock’s hair. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, holding Sherlock’s head with one hand and untying his scarf to press lightly against Sherlock's skull. Sitting down on the ground he pulled up his phone and dialed 999. He put on speaker waiting for the operator to pick up. Slowly he removed the scarf a little, light fingers feeling for bumps or swelling. Sherlock's eyelids were drooping, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He hissed when John's fingers grazed the bump at the back of his head. 

“Good,” John said to himself when he felt around, only feeling a small cut. He took off his jacket and carefully placed it under Sherlock's head, trying not to move his neck too much. The operator on the phone asked him where he was. Rapidly John looked around for a street sign and gave the street name to the man on the phone. The operator told him they would send an ambulance and hung up. John turned back to Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” John put his hand on his cheek. “Sherlock, can you hear me?”

Sherlock’s eyes were still unfocused but he slowly raised his arm and took hold of John’s wrist. John felt a soft squeeze and he let out a sigh. 

“Okay, Sherlock I need you to stay awake until the ambulance gets here.” Sherlock hummed low in his throat and gripped John’s wrist a little tighter. John looked around thinking he heard the siren of the ambulance. When he looked back at Sherlock he had his eyes closed, breathing slowly. John felt panic run through his body and he gripped Sherlock’s face tight. Sherlock winced and John loosened his hold. 

“Sherlock, please,” John begged. “Just stay awake.” He swallowed. “For me.”

Sherlock blinked trying to focus but his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. John felt Sherlock trying to move his arm and leaned to the side so Sherlock could get it free from where it had been pressed against his body. With a shaky hand he gripped the back of John’s neck and tried to push him closer. John could feel Sherlock’s fingers trying to hold on to him but they didn’t have any strength left. He bent his head down, their noses almost touching, Sherlock’s shallow breath ghosting over his face. A tear from John’s eye dripped down onto Sherlock’s cheek and John carefully brushed it away with the pad of his thumb. Sherlock tried to say something but his words were too slurred for John to understand. 

“Shh,” John whispered, “it’s okay. It will be okay.” More tears fell on Sherlock’s face. “Just stay awake.”

John let his hands slide down from Sherlock’s face to his chest, his heart beating rapidly under three layers of clothes. Sherlock blinked and a tear trickled down the side of his face, into his hair. Again he tried to focus on John, this time with more effect. John almost recognized the piercing look he got. But it was still weak. 

“It’s okay, it will be okay,” John whispered, mostly to himself, as some kind of prayer. Sherlock reached for his arm, this time the grip was stronger. He closed his eyes, his breath shaky. Against his forearm John felt a small thudding. He looked down on the place Sherlock had his hand, one of his fingers moving up and down. 

“Sherlock, what is it?” John asked, but Sherlock didn’t respond. The tapping continued, John only looking at Sherlock in confusion. 

“Hold on,” John said looking up at Sherlock’s face, his eyes still closed, “it’s morse?” 

The tapping stopped. A soft squeeze. And then it continued again. Short, long, short, short. It was weak, but John heard the letters ringing clearly in his head. When Sherlock was done he barely opened his eyes catching John’s wet ones. A sob escaped John’s throat as Sherlock continued the tapping. John bowed his head, trying to calm himself. 

It stopped. John lifted his head taking in the look of Sherlock’s slack face, his hand no longer tapping, instead laying weakly on top of his chest. 

“Sherlock?” John lay his ear over Sherlock’s mouth. Fuck. He tilted Sherlock’s head slightly backwards and leaned in again. Shit shit shit. With hands pressed on top of each other John started compressions, placing his whole body weight on Sherlock’s chest. 

“Come on you bastard,” John said through gritted teeth as he felt the sweat running down his back, “you can’t leave me like this.” 

He made sure Sherlock’s head was tilting back before he pinched his nose and covered his mouth with his own and blew. Sherlock’s chest rose as John blew air into his lungs.

“Come on, come on.” 

Sherlock’s chest didn’t rise again. 

“Fuck, I love you too you bastard.” His tears were streaming down his face. “Now come on.”

Again he blew into Sherlock’s lungs, his chest rising and falling, but not rising again. John scrambled up and over to his chest again, and as he began compressions he heard the ambulance sirens in the distance.

Chapter Text

22nd October

Sherlock and John laughed at a joke one of the guests told. As the laughter died down the group split up, John putting his hand on Sherlock’s back and leading him towards a server. They both took an appetizer as the server offered them one. John smiled when Sherlock brushed away the crumbs on his bottom lip. 

“What?” Sherlock asked, his voice muffled by the quiche. 

John shook his head and laughed. “Nothing, just-,” his laugh rumbled in his chest, “you’re very cute.” He put a hand on Sherlock's waist and stretched up to give his cheek a kiss. Sherlock smiled and blushed, taking a sip from his wine. 

They stood in silence for a bit, John's arm around Sherlock's waist, and Sherlock's hand splayed between John's shoulder blades. 

“Your sister looks very beautiful,” Sherlock said. He moved his thumb up and down, the warmth of his hand seeping through John's suit jacket.

“Yeah,” John answered low, “yeah, she does.” He gazed over at the table where Harry and Clara were sitting, a soft smile on his lips. 

“Don’t try anything now,” John wanted and winked at Sherlock. Sherlock chuckled and leaned down pressing his lips against John’s.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare,” Sherlock whispered, his breath ghosting over John’s mouth. He angled his face, his mouth close to John’s ear. “Captain.”

A shiver ran down John’s spine and through gritted teeth he said Sherlock’s name. That only made Sherlock laugh more. He leaned his head back and swallowed the rest of his wine. 

“Had any water since we came here?” 

Sherlock avoided John’s eyes and that gave John all the answers he needed.

“Sherlock, you had a concussion, you promised me to stay hydrated.” John took Sherlock’s hand and led him towards a server. “Come on, we’re finding some water for you.” 

After making sure Sherlock had drunk two glasses of water they went back into the crowd. People were slowly beginning to get seated. Sherlock wrapped his arm around John’s shoulders and pulled him into his side.

“Have you ever thought about marriage?” Sherlock asked. John looked up at him but Sherlock kept his eyes on Harry and Clara. 

“I haven’t given it much thought,” John said, “but it would be nice if it’s something both of us wants.” John shifted his glass over to his other hand so he could snake his arm around Sherlock’s waist.

“To be frank, it doesn’t matter to me.” He looked down at John. “It wouldn’t change anything.” Sherlock took a breath and leaned his cheek against the top of John's head. “I’d still love you as much as I do now,” he said and kissed John’s temple. John smiled. 

“I have been thinking that maybe we should slow down on the cases.” John looked up at Sherlock and waited to see his reaction. Sherlock only hummed so John continued. “You really scared me last time. I did actually think I would lose you, you know.”

“Oh come on, it was just a minor concussion.”

“Yeah but none of us knew that before the CT scan.” John turned so he was facing Sherlock. “Look, we’re both getting old.”

Sherlock scoffed and mumbled, “speak for yourself.” John gave him a slap on the arm. 

“We need to calm down on the cases.” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It was an accident, it won’t happen again,” Sherlock said, reassuring John. It wasn’t very reassuring. 

“It will Sherlock, and it might end up much worse than this time.”

Sherlock sighed. “I will think about it.”

“Thank you.” John smiled and gave Sherlock a kiss on his hand. Around them most of the guests were seated and John and Sherlock went to find their places. 

Sherlock gripped John’s hand in his before he stopped. He looked into John’s eyes as if there was an answer there. 

“I would like to see a ring on this finger someday,” he said, his thumb stroking John’s ring finger. John smiled at Sherlock, his eyes warm and crinkling at the corners. 

“Better be alive by then Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock laughed and entwined his fingers between John’s. He bent his head down and gave John a soft kiss, John’s lips warm under his own. When John pulled back Sherlock lingered and gave John a peck on the side of his mouth. Together they walked over to the table and got seated. 

Chapter Text

23rd October

Sherlock lifted the bow and the last tone lingered in the room. The light from the fireplace was casting shadows over his face. When the tone was almost inaudible Sherlock let his arm fall. Before he got to put away his violin John rose from his chair and came up to Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and hid his face in the juncture of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock put his arms around John’s shoulders, his violin hanging down John’s back. John hummed and snuggled closer. 

“What are you thinking about?” Sherlock asked, his voice muffled by John’s hair. 

“Marrying you,” John answered. Sherlock smiled. “And the piece you played was beautiful.”

“Thank you John.”

Silently they stood in the middle of the living room, the warmth from the fireplace and eachother engulfing them. Sherlock was content, and standing with John in his arms he was home. He’d never thought he would find peace, always on the run from something or another. But then John entered his life and he was no longer running. If he was, he had someone to run with. On the high rooftops, narrow alleyways, after bad criminals. John wouldn’t let go of him, and he wouldn’t let go of John. Maybe it was time to stop running. Settle down. Work on fraud cases where the motive either was love or revenge. Sherlock cringed at the thought. It would bore him to death. But John would be with him. That wouldn’t bore him. Sherlock could picture himself laying in bed until noon, John’s legs tangled together with his, slowly making breakfast, no need to hurry down to the station for new cases. On their hands there would be matching gold bands, glinting in the light, the promise of a lifetime together, visible to show the whole world. 

Before Sherlock could say any of this to John he started speaking.

“Mom always wanted me to learn the violin.” He looked up at Sherlock. “But I wouldn’t be able to play it as well as you do,” he chuckled. 

“Of course you could. It’s all about practise really,” Sherlock said. “Natural talent is a myth. Some people get things quicker, but in the end it’s about hard work.” 

Sherlock unwrapped his arms and put the violin in John’s hands.

“Here, I’ll teach you some.” 

John looked at Sherlock with big eyes, carefully holding the violin. “You sure?”

Sherlock nodded.

“Aren’t you afraid that I will damage it?”

“No. I trust you.”

Sherlock stepped around John, standing close to him. He put his hand over John’s where it was holding the neck of the violin. John lifted the violin and put it on his shoulder. Sherlock placed the body correctly on John’s shoulder, making sure that the shoulder rest was sitting comfortably. He gave John the bow and adjusted his fingers.

“Okay so it’s important to stand up straight and have a good posture,” Sherlock said and came up in front of John. He gripped John’s shoulders and made him stand completely straight. 

“The violin must be held parallel to the floor and keep the arm relaxed.” Sherlock guided John's fingers to the strings, his thumb on the back of the violin’s neck. “Rest your head on the violin.” John leaned his down on the body. 

“Is it uncomfortable?” Sherlock asked. “If it is, try to make small adjustments until it feels better.”

Sherlock stood back and looked over John. It was strange seeing John holding his instrument, but it didn’t look weird. Fit him better than that clarinet John had told him he played in school. 

“So, I just play now?” John asked. Sherlock nodded. John put the bow on the strings and pulled his arm down. The sound was raspy and inconsistent, and Sherlock felt a shiver run down his back. It had been a long time since he had played like that. 

John laughed. “This sounds horrible.”

“Yeah, it does,” Sherlock chuckled. “Here, let me teach you a song.”

Sherlock showed John where to put his fingers and which string to bow. It took some time for John to learn and remember but he did it in the end. 

Sherlock sat back down in John’s chair watching John play the beginning Ode to Joy over and over again. The fireplace crackled softly, and Sherlock felt warm inside. He looked at John, concentrating on his own fingers as they moved clumsily over the strings, the bow sometimes completely unaligned with the bridge. But he didn’t care. John was playing for him, and that’s what mattered. 

I can’t wait to marry him, Sherlock thought. He pulled up his feet and buried them between the seat and armrest. Slowly his eyes closed. On the left he felt the warmth from fire and on his right, he heard John play for him. And to that he fell asleep. Happy and content with the life he had.

Chapter Text

24th October

“The food was delicious Mrs. Holmes,” John said and leaned back in his chair, his stomach completely full. 

“Thank you John.” She started to clean off the table. “But please, call me Mummy. You’re as much family as anyone else here.”

Sherlock looked over at John and smiled. Sherlock got up and started doing the dishes. John followed suit and soon the table was cleared. 

“Thanks for the dinner Mummy,” Sherlock said and kissed her cheek. “I’m gonna go up and take a shower.”

Sherlock went up the stairs leaving John and Mummy Holmes in the kitchen alone. His father sat in the living room, his reading glasses low on his nose. 

“Let me make you a cuppa John.” 

“That would be lovely, thanks.”

After the tea had been brewed John carried out their cups and they seated themselves on the sofa. Upstairs the shower could be heard.

“So,” Mrs. Holmes started,” I hear congratulations are in order.”

John chuckled. “Well, we’re not officially engaged yet.”

“But you will be.” Mummy raised her eyebrow and smirked.

“Yeah, I’m looking forward to it,” John said and smiled down in his cup. “I love him very much.”

Mrs. Holmes patted his arm and smiled softly at him. “I know, I see it in both of you.” She took a sip from her mug. “And I’m so happy for you.”

Her tone suddenly changed. “I always worry for him. He’s so restless, I didn’t think he could settle down with someone.”

John went quiet, holding his warm cup between his hands. 

“There were so many times I thought he would die.”

Her voice was almost a shivering whisper. She looked up at John with tear-blank eyes. “But then you came along. You don’t know how much you mean to this family John.”

John thought about all the times he had saved Sherlock. But also all the times Sherlock had saved him.

“He changed my life too,” John said and looked over at Mummy. “He saved me in so many ways, I didn’t even know I needed to be saved.”

“Oh John,” a tear trickled down her cheek, “you’re so lucky to have each other, I wish you nothing but happiness.”

She started laughing and wiped away the tears on her cheek. “Sorry for getting so emotional.”

The room became silent, the sound of them taking small sips mixed with the wind outside. 

“Darling, why won’t you show John those pictures you were talking about earlier?” Mr. Holmes said.

“Oh, I had completely forgotten!” She put down her half full mug on the table beside the sofa and went over to the bookshelf. She pulled out a couple of books before she found the right one. John noticed the date on the cover before Mummy opened the album. Sherlock would’ve been around five years at the time. 

John leaned over to see the first picture clearer. It was of the house, except the garden was a lot more untidy with weeds and bushes growing uncontrollably. 

“You didn’t move here until the 80s?” John asked. 

“We did actually live in the city but you know how hard that can be with two young boys.”

John smiled at the thought of Sherlock and Mycroft running around in a small London-sized flat. 

The next pictures were from inside of the house, one of them with a small little Sherlock on the couch. Almost all of the pictures in the album had Sherlock in them; sometimes even just the top of his dark curled head. 

Halfway in the album there were pictures of the beach behind their house. The checkered picnic blanket lay on the grass, and Mr. Holmes was sitting on it. Behind him was Mycroft standing in the water, his trousers pulled up to his thighs. And just on the edge of the picture was Sherlock, a little blurry shadow. 

“Sherlock always had so much energy when he was outside,” Mummy explained. “There was always something to see, to be explored.” She ran her thumb over the picture. “I guess that’s one thing he hasn’t outgrown.”

“He certainly hasn’t,” John laughed. 

There were other pictures with Sherlock more visible and not so blurry. But he was never standing still. He had his pirate hat on and a wooden sword in his hands.

“Sherlock really took that pirate job seriously I see.”

“That sword was his favorite thing,” Mrs. Holmes said. “He even slept with it.”

She took the picture out of the plastic pocket it was secured in and gave it to John. 

“You can have it, I have an extra one in my bedroom.”

John held the picture in his hands, the little Sherlock the size of his pinky. 

“Mummy, are you showing John pictures from my childhood.” Sherlock came walking down the stairs in pyjamas and wet hair. He looked from the album in Mrs. Holmes lap to the picture in John’s hand. 

“Yes, of course,” she answered. “You were the sweetest child.”

Sherlock sighed and walked over to sit beside John. “I told you not to show anyone those.”

“Sherlock, you are marrying the man,” Sherlock’s dad said without looking up from the book he was reading. Sherlock grumbled.

“Fine.”

Mrs. Holmes showed John the rest of the album, and then another one where Sherlock was in his early teens. Sherlock had a disapproving look most of the time, but John could see him enjoying it too. 

Later that night John and Sherlock lay in their bed, Sherlock’s arm slung around John’s waist. 

“Your mom’s right you know,” John said into Sherlock’s hair.

“About what?” Sherlock mumbled back. 

“You were a very sweet child.”

“I don’t think many agree with that John.”

John laughed and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock moved closer and slowly they both fell asleep, John’s new picture on the nightstand beside them.

Chapter Text

25th October 

“I seriously can’t believe you sometimes Sherlock,” John sighed and followed Sherlock up the stairs. They took off their coats and Sherlock slumped down the hallway, John following in his wake. When they entered the bathroom Sherlock sat down on the toilet seat and John looked disappointed at his mopey face. 

“Well, go ahead then.” Sherlock waved a hand, gesturing towards his head. John rubbed his face before approaching Sherlock and taking his curls in hand. 

“First of all,” John started, “where did all of this gum come from?” He carefully tried to get as much hair out of the big ball of gum. Sherlock vinced and pulled away. He brought up a hand and softly rubbed his scalp. 

“It’s not my fault some children thought it funny to throw gum on me,” Sherlock scoffed. John sighed and reached for his hair again. He started to pull on the gum but Sherlock flinched away again. 

“Sherlock, you have to sit still,” John said and grabbed his shoulders, making Sherlock face him. Slowly he started to work on the hair again. Sherlock yelped when John yanked a piece of gum out of his hair and he grabbed John’s hip to steady himself. John chuckled before massaging the spot. After a minute he started to work on the last piece. Sherlock's hands were now fisted in John's jumper, his knuckles turning white every time John pulled his curls. After lots of pulling and dragging he gave up. 

“I think we need to cut it off,” John said. Sherlock froze.

“No.”

“I’m getting the scissors.” John walked out of the bathroom. Sherlock could hear him rummaging in the kitchen. A minute later he was back with the scissors ready in his left hand. 

“No.” Sherlock shook his head violently. “I refuse.” He stood up making himself tall to assert dominance. 

“There’s no other way, it's completely stuck.” John closed in on him forcing him backwards against the toilet. “It won't be noticeable.” He took another step closer. When he reached a hand towards the hair Sherlock grabbed his shoulders and slithered past him as fast as he could. John just had time to register it and reached a hand out to grasp Sherlock's arm. He didn't get hold of it and only managed to make Sherlock lose his balance, legs and arms flailing out of the door. John followed tight into the living room. Sherlock stood behind his chair using the remote control as some kind of sword. John scoffed at the attempt of appearing scary and walked over to the front of Sherlock's chair. 

“Sherlock please let me just cut it.” John was starting to get irritated. 

"Or what?" Sherlock challenged. John rubbed a hand over his forehead. 

"I guess I just have to tackle you and cut it off.” Sherlock's eyes widened. “And I don't see what the problem is, it's three centimeters!”

“Every centimeter is precious John, you should know that.” 

“Yeah, the cabinet full of hair products is proof of that.” John took a step to the right, Sherlock went the opposite way. “And nobody will see the difference.”

“Can I put the foot in the microwave?” Sherlock asked, hope creeping up on his face. 

“If that's what it takes you to sit down so I can cut your hair, then yes.” A big smile spread across Sherlock's face. John turned and walked back to the bathroom, a grinning Sherlock following behind him, both happy with the bargain they had reached.

Chapter Text

26th October

The warm mug let out steam where it was sitting on the table beside John’s chair. John’s newspaper rustled as he turned the page. Behind his chair, Sherlock experimented with a liver he had gotten from Molly. John could hear Sherlock humming while he was cutting up the meat. He probably had ten different ideas for experiments already. Sherlock went silent when he sat down by the table. John smiled at Sherlock’s ability to get lost in his thoughts. 

They were both silent, peacefully sitting with their own things, keeping each other company. John felt the calm rush over him, nothing else in his life than Sherlock working away on his little experiment. The paper was put on the table beside his chair and John stood up to get a book from the bookcase. He pulled out one of his favorite crime novels and sat back in his chair. Sherlock was humming again, this time on a violin concerto John had heard him perform once. 

John adjusted the pillow behind him and made himself comfortable. He opened the book and let himself get lost in the story. 

When he turned the page to chapter four some of Sherlock’s equipment fell down on the floor. The broken glass rang in John’s ears, breaking the peace in the flat. 

“Sherlock, are you okay?” John turned around in his chair, seeing Sherlock’s back. On the floor was a shattered petri dish and the kitchen knife. 

“Sherlock?” John asked again. He laid down the book and stood up, walking into the kitchen. Sherlock didn’t move, and when John came up beside him he saw that he was clutching a hand to his side. 

“Sher-”

He looked up at John with wide eyes.

“I cut myself on the knife.”

“Jesus,” John said and grabbed the towel by the sink. “Press this against it.”

Sherlock lifted his hand, the t-shirt dark by the blood, and pressed the towel against the wound. John fell to his knees and opened the cabinet to get the first aid kit. 

“Sit,” John commanded, and Sherlock sat down on the nearest chair. He placed his hand over Sherlock’s pressing harder against Sherlock’s stomach. 

“How did this happen?” he asked and rolled up Sherlock’s t-shirt. The wound was small and superficial. John let out a sigh and kept pressing with the towel. 

“I was going to get a new piece of liver and the knife was laying on the edge of the table, so when I went past it it cut me,” Sherlock explained, as if all of this was normal. 

John exhaled slowly, and chose to focus on Sherlock’s wound instead of how he got it. 

The bleeding was slowly stopping, so John found the disinfectant and made sure the cut was clean before starting to bandage it. After wrapping it up John sat back on his heels.

“You know it was really stupid of you to put the knife like that.”

“John it’s hardly my fault that the table was full of all the other equipment,” Sherlock answered . 

“I don’t care, it’s unsafe.” John rubbed his hands over his face, leaving a thin streak of blood on his forehead. “Look, we need security in our lives. I can’t always patch you up.”

“Why not, you always do. I don’t think your ability as a doctor will get worse over the years,” Sherlock argued, shrugging his shoulders. 

“No, but what if I’m not here? What are you going to do then?”

“I’ll call an ambulance.”

John closed his eyes and Sherlock could see him counting to ten inside of his head. 

“With the rate of accidents you get yourself in you will be dead before the ambulance gets here.” His voice rose, and he started gesticulating wildly with his arms. “First it was the concussion, and now this. Sherlock, it just gets worse and worse.”

“John, it’s not that bad.”

“No, but it is!” John stood up and put his hands on the counter. His head was hanging low, and Sherlock could hear him take deep breaths.

“What if we get a child someday,” John said low. “Or Mrs. Hudson might get hurt. Lestrade can get hurt. This flat is hazardous Sherlock.”

“You want a child?” Sherlock asked slowly. He stood up and sat down on the top of the counter beside John.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” John looked up at Sherlock. “Do you?”

“Haven’t really given it a thought.” Sherlock put his hand over John’s. “We could if you want to.”

John raised his head. “I’ve been thinking about maybe a foster child.” He turned and leaned against the counter beside Sherlock. “But a child needs security, it needs a safe space.”

“I’m sorry, I will be more careful next time.”

John pushed away from the counter and came to stand between Sherlock’s legs. He wrapped his arms around his waist, careful not to touch the wound, and laid his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. 

“I don’t want you to get more hurt.”

“I won’t.”

“You will,” John chuckled.

“I will try not to.”

John laughed. “So, maybe a kid then?”

Sherlock smiled and kissed John’s temple. “We'll see.”

Chapter Text

27th October

Unanswered call 15.36 27.10.2020

Unanswered call 15.54 27.10.2020

Voicemail 15.55 27.10.2020

Hey Harry, it’s John. I tried to call you but you didn’t pick up. Please call me back when you get the time. No rush, but I’d like to tell you something. It’s been a long time since I saw you. I miss you. 

Voicemail 22.32 28.10.2020

Hi Harry. You haven’t answered in some time now, I hope nothing bad has happened. I wanted to call you to tell you about Sherlock. He and I are together now. Heh, you probably saw it coming, you usually do. Erm, we are planning on getting married. Don’t know when yet, but I wanted to tell you before we send out invitations. I hope you and Clara are doing well. Love you.

Voicemail 22.44 28.10.2020

Hey, it’s me again. I forgot to say that Clara is welcome too. To the wedding. I’d love to see you both there. It’s been some time since we got together all four. I hope you’re doing okay, you usually answer after a day. I’m getting worried. Me and Sherlock are going out on a case tonight so don’t worry if I don’t answer. If you see my messages, call me. Ehm, yeah, take care.

Voicemail 11.04 29.10.2020

John, it’s so good to hear from you! I’m so happy to hear about you and Sherlock. I told you so, you fit so well together. Me and Clara can’t wait for the wedding. I was on a hike yesterday, Clara got a bonus so we decided to spend the weekend in the mountains. We are both doing good. Hah, she’s telling me to congratulate you guys. I miss you guys too. Tell me when you’re available and we can meet up, I’d love to see Sherlock again. Take care John.

~ ~ ~

14.23 27.10.2020 

I hear congratulations are in order. I wish you all the best -M

14.27 27.10.2020 

Who told you, I haven’t mentioned it to you -S

14.29 27.10.2020 

Mummy talks, you of all people should know that -M

14.29 27.10.2020 

When’s the wedding then? -M

14.31 27.10.2020 

Haven’t decided yet. It’s all very new -S

14.32 27.10.2020 

Didn’t take you for the planning types but I guess love changes us all little brother -M

14.33 27.10.2020 

Shut up Mycroft

14.34 27.10.2020 

I really do wish you and John the best

14.34 27.10.2020 

Thank you. Hope to see you at the wedding

Chapter Text

28th October

Sherlock rummaged through the box that he had found under John’s old bed. His old cargo trousers and the green coloured shirt lay neatly folded on one side. In the rest of the box lay another box. Sherlock took up the t-shirt and held it against his nose. It didn't have the same smell as John's clothes he had here in England. It did smell faintly of John though; but not home-John. This was young John, unknowing of Sherlock, at the rock bottom of his life. There was no warmth in this smell. Sherlock put the shirt down beside the box. He grabbed the cargo trousers and unfolded them. A little dust had collected where the trousers had been folded. Sherlock brushed it away. He ran his hands over the rough fabric before putting his hand in the pockets. At the bottom of one there was still some sand and Sherlock pressed it between his fingers, feeling the small corns against his fingers. 

The smaller box was full of letters and crumpled paper. Sherlock put aside the letters from Harry, only opening them to look for photographs. He held up the dog-tags before putting them aside too. 

Finally, Sherlock thought as he pushed away a yellow paper to reveal a stack of photos with a piece of string around it. He took out the photos before putting everything back in the back in the box and pushing it under the bed again. 

With the stack of photos in his hand he rushed down the stairs and put on his scarf and coat. As he rushed out the door the photos lay safely in the inner pocket, warm against his chest. 

When Sherlock returned back home he heard the shower running. Silently he hung up his coat and tip-toed up the stairs to John’s old bedroom. He pulled out the box again and carefully arranged the content inside as it was before he took out the photos. He sneaked back down again and opened the drawer to the desk, putting the usb stick into an empty envelope before closing the drawer. The shower turned off and Sherlock sat himself down in his chair. A few minutes later John came out, his bathrobe wrapped around himself. 

“Where were you?” John asked as he put on the kettle. 

“The library,” Sherlock answered as he leaned over to grab a pen from the desk. “Just some research for a case.”

John looked at Sherlock suspicious but didn’t think about it as he started to pour water in the mugs. After a few minutes he took out the teabags and came over to Sherlock with a mug before settling down in his own chair. 

John opened the newspaper while Sherlock checked his laptop for any new cases on the blog. Sherlock’s mobile pinged, a new message from Lestrade. He closed the computer and stood up. 

“Lestrade wants me to come in and look at some case files.” Sherlock buttoned his dress jacket. “Nothing big, just some details from the case we just solved.” He took his mug and placed it in the sink before coming back into the sitting room.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said and kissed John’s temple. “I’ll be back in two hours max.” And with that he went out the door. 

When Sherlock came back John was seated at the desk, fully clothed, looking at his laptop. As Sherlock came closer he saw the metal of the usb stick at the side of the laptop. He let out a small gasp. John chuckled.

“You think I wouldn’t find it?” John said and smiled smugly at Sherlock. “I know you better than you think.”

Sherlock came closer and saw the picture of John on the screen. A young man in cargo trousers, thigh holster, short messy hair, and a careless smile on his face as he laughed at something a person out of the shot had said. John skipped to the next photo. This time he was surrounded by three other young boys, all four holding around each other and smiling towards the camera. And the next one a picture of John sleeping with his mates making suggestive gestures around him. And then a picture of John eating. And of him in full gear. There were a dozen pictures of John. 

“Why did you copy my army photos over to a memory stick?” John asked as they had seen through all of them.

“Err, I just, umm, wanted them more accessible.” Sherlock scratched the back of his neck. John laughed. 

“You could’ve just asked me you know.”

“Asked you for what, the pictures?”

“No,” John drew out the o. “To wear my old gear.”

Sherlock blushed. “You, you mean that?” he stuttered.

“Yeah.” They looked at each other before John broke into a smile. “Wait here a minute,” he said and went up the stairs to his old room.

Three minutes later John came down the stairs, heavy boots against the floor as he walked into the sitting room. He was wearing the trousers and t-shirt Sherlock had seen earlier that day. The air was getting hotter inside and Sherlock felt himself swallow hard. John started to walk into the kitchen and down the hallway to the bedroom. 

“You better be following me, soldier,” he called out without looking back. 

Sherlock sat frozen in his seat before he realized what John had said. And with that he scrambled out of the chair and rushed into the bedroom.

Chapter Text

29th October

A young man in a battered suit walked into the store. Tall and slender but his cheeks were hollowed and his eyes were flat and dead. He turned to the clerk and asked about their coats. They talked for a minute, probably about preferences and size, before the clerk turned around and led them towards the rack with dark coats. The young man grabbed a sleeve and rubbed the thick fabric between his fingers. 

“Would you like to try it on,” the clerk asked.

“Yes please.”

The clerk took the coat off the hanger and the man turned his back so he could drape it over his shoulders. He put his arms inside but he was a bit too thin so the coat hung loosely around his body. Carefully he put the buttons through the buttonhole, his fingers resting a short second on the red thread at the top buttonhole. 

The man turned around, his curly hair bouncing as he turned around and looked at himself in the mirror.

“We can have it altered,” the clerk said, brushing his hands over the shoulders. “Make the shoulders a little shorter, take in the sides to make it fit a bit better.”

“No thanks, I like it as it is.” He unbuttoned it again and put his hands in the pockets, twirling it around his legs. The clerk stepped back, letting the man look at himself in peace. Then he paid, and rushed out the door, new coat fluttering behind him.

The first time the coat was at a hospital was a couple of weeks after moving out of the store. The new owner wore it with pride and always hung it up carefully on the back of the door. He watched out for fast cars driving in the rain, making sure it never got too dirty. Except for the times he collapsed in alleyways. Or when he stumbled around high in the middle of the night. Sometimes he would lay almost dead in a dark corner, cold puddle water seeping in through the fabric. 

One time he lay there for several days. He wrapped the coat close, trying to keep himself warm the times he woke up, but that didn’t stop him from shaking every time a wind gust hit the alley. Sometimes he took it off, one arm out of the coat, only half on. His fingers were trembling and he couldn’t stick the needle correctly in his arm. The blood ran down his arm down to his wrist, staining the end of the coat arm. Then came another man. His umbrella clicked against the ground as he walked. He took him to the hospital. The coat was carelessly ripped off him and put in a bag with the rest of his clothes. The man with the umbrella got the coat, took it to the dry cleaner’s. With the coat folded over his arm he laid it down on the chair. 

“I hope you get better soon Sherlock.” He squeezed Sherlock’s arm softly before walking out of the room.

Sherlock always made sure to wrap himself up on cold winter mornings. This time he didn’t bother as he rushed out of the flat and to Barts. He laid the coat upstairs in the lab before walking out with long strides and a whip in his hand. When he came up again he sat quietly by himself looking into the microscope. He didn’t look up before his friend and another man came in through the door. Sherlock asked for the new man’s phone and he gladly handed it over. After sending the message he walked back and picked the coat up, just to swing it out dramatically when he put it on. Smugly he put his hands in the coat and fired off deductions as he always did when he wanted to show off. 

The man was stunned and Sherlock told him his address before he winked and dashed out the door.

The wind was picking up but Sherlock and John only ran faster. They were chasing a new criminal, coat flying behind Sherlock, John right on his heels. John jumped on the bad guy and the police took over after that. 

When they came back home they were both heaving for their breaths, high on adrenaline, giggling like school children. Sherlock leaned into John’s side, the thick wool fabric his coat against John’s leather-cladded shoulder. He pushed John a little which made John lean back against the wall. John leaned his head back and breathed hard. Sherlock pressed himself to John’s front, now sharing the same air. John’s hand came up to hold onto the coat lapel. He rubbed his fingers over the fabric, just like Sherlock had done when he first tried it on. Slowly John’s hand moved upwards to Sherlock’s cheek. Sherlock’s breath hitched and he leaned in closer, their noses almost touching. They stayed like that for a couple of seconds before John pressed himself up and against Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock gasped but gripped John’s arm in an iron grip, not letting him go. The kiss was soft and slow at first, but when John dipped his tongue past Sherlock’s lips it grew more hungry. Both men trying to touch as much of the other as possible.

For the first time Sherlock didn’t hang up the coat on the back of the door as always. This time it lay on the floor by the entrance, the start of a path of clothes. 

Chapter Text

30th October

John took off his clothes and carefully folded them before putting them on the chair. Wearing only his pants and a t-shirt, he went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he came out it was completely dark outside, only John’s reflection in the window. He lifted the thick duvet and laid down on his back. He leaned over and turned off the lamp, the room going completely dark. He laid there, with his duvet up to his chin, his hands clammy. Outside he could hear the soft rustling of leaves as the wind whispered softly. Sherlock was probably still sitting downstairs by the fire, that bastard. John rolled around and wrapped the duvet tightly around his shoulders. He didn’t like laying on his side, it made his shoulder ache. But now he couldn’t care less, even though his shoulder was throbbing painfully, telling him to calm down. 

Sherlock’s words rung clearly in John’s head. The way Sherlock had shouted at him made goosebumps crawl down his spine, and he pushed himself even harder down on the bed. His eyes stung, but he forced back the tears. 

He couldn’t have meant what he said. But what if he did? Maybe it was a mistake to get this involved. He should’ve listened to everyone who told him to stay away. In a strange way he knew that this was coming one day. He hoped that it wouldn’t,  but it was inevitable. Sherlock was going to get bored, John was way too normal for him. If Sherlock couldn’t trust his feelings on the hound, how could he trust his feelings about John?

John rolled over to his back again, pressing his right hand into his left shoulder, trying to massage away the pain. It didn’t help. A sob escaped his lips and feeling ashamed John bit down on his lower lip. 

If he knew Sherlock correctly he wouldn’t come up to sleep, instead staying up the whole night. John reached over to the night stand and set his alarm to six o'clock. He put the sound on vibrating and shoved the phone under his pillow. That would give him enough time to get going before Sherlock needed to shower and change clothes. 

John got up from the bed and walked into the bathroom. He didn’t turn on the light, not wanting to see his bloodshot eyes and puffy face. In the dark, he groped for the tap and turned it on. He splashed cold water in his face before he quickly walked back into the now cold bed. 

Again, he was laying on his back, hands flat by his sides. John tried not to think about Sherlock but it was an impossible task. His absence just made his presence seem bigger. As if the room had a hole in it, Sherlock the last puzzle to the picture. The missing person in the bed next to John’s. But Sherlock on his own, oh that was a whole picture. No missing pieces or fraying ends. Sherlock didn’t know the Earth revolved around the Sun because for him the Earth revolved around him. Going faster and faster, his coat swirling around him. If you were lucky you might be able to grab hold of the bottom of the coat, getting dragged into Sherlock’s amazingly chaotic world. But there was only so long one could hold on. John had held on longer than most. Maybe it was time to let go. 

He thought back on all the times he had run after Sherlock, chasing criminals, living Sherlock’s dream. Was it John’s dream too? He did feel the rush of the adrenaline, but did he want it?

Slowly John’s eyes closed, and his breathing evened out, right on the edge of sleep. As he was about to fall asleep he heard the creak of the door. The light from the hallway made a thin slit on the wall beside the desk. In sneaked Sherlock’s lean figure, hands still shaky from the whisky. Or the overload of emotions. He closed the door with a small click, and walked over to the foot of John’s bed. John felt him looking at him but he didn’t open his eyes. With slow steps he walked up to the side of the bed. John felt himself tense from the warmth that seeped through Sherlock’s trousers. Sherlock reached out, his hands hovering a few inches over John’s left shoulder.

“Can I?” he asked. John didn’t open his eyes but hummed a yes.

Sherlock grazed his fingertips over John’s shoulder, and then pressed his palm against his hot skin.  John sighed and felt his shoulder relax. Sherlock was silent as he kneaded his hand into John. Soon John was at the brink of sleep again. 

Sherlock removed his hand. He took off his shoes and carefully laid his suit on his own bed before he walked into the bathroom. When he emerged he had on his pyjama trousers. 

He walked over to his bed but didn’t lay down. John barely opened his eyes, watching Sherlock’s bare back. Before John could close them again Sherlock turned his head and stared into John’s eyes. None of them moved for a couple of seconds until John budged over, making room for Sherlock. Sherlock climbed in, making sure not to touch John. He pulled up the duvet and was met with the heat from John’s body. Yet he didn’t move away from the edge of the bed. John sighed and wrapped an arm around his waist. That made Sherlock let out the breath he was holding and he turned in John’s arms. Pushing his head under John’s chin, he clutched at John’s t-shirt. John wound his arms tighter around Sherlock. He felt the front of his shirt getting wet, but he didn’t say anything. Just held on tight. 

When John woke up the next morning he found his bed empty and his phone, with the alarm turned off, on the nightstand.

Chapter Text

31th October

Sherlock woke up to a cold bed with his sheet tightly wrapped around him. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before he got up and shuffled into the kitchen. John stood by the coffee machine, the coffee freshly made. He reached out into the cupboard over the sink, standing on his tiptoes. Sherlock walked over and took out the cup John was looking for. John turned around and put a hand on Sherlock’s waist. 

“Good morning sunshine,” he said and gave Sherlock a peck. Sherlock made a face at the nickname but it was soon gone when John pushed a warm cup of coffee into his hand. 

Silently they moved to their chairs and Sherlock checked his phone for new cases while John read the paper. 

When they finished Sherlock moved into the bathroom to brush his teeth while John finished reading his paper. He got out of the bathroom, hair no less messy, but they weren’t planning on leaving the house anyway so it didn’t matter. Sitting down at the kitchen table, he got ready to continue his work on the newest experiment. John waited for the clatter Sherlock’s equipment made but it didn’t come. He smiled playfully to himself behind the newspaper. 

“John?”

John hummed.

“Why is everything-” Sherlock took a breath “-not right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything is wrong.”

“Sherlock what are you talking about?” John tried not to giggle. 

“Did you move my stuff?” 

“No,” John stretched out the o. 

“You did!”

“Maybe,” John started laughing. “April fools!”

He heard Sherlock get off the chair and shuffle his things around, opening the cupboards rearranging his things. 

“John, it’s October,” Sherlock huffed as he sat down on the floor to open the cupboard under the sink. 

That made John laugh even harder, clutching his stomach. 

“Am I not allowed to have some fun with my boyfriend?” 

Sherlock shot him a look over his shoulder before bowing his head and finding his stuff. 

“It’s not that funny,” he said as he rose with three different beakers in his arms. 

John put down his paper and walked over to the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and kissed his neck. 

“It’s a bit funny,” he said and chuckled.

Sherlock didn’t answer, but he leaned back against John’s chest.

“Just a little bit?” John looked up at Sherlock with puppy eyes. He felt Sherlock’s chest vibrate when he hummed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, a little,” Sherlock murmured.

John smiled. “Come on let me help you rearrange this.”

The weather was getting worse as november was nearing and it showed on John’s shoulder. He usually never napped, but his shoulder was bothering him too much, and they were home all day. Sherlock had sat with him in the bed while he napped, reading a book. The bedroom was warm and John snuggled closer to Sherlock’s pyjama clad thigh. Slowly he fell asleep to the rustling of Sherlock’s book. 

When he woke up Sherlock was still sitting beside him, now almost halfway in the book. John pressed his face into the pillow. He gave the bare skin on Sherlock’s hip a kiss and padded into the kitchen to make tea. He turned on the kettle and found the tea bags by the sink. Opening the cupboard over his head he reached into it to grab two mugs. But when he closed his hands there was no mug there. John tried to feel around with his hand but the whole shelf was empty. 

“Sherlock!” John called into their bedroom. “What did you do to the mugs?”

“They’re on the shelf above the sink,” Sherlock called back.

“No they’re not!”

Sherlock didn’t answer. John walked back, his butt hitting the table, and he tried to see if the mugs were on the other shelves. And there they were. On the top shelf, way out of John’s reach. He walked back into the bedroom glaring at Sherlock. Sherlock only grinned.

“Can’t reach the mugs John?” he asked innocently. 

“You know damn well I can’t.”

“Oh, revenge is sweet, isn’t it John?”

John didn’t answer, just continued to stare at him as Sherlock laughed. 

“Need any help?”

“Don’t get cocky,” John said and walked out, not waiting to see if Sherlock followed him. 

Sherlock came into the kitchen and reached into the shelf, taking out their mugs. John kept his moping face and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at Sherlock taking down the mugs. Sherlock laughed softly but John didn’t even smile. Still holding the mugs over his head, Sherlock closed in on John taking John’s chin in his hand.

“It’s a little bit funny?” he asked, their noses almost touching. 

John only hummed. That gave him a small peck on the side of his mouth. He tried not to smile but failed.

“Okay, it’s a bit funny,” John said and dragged Sherlock by the hips to kiss him properly.