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Finally Together

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John woke up in the middle of the night. He sat up and wandered, WHY exactly did he wake up. Then he realized, Sherlock was playing his violin once again.

“I wonder what is he thinking of,” the blogger muttered under his breath.

Sherlock had once told him that he played the violin when he was thinking. John looked at the clock, it was only 4 in the morning, had the detective been awake all night or did he just wake up?

Suddenly the man felt his stomach grumbling so he stood up and went downstairs. When he was heading for the kitchen, he noticed that Sherlock was near the window, his back facing John. John went for the fridge but closed it quite quickly after he saw a head in it.

“There are some cookies in the cupboards,” he heard Sherlock saying and the next second, the detective had gone back to playing his violin.

John shrugged and then took out the cookies. He sat down in his armchair and opened the pack of sweets.

“When are you not hungry, John?” Sherlock chuckled as he put down his violin and then stole a cookie from the pack located on John’s lap.

The blogger’s face flushed red as he realized that Sherlock had accidentally touched a private part of his while leaning in for a treat.

“Looks like someone’s eating again,” he remarked and chuckled lightly, his best friend soon
joining in.

Suddenly the door of their flat flew open and a very angry Mrs Hudson glared at the boys.

“Be quiet,” she hissed, “unlike you two, someone in this house wants to sleep.”

“Sorry Mrs Hudson,” both the men said and pulled on an apologetic smile. The woman let out a quiet laugh before exiting the room.

“Let’s not do that again,” John said to Sherlock and the other man nodded in agreement, “anyway, I’m going back to bed, you should do.”

John stood up and looked at the man.

“Yea, I’ll go soon,” he replied, “night!”

John went back to his bedroom and got under the covers. As his head hit the pillow, he fell back asleep, dreams filled with a certain detective.

Sherlock put his violin back into its case and went into his room. He took off his blue robe and let it fall onto his bedside table. He then went into his bed and let sleep take over his mind.

“John, where are you?” Sherlock yelled.

They were in an old warehouse, trying to catch a very dangerous serial killer. But the detective didn’t hear an answer, so he yelled his colleague’s name once again.
Still, no answer.

Sherlock went into a strange room and that’s where he saw his blogger, standing in the middle with a gun pointing to his temple.

“Sherlock, the time has FINALLY come,” a man behind the doctor said, “I have discovered your greatest weakness.”

Sherlock was frozen to the ground, staring at his blogger. The man smirked as he pulled the trigger…

Sherlock shot up in his bed, tears running from his eyes and John shaking him.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” he asked, “you were screaming my name.”

“John, you’re okay!” Sherlock whimpered as he pulled his blogger into a tight hug.

John froze because of Sherlock’s sudden hug but soon wrapped his arms around the younger man.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m still here and I will never leave,” John whispered, still a bit shaken up by the fact that Sherlock was hugging him. The detective had never shown any form of affection towards him, or anyone in general.

“What happened, Sherlock?” John asked as the detective stopped sobbing.

“I had a nightmare,” he whispered, hiding his face in the blogger’s shirt.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” the detective added before the other man could even ask.

The blogger decided not to ask any questions and started to break the hug, thinking that Sherlock didn’t like it.

But to John’s surprise, Sherlock only buried his face deeper into the blogger’s shirt and wrapped his long arms around him.

“Don’t go,” he whispered and his blogger only nodded, hugging him once again.

“John, what’s the time?” Sherlock asked.

“It was 6.20 when I came to your room,” John replied, subconsciously playing with Sherlock’s dark curls.

“Then it’s okay if we get up now,” the detective exclaimed. But secretly, he wanted to stay in John’s embrace, but he thought that John felt uncomfortable. He wasn’t gay after all, he had made it pretty clear a plenty of times.

John stole a glance at Sherlock. He would’ve liked to call him his Sherlock. But as the man himself said, ‘I’m married to my work’ and ‘Sentiment is a chemical defect on the losing side’. John then got up and smiled at the detective before going to the kitchen to make some tea.

Sherlock slowly stood up from his bed. John’s hands had felt so nice in the detective’s hair. Sherlock could feel his cheeks heating up when he thought of his blogger. He shook his head and pulled on his blue robe, going to the living room. He flopped into his armchair and went into his thinking position. He then went into his mind palace and into the room labelled John.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open as a teacup was placed in front of him. Sherlock looked up to John and took the cup.

“Thanks,” he whispered and brought the mug to his lips.

Suddenly he noticed that his blogger was staring at him, precisely at his lips. But when he realized that he had been caught, he quickly looked down, breaking the staring in the process.

John looked down and his cuppa, his cheeks burning red. He couldn’t dare to look at the younger man’s direction, fearing that he could realize and acknowledge the blogger’s feelings.

“You okay?” John’s eyes snapped up at Sherlock’s sudden question and after a short pause, he nodded slowly.

Sherlock was wondering what was up with his best friend. He had started acting weird since the second Sherlock came into the room.

“What have I done to upset you?” the detective asked.

“You haven’t done anything,” the blogger replied, smiling, “you haven’t done anything to upset me.”


It was noon, the boys hadn’t had a case in a week.

“BORED!” Sherlock yelled as he flopped onto the sofa.

“Do something then, go for a walk or something,” John suggested, looking at the now sulking man.

“John, I don’t go for walks,” the detective muttered.

“Then do something else, read a book,” the doctor said, getting quite frustrated with the other man.

“BORED!” Sherlock yelled once again, grabbing the gun from the pit where John had hidden it. Before the shorter man could object, he shot an another hole into the smiley on the wall.

“Are you out of your mind?” John yelled and grabbed the gun from the detective’s hand, putting it onto the table. He then pinned the other man to his armchair and glared at him sharply.

“STOP THIS AT ONCE!” the doctor hissed.

Suddenly he noticed that his friend’s eyes were squeezed together and he was shaking slightly. Memories from the hospital flooded back and John let go of the other man, facing away in shame.

When the blogger turned around, Sherlock noticed that there were tears in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered and grabbed his coat, rushing out of the door. The taller man was frozen on his seat. He heard his friend rushing down the stairs but he was unable to run after him.

Suddenly he heard a yelp and a crash and Sherlock shot up from his seat. He ran out of the door and looked down at the base of the stairs. His blogger was lying on the bottom, unconscious.

“John!” the man yelled and shook his friend. He soon realized that it was no use so he picked him up and carried him upstairs.

Since getting up the stairs was quite the challenge, Sherlock realized that it would be better if he put John into his bed and sleep in a chair in the corner of his room.


John awoke in the morning. At start he didn’t know where he was. But then he noticed Sherlock sleeping in a chair and he realized that he must’ve been in his room and in the great detective’s bed.

“Sherlock?” he called out and the man’s eyes snapped open, “sorry to wake you. But can I get some painkillers? My head hurts like hell.” Sherlock jumped up and went out of the room.

“Do you remember what happened?” Sherlock asked him when he returned with a glass of water and some pills. John shook his head.

“The last thing I remember is you shooting the wall-what happened afterwards?” the blogger could see his friend visibly gulping. Had something happened?

“N-nothing happened.”

Suddenly memories of shaking Sherlock took over John’s mind. The words ‘are you out of your mind’ echoed through his brain and he squeezed his eyes shut in terror. He had hurt Sherlock, hadn’t he?

“I-i’m so sorry Sherlock,” the shorter man said, tears clouding his vision, amongst the memories from the hospital and yesterday. All he could see was Sherlock’s pained face.
What if-

“John, are you okay?” Sherlock’s panicked voice shook him out of his thoughts. He looked at the younger man in front of him. He saw fright in his eyes as he sat on the side of the bed.

John wanted to say so much to Sherlock but he settled on a single action.

Sherlock could feel the air knocked out of his lungs as John pulled him into a bone-crushing hug, muttering apologies.

“Stop apologising lo-John,” Sherlock had to stop himself from saying the word. ‘No, Sherlock, John’s not gay’ he had to tell himself every time.

John could swear he could hear Sherlock muttering ‘No, Sherlock, John’s not gay’. If only this had been real, not his silly imagination playing tricks on him. If it was real, John would’ve answered ‘You know, Sherlock, I may not be gay, but I’m bisexual’. But the real Sherlock, not the Sherlock from John’s mind would never say that. John realized that he was still holding Sherlock.

“Sorry,” his cheeks went red as he released his friend and looked down. He fiddled with the sheets, hoping that that the observant man hadn’t noticed his cheeks.

“Why are you apologising, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Sherlock looked at him, confused, trying to figure out what the other man was thinking.

John chose not to answer Sherlock and stood up, completely ignoring his headache.

“I’m going to make some coffee, want some?”

“It’s 5 in the morning,” John turned around at Sherlock’s statement and shrugged, chuckling.

“Guess we’ll have an early start then,” the blogger said and went out of the room.

Sherlock was sitting on his bed, utterly confused because of his friend’s actions. What was happening with him lately? He was daydreaming more often, he took longer to reply, and always deep in thought.

If Sherlock didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn that his blogger was in love. But with who?

John had been completely unattached since Mary’s death, he would’ve told Sherlock if he had started dating somebody.

But maybe his dear blogger had a crush on someone?

“Definitely a crush,” Sherlock muttered. Whoever John was crushing on, the younger man was incredibly jealous. That lucky woman who had won the attention from John Hamish Watson.

A few moments later, Sherlock finally decided to stop thinking of that painful topic, and got up. He pulled on his robe and stepped out to the kitchen.

“Only the best for my Sherlock,” John muttered under his breath as he put two sugars into Sherlock’s coffee. Suddenly he heard the door opening and he was very grateful that he had whispered those words.

Sherlock flopped down into his armchair and pulled his knees up to the chair, too. Only a moment later a fresh cup of coffee appeared in front of him. The man raised his head and took the mug from his friend’s hands, smiling up at him.

John was astonished by the detective’s charming smile. ‘Did I just say charming?’ the blogger thought, ‘I’m turning into a lovesick teenager.” He sat down into his armchair and took a sip of his coffee.

“So, an early start then?” Sherlock asked, chuckling lightly. John nodded and grabbed yesterday’s paper, since today’s hadn’t arrived yet.

“I’m bored,” John suddenly said and Sherlock looked up.

“Oh so now YOU’RE bored,” the man exclaimed, “I could shoot the wall right now.” Sherlock didn’t realize his mistake before he finished the sentence. When he did, he put away his cup and kneeled in front of John, taking his hands in his own.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say it,” the taller man noticed that his blogger’s eyes were wet, “please don’t cry.” Sherlock wiped John’s tears, but his hand stayed on his cheek.

John unconsciously leaned into the touch, letting more tears fall. He wasn’t bothered by their proximity at all, he quite liked it to be honest.

“Please don’t cry, I don’t like to see you crying,” Sherlock whispered and bought both of his, now shaking hands to the other man’s cheeks. He tried to wipe away the tears but they didn’t end.

“I’m sorry for crying,” John said, “I don’t know what came upon me.”

But John knew, it was because Sherlock was so affectionate, which made the man fall helplessly in love with him. He didn’t know how much would it take for him to break and snog his flatmate senseless.

Sherlock noticed that his friend had stopped crying, and he was very happy. He didn’t like it when John cried, he felt so helpless. The man just wasn’t good with emotions.

“Thank you Sherlock, for everything,” John said, his voice quivering, “I’m not worthy of you, you deserve so much better.” Sherlock pulled his friend into a tight hug and the shorter man rested his head on his friend’s chest.

“It is I who doesn't deserve you. I don’t know how you put up with my moods and my temper. You deserve a loving wife, not a random bloke who constantly gets on your nerves. You, John Hamish Watson de-” Sherlock was silenced by John’s soft lips on his.

John pulled away a few seconds later. Way too soon for him to like it, but he didn’t want to overwhelm Sherlock. And most importantly, he didn’t even know if he liked the kiss.

“Oh god I’m so sorry,” panic took over the normally composed doctor and he scrambled away, “I’m so sorry I didn’t mean it please don’t ask me to move-” Sherlock silenced him with an unexpected kiss. John let out a breathy moan and his cheeks darkened.

Sherlock pulled away, smiling. He kissed John’s tears away and pulled him into a tight hug.

John looked at the an he had loved for so long. He had never been happier than he was now. Sherlock had kissed him back. He felt like he was about to explode from all the happiness.

“What just happened?” Sherlock whispered into John’s hair, “if this is a dream-” John cut him off with a kiss.

“Does this seem like a dream to you?” he asked and the detective shook his head, smiling.

“What does that make us? Friends, lovers, boyfriends?” Sherlock said and John shrugged.

“Whatever you want us to be.”