Chapter Text
“Oh, Sherlock,” John breathed after what seemed an eternity, and in that one sentence seemed to be a whole lot of thoughts and emotions, all tangled up and getting in the way of each other.
Getting in the way of Sherlock understanding what was meant.
Rather than asking, though, and not just because he didn’t want to risk demanding, he sat waiting for John to continue. He wouldn’t know what to say further, in any case, though that was hardly the point.
It seemed that John didn’t know what to say himself but nevertheless, the consulting detective waited. He would wait for as long as it took for an explication or anything at all, really, to come.
When a comment came after another seemingly interminable wait, it was not what he would’ve expected it to be. Truth be told, he wouldn’t have been able to say what he had expected, only that this wasn’t it.
“I, in turn, never want you to have to think about whether I feel safe in your presence again. Not to even begin to question it and – “
“You won’t,” Sherlock said, not realising he was interrupting in his urgency. His fervour. “I promise you that you won’t, and I’ll repeat it however many times you might need to hear it. Whatever happens, I’ll make sure that – “
He stopped, then, though he did so only because his attention was caught by something that took the words right out of his mouth. Something important, that was; John had reached down and picked up the watch, which had lain abandoned between them up until this point.
Oh.
But that was – did that mean that –? Surely, it couldn’t mean that –?
Pale, multicoloured but human eyes flickered all over the familiar, slightly worn face, searching for an explanation. “John, why –? Are you afraid I won’t be able to keep my promise unless you, unless we –?”
“No,” the blond said, quickly and firmly, shaking his head for further emphasis. He frowned as he then looked down on the watch in his hand. “That wasn’t my intent with picking this thing up. I merely – oh fucking hell!”
He looked away as he cursed, grimacing in the same instant. However, the hand still in Sherlock’s after everything didn’t move an inch.
“John?” Sherlock queried, despite his promise to himself that he would wait for the other to, to be ready.
“Just a moment.”
“Of course.” He squeezed the hand in his, a little warm and a little sweaty at this point, for what had to be the umpteenth time. Not that he cared. If it helped, then that was all that mattered.
It helped him and it also seemed to help John as he, after only another moment or two, looked back.
“Sorry, that was a stupid thing to do.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It very much was, given how you reacted. Justifiably, I’m not saying it wasn’t. I should’ve explained as I picked it up, not waited and let your mind run off with you. Should’ve known better than that.” He paused and managed a small smile. “I do trust you, Sherlock, and I do feel safe in your presence. Yes, I’ve been afraid through parts of this, you can’t blame me for that – “
“I don’t.”
He never would, no matter what happened. Anyone would...to be perfectly honest, anyone else would’ve been varying degrees of panic-stricken and terrified at all times throughout this experience rather than at a few points, as had been the case for John. Not surprising, really, considering who he was, but…
Sherlock remembered with surprising clarity those moments of genuine fear he had seen on those familiar blue eyes, despite the rest of the incidents being so blurry and disconnected still, and he knew with that very same clarity that he never wanted to see them again. Not for as long as he lived.
“– but on the whole, I am not afraid of you. Not of you. Any part of you. Of what might happen to you, or to me, yes, but not you. I’m not, Sherlock, believe me. Please. I know it might look as if I’m saying that to condescend to or placate you, and I undoubtedly ought to have found a better way of conveying all this, but I swear that’s not the case. I am not afraid of you and I never will be. That wasn’t the reason I picked up the watch.”
He paused, presumably to take a deep breath though Sherlock got the distinct impression there was something else going on there.
In any case, there was something he needed to say, and he needed to say it before –
John was somehow faster than him, perhaps he’d got his thoughts in order beforehand or wasn’t as tired and drained as Sherlock was.
“I trust you to have come back to me here, now, because it’s done. Because you have done what you set out to do, if not more than that, and therefore, you’ve felt safe to return to me.”
“You cannot know that.”
And he couldn’t. That wasn’t a slight on – on either of them, neither. It was just a fact that it was indeed impossible for John to know.
He didn’t even know about the extra aspect Sherlock hadn’t been aware of himself until just recently. Which was understandable, obviously, but…it was a point.
“That’s why I said ‘trust’, idiot.” Despite the words, there was the hint of a soft smile to John’s lips. “I trust that if that wasn’t the case, you would’ve said something, too. Immediately – and no, I don’t believe that the dragon is playing tricks on me. Or both of us. In short, I trust you, and therefore, I am not afraid of you on a fundamental level.”
“Just a specific one?”
There had to be some reason words that he would and should keep well inside of his mind kept flying out of his mouth without his prior approval like that, but if it weren’t the dragon wreaking havoc then what was it?
Luckily for him, John seemed to take it relatively well, the hint of a smile becoming almost a full smile. “Yeah. You can be rather…intense when you haven’t had a case for a while. That’s fairly scary.”
“Oh, do shut up.”
The almost-smile bloomed into a full-blown grin in only half a moment and Sherlock found his own lips stretching in a matching grin.
Then his gaze shifted and got caught by the watch. Such an unseeming thing it was, chosen for sturdiness and practicality more than aesthetic appeal, and worn and weathered by the experiences its owner had been through.
Its actual owner, that was to say. He may have taken it and so by dragon thoughts and conventions, it was his, part of his hoard, but in reality, it was still John’s and so it should be.
More so than every other valuable object and gimcrackery he had acquired for said hoard over the years. The decades. Even more so than the skull, though returning that to its rightful owner was…something of a moot point.
John noticed him looking and followed his gaze.
“Yeah. Sorry. Got distracted myself. See? Tired. Not draconian shenanigans or whatever you want to term it.”
“I definitely wouldn’t term it that.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t, swallowed a thesaurus off Eton and a dictionary off Wodehouse that you are.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Just a – my point is…” He paused, blinked, then tried again. “My point is that I picked up the watch, not because I am or was afraid of you, but because I could see you getting worried about me feeling safe in your presence. Which I do, regardless of who and what you are.”
He smiled again but it was a very different smile from the previous one. “I don’t think I told you but more or less everyone warned me off from you when we first me. Not just Donovan, either, but Lestrade and Mycroft. Can’t remember if my psychiatrist did, too, but – “
“You’ve never valued your psychiatrist.”
“No, true, but that’s not the point right now. The point is that – “
“I knew that they all did. Mycroft even texted me to say that he had, just so he could lord it over me.”
“Or perhaps ask you take more care. Consider what’s come your way.”
Sherlock blinked, thoroughly thrown by the comment.
“Think I’ve learned a bit more about Mycroft throughout all of this,” the doctor said, “and – yeah, alright, that made me sound as if I’m a puppy not to be scared away – don’t you dare say a word. What I meant was that he probably saw potential, or compatibility or whatever, and therefore warned us off each other in a way that’d be sure to make us both be contrary little buggers to spite him.”
Sherlock blinked again, his eyes widened, and his lips pursed. He…had not thought of it that way but that made a lot of sense. A whole lot of sense, in fact. Especially considering this was his brother’s work…used to help him, in such a roundabout, brotherly manner. Something which John had worked out from the behaviour displayed while the two of them had worked together to help Sherlock.
Of course he would.
Then he had to blink again as something else rattled along that line of realisation, with some speed, almost ramming into him; he had not just thought of his brother but of his collaborating with John to…and there hadn’t been the smallest hint of jealousy. Obviously, there shouldn’t be, considering what he’d just gone through, but nevertheless, he couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief.
It had worked.
What he had set out to do, he had accomplished. Not in the way he had thought he would, that was true, and you might say that he had done something else altogether, but that didn’t detract from the fact that he had, in his own strange way, accomplished it.
He had succeeded, and in more ways than he would’ve ever thought possible.
To be sure, though really it was as much if not moreso to check in and reassure as anything else, he went back to where it ought to be, staying nicely and carefully on the outside, as it were, and prodded at it, much like you would a bad tooth or possibly one that had just stopped throbbing.
Only perhaps a little bit more considerately.
It didn’t hurt. No matter how much he prodded it, or twisted, or pulled, it didn’t come loose, and it didn’t hurt. Not in the slightest, almost as though there had never been a problem in the first place.
Well, there was the slight glare and harrumph to be felt somewhere at the continued prodding, disturbing the peace, but there was also something like a laugh, which manifested as a tingle, so that was just fine as it was.
Point was that things were settled. Things were secure.
If he had managed that, then – then it might not be a hundred percent certain he’d managed the rest, considering everything that entailed, but it was a damn good bet, and he had to believe that it applied to all of them.
Had to believe? Believe? Shouldn’t he know? Be utterly certain before he went and sealed the thing?
Was he scared to go and check? If he were, could he then really claim that the dragon was defeated, or whatever equivalent phrasing that’d be appropriate to use, and he had been able to let go of the leash? That they could now go through with the, what amounted to a courtship ritual, without having to worry.
How could he think about that when he wasn’t sure and didn’t have the guts to go and check –?
Hold on, though. Hold on just a bleeding minute. Why the hell was he panicking like this? Over something like that. Not because it wasn’t important but that was precisely why there was no reason to panic.
He had gone to check.
Several times while he’d been facing the dragon, and before, as surreptitiously as he could, and a few more times afterwards as well, to be on the safe side. On the safe side of safe, even, to be entirely sure, precisely because he, they – all of them were included in that ‘they’, not just he and John – couldn’t afford to be wrong.
Which they weren’t. Everything was either destroyed or so fractured as to be no use to the dragon – had there been any danger from it to begin with. Which he felt sure there wasn’t. It would be rebuilt, but not in the way that it had been.
Point was that it was safe. He knew it to be safe, knew it to be handled.
Rather, to be in safe hands and in saw paws. Claws?
Why, then, if he was so certain of it all, had he been so surprised to feel the jealousy or rather, the lack of it? If he’d known, it could hardly come as a surprise.
No, not a surprise but still a relief. Confirmation was always a comfort and because he had been as thorough, if not more so, with the rest of the potential ways in as he had with the jealousy, he could be allowed to believe in the rest, too.
Besides, he had trusted himself enough to let go of the leash and he had yet to feel –
Don’t tempt it!
Alright, so he was still scared, and he couldn’t blame himself for being so, however wholly illogical it was. Well, not too harshly, at any rate.
However, if the dragon had any fight left in it, any hint of duplicity, which he doubted more highly than he did Moriarty taking up crocheting but had to acknowledge as a possibility, however irrational, then it wouldn’t be biding its time. Not when it had the best possible opportunity available to it now, possibly barring the others it’d had during all…this.
Point was that it wasn’t going to have another one, at all, never mind one as good as this. It wouldn’t fail to recognise that, Sherlock knew, especially not when the leash had deliberately been taken off and let go of, and yet…
Yet there wasn’t a trace. Not a single trace.
Oh, the dragon was still there. Not just there, but present. Consciously. He could feel its presence in his mind much like you would a cat or a small dog sleeping on your foot but one which had been there for a long time.
However, that was all. There was, unlike with an actual dog or cat, no feeling that it was asleep and therefore no indication that it would wake up.
What was there, right now, wasn’t a stasis or a coma, not even a regular sleep. It wasn’t frozen or playing dead, it just…was.
That sounded…tame, for one thing. Anticlimactic, even, and unbelievable. After all this, it was content to just…be?
Oh, it would be. It would exist in his mind along with everything else but no, it wouldn’t…wouldn’t be able to reach him and take over. Not now. Not when he had made it out and not been followed. As for biding its time? What would be the point?
Biding its time for what, precisely, was the question.
After all, the best time to attack is always when your opponent thinks they have beaten you or are otherwise feeling safe. Which was now, yes, but it had been the case as he’d surfaced and before that as well. Yet still, there had been no dragon in any way, and there was no dragon now.
It had no reason to bide its time and everything to gain by acting fast and yet…
Yet there was nothing. The agreement held.
There was no duplicity. Nothing to fear.
However irrationally.
They were in this together.
He was safe, and so was John.
So were they all.
Sherlock didn’t realise he’d started to pitch forward until there was a soft thump and the hand in his let go. Instinctively, he tried to get that hand back but was prevented by the simple fact that it landed on his shoulder and, along with the other hand, held him in place.
He blinked rapidly, looked down and then up.
“Sorry, I don’t know what – it wasn’t the dragon,” he began then quickly amended so as to bring the right thing in focus.
“I know it wasn’t,” John said, as calm as anything. Well, not entirely, but the worry on his face was that which Sherlock was familiar with. The doctor-and-friend worry rather than the soldier-stranger concern mixed with a trace of fear.
It was Sherlock he was worried for, not the dragon he was worried about.
“You’re just tired,” the blond went on, shifting his grip and pushing Sherlock back to an upright position. He almost pushed too far, which would’ve sent the brunet toppling over backwards, and his fingers dug into flesh as he tried to steer counter. “Deny it all you want but this kind of thing takes a lot out of you. It would for anyone.”
“I’m not ‘anyone’.” Ah, yes. Always good to fall back on the good old staples, eh?
“No, you’re not, and thank someone for that.” The look in John’s eyes said quite clearly that he meant it sincerely rather than sarcastically. “You’ve still got a body that works roughly the same as any other human, and so you get drained by something like this.”
“It’s only in my head.”
The look he got then was warm, long-suffering, fond exasperation. Mostly.
“Exactly. Which happens to have a whole lot more component parts than for most of us, and that’s not even mentioning the dragon mess. Not only is it more complex, but it runs on a higher speed than most of us can even think of and in several directions at once, without getting entirely tangled up in trains of thoughts.”
“Think you’re overextending a metaphor quite heavily.”
“My point, clever clogs, is that if that isn’t enough to tire a machine out, I don’t know what is, and that’s not even getting into the ways in which you push, bully and otherwise overextend your brain to get it to do what you want. Such as you did just now – and don’t tell me that wasn’t a whole lot of work, in several different ways at once, because I know it was.”
Sherlock didn’t try to argue the point this time, and not purely because of what he’d been told. If anything, that was as likely to make him argue the point more, just because, and – and sometimes he really could see why John called him an overgrown child.
Not that he saw it as a problem, mind, it was purely that he could see what was meant when it was mentioned now. Well, one of them, at any rate.
“Doesn’t matter if I’m tired,” Sherlock found himself saying as he struggled to get himself past the position from previously and up into a full upright one, sitting up with his legs dangling off the bed and facing John head on.
Less risk of being pushed into a horizontal position that way – he knew John meant it for the best but that didn’t mean he had to agree with it – and he could reach John better this way, too. A win all around, really.
So he thought, at least.
“It does, Sherlock,” John said, and there was an odd harmonic to his tone that was difficult to pinpoint. Somewhere between concerned, surprised, tired, angry, and…disappointed? That couldn’t be right, could it? “It very much does.”
“No, it – “
He stopped as he somehow, he knew not how but he was grateful that it was so, managed to catch himself in what he was doing. That wasn’t to say he thought he was wrong, per se, but that John wasn’t wrong, either, and that they both weren’t right. It all depended on which angle you looked at it from and no matter which angle, it was all a bit of a mess.
So, par for the course for this, and for them.
“Well, yes. It does. I’m sorry. You’re right. At the same time, you’re wrong. No, listen. Please, listen to me first. Yes, you’re right, it has taken a lot out of me. I admit that. Yes, I ought to sleep, especially because neither of us want a repeat of what happened last time we were running on too little sleep by half. I know that.”
“Well, then – “
“Listen.” The word had a sharpness and yet a rumble that somehow cut through without any apparent cut. “Please.”
John gave him a look for about half a second then nodded. “Alright. Sorry, that was…Go on. I’m listening.”
“Nor am I, whatever you might think, pushing for us to go through with it because I am scared of not having control of the dragon. We don’t need to hurry this along because of that. Truly, we do not.”
The blond restricted himself to nodding but kept looking at Sherlock intently, the question in his eyes clear.
“Why not wait, then? Considering all that, it seems the best possible solution – and I could show you that I am indeed in control much better after I’d had some sleep.”
“Which is the point where you tell me that in point of fact there is a time limit on courtship rituals, isn’t it?”
Sherlock blinked rapidly as head pulled back in surprised bafflement, a minute double chin forming in the process. “How on earth should I know something like that? You’re the one who knows about dragon courtship rituals.”
“I only know what I learned off Mycroft.”
“That’s still more than I know!” Don’t shout, don’t shout. Calm down. “Everything anyone’s tried to tell me about that sort of thing has been deleted, deliberately and harshly. There is absolutely nothing left so Mycroft’s hints couldn’t connect to anything.”
It was John’s turn to pause and blink. “Well, there’s a turn up for the books, eh?”
“To say the least, yes.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to gloat about it. Much, at any rate.” He smiled. Silence for a moment, then, “So, if it’s not because of any knowledge, good or bad, about the courtship ritual and the dragon isn’t a factor, why does it have to be now? Why can’t it wait another few hours?”
“Who says it’ll only be a few hours?”
“Me. I can come in and shout in your ear until you wake up after those hours are up, if need be.”
“That has not worked yet to this date.”
“Those have always been a shout down the hall in some way, that’s not the same thing.”
Sherlock opened his mouth for a counter, even if he weren’t quite clear on what the argument would be. Then something caught his attention and changed the question entirely. “Why are you smiling like that?”
“Because either you bluffed about that not working since you wouldn’t remember either way and just took a shot in the dark to further your argument. Which is a likely possibility, considering. Or something entirely irrelevant about our life together has got stuck in that brain and have not been deleted, somehow, whatever the reason.”
“And that’s something to smile about, is it?” Sherlock could see how it would be but right now, his mouth seemed determined to run on its own steam, without any supervision. From anyone.
To see John smile was always a treat, no matter the occasion, of course, but now, it lifted something inside him.
“Alright,” John said, seeming to come to some kind of conclusion, and a firm, decisive one at that, judging by his expression and the nod. “What about this for a deal, then? If you will lie down and sleep for…let’s say two hours, then by the time they’re done, I’ll have something sorted for us?”
The consulting detective’s brow creased immediately as his mind started to pick apart the meaning of that phrasing. “Sorted? How do you mean, ‘sorted’? What needs to be sorted? Is there –?”
“No, it wasn’t – Sherlock, I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant or was getting at. There’s nothing wrong that needs to be sorted, I promise. Or if there is, then it’s not something that we can do anything about it and so there’s…not that that’s seemed to stop us so far, but the point remains. I’m sorry for my word choice.”
“There’s no need – “
“Yes, there is,” the doctor interrupted, but gently, “because it made you worry, for no good reason, and it…that wasn’t my intention. I wanted to come up with something surprising for you, is what I meant by sorted, but right now, ‘surprising’ isn’t necessarily a good thing.”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Right. But if I – what I meant was that I wanted to do this properly. If there’s not a time pressure on us, at least not in the way there was previously, then you can afford to get some rest.”
“So can you.”
“I haven’t been wrestling with my own psyche for the last,” and here he checked the very watch that they were more or less arguing about, “hour and a half, closing in on two hours. You have, Sherlock, and you’ve continued fighting it until you won. Then there’s all the stuff I mentioned before, but my point is that you’re in need of more rest.”
“You’ve clearly been awake and up for longer than me, too, seeing as you’ve been hunting around for the watch while I’ve been asleep, and that’s ignoring the fact that I had a snooze while you and Mycroft were arguing.”
“Which of the times that happened are you referring to? Oh.” The other’s face darkened as it clicked. “The – stop being a pedantic arse, that’s not even remotely funny, bringing up the poisoning.”
“But it’s accurate.”
“No, it’s not, don’t even – are you trying to get us into an argument that we can’t get out of? Because if you are, then I’m going into the living room and staying there until – I don’t even know when but – “
“I’m not. I’m – sorry, John, that wasn’t…”
Sherlock shook his head as he trailed off, worried that he had in fact been trying just that and merely hadn’t known it. He was over, that was, out of the influence of the dragon, but was he free? Or was this just his own stupidity and failures as a human being that had been given free rein to spread and grow now that there was nothing else to hinder it?
It hadn’t been this bad earlier, though.
When he had just woken up, he didn’t think, at least, that it had been that bad. Their miscommunication had been less, at least, which was the most important point. Both had made a great effort to be understood and while they were backtracking immediately now, they couldn’t be said to outright…
Well, it’d gone downhill, that was safe to say. So, it seemed that John had a good point in arguing for Sherlock getting some sleep. More sleep – and he firmly ignored the part of his brain that groaned and growled about whether that would have to be a permanent thing from now on.
Rather, he tried to shut it up with the reminder that it wouldn’t just be sleeping now. If he played his cards right, when he slept, it could be with John in his arms.
That closed any argument entirely.
He didn’t even have any good argument against why he shouldn’t sleep. Not really.
Nothing that didn’t boil down to ‘I know I’ve beaten the dragon, and it truly is gone, but I don’t trust myself particularly much, either, without the courtship ritual to seal it’, at any rate, and that wasn’t going to go over all that well, and for good reason, too.
How had he imagined he would convince John, again? Without alluding to that, that was. He had no idea.
“I’m not going anywhere, Sherlock,” came John’s voice, quiet and reassuring. Warm. Always so wonderfully warm.
Which, admittedly, could flare up into flames of anger, yes, but that was still alright. It was when John turned cold you were scared. Or ought to be, at any rate. Cold and pleasant. That was when he had either tipped over into tranquil fury or he had, and this was one Sherlock had extrapolated rather than seen but it was still one he was dead certain of, given up on you. Entirely.
It was one of the things that Sherlock was very scared of and explained why his mind had just gone off on a tangent about it. So long as John didn’t reach that level, he was…
“Thank you,” the brunet said, instead of perhaps the more obvious ‘I know’. More obvious for Sherlock, at any rate. “That’s not what I’m worried about, though.”
“Is it then that…” John paused but not for long enough to have just come to this realisation then and there, “…that you are scared of…of yourself? Not the dragon, that is, but…but that now the dragon is gone, or tamed or whatever the correct term for it is, you’re going to find that it was you all along?”
Sherlock stared at the blond, his mind whirring. Or rather, it was clacking and clanking as it tried to whir and could only manage it in spurts.
Was it that obvious? Not that that mattered, as such, but was that – did that mean that he came off as not in control? Not something that could be trusted, seeing as…
This time, he managed to catch and stop himself before he went out on a tangent, panicked or not, or otherwise buried himself in his thoughts.
John had got it right. That was…apart from anything else, that was in a way reassuring. It meant that, apart from the doctor being clever, which wasn’t surprising no matter how bad at acknowledging it Sherlock could be, that there was no need to try and pretend otherwise.
Of course, that wasn’t the same as saying it wouldn’t happen still, regardless. Or rather, it would have, had not the brunet decided then and there that it wouldn’t, no matter what happened.
Enough was enough. He had come this far, hadn’t he? And what had brought him the farthest in it all? It wasn’t to withhold or deny information, that was for sure, nor was it trying to do it on his own.
Best all around if he admitted to it and took it from there.
“Yes…” he finally said, and his voice came out quiet enough to border on small. It was definitely and clearly ashamed, too. “Yes, I am.”
For a moment after that, it was quiet enough that the ticking of the watch wasn’t merely clear, it was bordering on loud. At least to Sherlock’s ears, though admittedly, it might be skewed.
Then, in one swift motion that was almost dizzying to watch, John stood up. He kept his hands on the bony shoulders and kept eye contact but moved closer. Close enough, in fact, that he came in between the other’s legs, which closed around them. Not for long, though, as one leg almost immediately pushed up and over it, to settle itself instead on the outside, the knee and shin resting on the mattress.
Boxing the consulting detective in as much as Sherlock did the doctor.
At the same time, John lowered his head. Sherlock expected a kiss but before their lips met, the blond instead said, “I understand that, love. I honestly do, and I’m proud of you for admitting it. I know it doesn’t help to say this but I…you’re not alone in feeling like that. Not at all.”
Sherlock frowned. “It doesn’t help overly much, no, but apart from that, you have not had any issues with your disconnect between what you ought to be as a soldier and army doctor and what you in fact are as a civilian doctor in at least a month, if not two.”
Blue eyes narrowed on him and it looked as if the other was ready to make a sharp comment on that, at the very least. Justified, too, as Sherlock had once again managed to put his foot right in it, and when there was no need to but plenty of opportunity to steer clear of it.
What did he need a dragon for? He was perfectly capable of messing things up on his own.
Then, something small but extraordinary happened. Possibly, it shouldn’t count as extraordinary, given all that had gone before, but still, to see the frown dissipate into a softer, gentler expression was…honestly, it wasn’t just extraordinary but immensely relieving as well.
Undeserved, too.
“Idiot,” John said, quietly, but fondly. He shifted and it really did look as though Sherlock was about to be kissed. That was undeserved, too, but he wasn’t about to protest any time soon.
So, he was more than a little surprised when the hands on his shoulders pushed, not hard but with enough force to send him backwards. Onto the mattress, which was thankfully wide enough that his head didn’t dangle off it.
He made a noise of protest at that and what it lacked in words, it made up for in indignation and volume. Not that he was justified in doing so, mind, but when had that ever stopped anyone? It should’ve stopped him, yes, most definitely, but...
John looked down at him, hands on his hips, one leg still up on one side of the lanky body.
“Now there’s a sight for hungry eyes,” the blond said, evidently more to himself than anything, even though Sherlock heard him quite clearly.
“John, you can’t just – I’m sorry I – “he began as he started to struggle himself upright as fast as he possibly could.
Only to almost bang his head into the other’s as he met him coming the other way, as it were. They missed each other by inches, or less, and honestly, that was probably as much because both pulled back the moment that they realised they were about to crash.
Sherlock heard John say something under his breath that he couldn’t make out. Then he felt arms come around him as the blond somehow folded himself around him, still with that leg in place.
“If anyone’s to say sorry, it’s me. I keep making ill-thought-out decisions and you suffer for it – and don’t you dare say otherwise. You aren’t to blame here. I just…I don’t even know what I was aiming for, honestly, but whatever it was, I botched it, and I’m sorry. I really am.”
He tightened his grip, enough to be felt but not enough to hurt, and Sherlock’s own arms came up to wrap around the doctor in turn. To make up for his hesitation so the blond didn’t think he was reluctant to hold him, offer support and comfort as he could, or otherwise had second thoughts, he perhaps tightened his own grip a bit too much.
There came no comment to indicate such but as soon as he realised, he gentled his grip, though not so much as to negate the hold in the first place.
In all of that, he almost missed what John said next. Only almost, though, as his ears and mind were tuned in to listen for any noise, let alone words, that the other might make, knowing that they were almost dead certain to be important in some way, shape or form.
“It really is amazing how we keep managing to make a mess of this,” John said, his voice soft and wry, but laced quite strongly with regret and apology, “even when we’re actively trying not to. Perhaps especially when we actively try not to.”
“You must admit that is a skill on its own,” Sherlock said, more for something to say that might cheer John up a little than any genuine belief in what he said.
He felt as much as heard the light huff of laughter at that. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. A destructive skill but a skill nevertheless, yeah.”
Sherlock contemplated pulling back to look the other in the eye for a moment but decided against it. Instead, he slipped one arm down to loop around a waist while the other slid upward so that his hand supported the back of the other’s neck. Given the size of his hand, it practically enveloped the neck but that was alright, as it gave him a greater feeling of protecting John.
Sat like this, so close, with so much of them touching though in no sense in a sexual way, he felt instantly but truly calmer than before. It was further helped by the realisation, the confirmation, gentle and not all that surprising but relieving nevertheless, that he still had no urges. None whatsoever.
Not of that…well, no, not of that kind, either, but he knew those would be back. He wanted them to be back. To have a full relationship with John, lust, arousal and sex very much included, but for right now, he was happy enough that they weren’t back. It allowed him to focus on the important bits here rather than get distracted at the most inopportune moments. Which he would.
Given their current track record, he would be likely to get an erection while John tried to persuade him, bodily, to go back to sleep.
The important point was that he felt no stirring from the dragon. Not even remotely, even when it would be so easy to latch out and seal it all, not in the courtship ritual but simply claiming. Such a golden opportunity and it didn’t take it.
It couldn’t take it.
“Sherlock?”
Oh. Of course. He’d felt his muscles relax in relief and wondered, worried, about the cause.
“Sorry. Just an…an instance of confirmation that I’m safe.”
There was an intake of breath but then there were no words. At least not for another long moment. “Of course you are safe, but I’m glad you get these confirmations.”
Another pause, then, “I would only want you to go to sleep so that…oh, this is probably stupid, really.”
Sherlock did pull his head back then so that he could look the other in the eye. This was too important to rely solely on tone of voice, though of course they had plenty of evidence they could still muck it all up. He would do his very best not to, however, and hope that it’d be enough to make it through.
Perhaps it truly was a skill. But then, they had an equal skill, it seemed, of coming out on the other side somehow, mostly if not exclusively when they actually sat down and talked it through rather than assuming things.
“Kindly refrain from calling things stupid before even explaining what it is.”
“That’s reserved for you, you mean?”
“Obviously. That is part of the consulting detective contract. Without it, you are not allowed to employ it.”
“Not even when you’re an honorary detective?”
“Oh, you’re much better than that, John.”
“I’m your assistant?”
“Precisely.” By this point, a smile had wormed its way onto Sherlock’s lips, which had then morphed and expanded into a grin that might not be fully grown yet but was making a spirited go at it. It was helped by the fact that an answering if not identical grin was on John’s face.
Oh, fuck, how he loved this. Loved him. Loved them, together. When it felt like just the two of them and it didn’t matter what they did, not even if it was time-wasting or idiotic, so long as it was the two of them doing it, together.
He hoped he would never have to be without that. Not truly without it.
That wasn’t to say he would cling to John like a limpet, of course, as that would negate the effort and the point of what he’d just been through, but he could be apart from his doctor without being without that feeling of being together. He knew he could, as he’d experienced it before.
Would it be different when they were a couple? Possibly, but he doubted it.
Slowly, the grin faded from the brunet’s face though it didn’t disappear entirely as he asked, “What is it, then, that you deem so very stupid that you can’t say it?”
“Can’t you work it out?”
“Yes.”
He didn’t say anything more but watched as John came to the implication and conclusion thereof himself. Then he startled a little at the kiss he got for that.
“Thank you.”
Another small pause, then, “You aren’t going to say it?”