It had been about two months since that first date with Sherlock, and there had been five other dates since then. There weren’t cases involved in their dates, but Sherlock wasn’t exactly happy with ‘normal people’ dates. One could argue that their equivalent of a romantic outing was solving crimes, but John was old fashioned and wanted to take Sherlock on proper dates. They still hadn’t kissed, they had moved onto holding hands (rarely, but it happened), and cuddling.
However, nothing could have prepared him for when Sherlock came back to the flat covered in blood and holding a harpoon.Sherlock had said something about solving a case by harpooning a pig, but John would have at least expected Sherlock to clean up a bit.
“Well that was tedious.”
“You went on the tube like that?”
“None of the cabs would take me.”
I wonder why.It was definitely going to be one of those days where Sherlock was antsy and wanting a new case… which meant dealing with an irritated arsehole. After much moaning and a few insults to both John and Mrs. Hudson, John groaned and asked,
“Why do I even bother dating you if you just keep insulting me?”
“Because you’re an idiot who feels romantic attachment toward a high functioning sociopath with an addiction to danger.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
John was incredibly thankful that Henry Knight asked Sherlock to take his case. He didn’t know if he could handle an entire day of Sherlock being irritable and craving cigarettes. They got the next available train to Dartmore which only took three hours, but during those three hours, John was reading a book whilst Sherlock was typing away on his phone, no doubt researching the lore on this Demon Hound.
What John didn’t expect was Sherlock suddenly lying his head in John’s lap and acting like this was something they normally did. John couldn’t help the furious blush that took over his face from the sudden action, and looked around to make sure no one was giving them unwanted attention, then asked,
“What are you doing?”
“Your lap is far more comfortable than the chair I was in.”
“I meant why are you doing that in full view of everyone?”
“A few scathing deductions should shut idiots up if they try to be homophobic.”
That was only partially the reason he was uncomfortable. John had tried to keep this a secret from everyone when he returned from London, but no doubt Sherlock would figure it out just by how his lap felt… or rather, the lack of a phallic muscle where it should be.
John never talked about his life before he was 15 years old because that was before he felt like he was truly himself, when in fact he was born as… Lucy.
Yes, John was transgender, but he didn’t want that to run his life. The only reason he hadn’t had surgery to construct a penis was because medical technology hadn’t advanced to the point where he could have a fully functional penis. He had started on testosterone when he was 11, and that stopped some of the things teenage girls had to go through during puberty including breasts and periods. He had at least made sure to have a hysterectomy before he left for the service so that he didn’t have to deal with the possibility of accidentally having a period while deployed.
Sherlock must have noticed the slight panic in his eyes as when the detective looked up at him, his expression said, ‘I know, but don’t worry, I don’t care.’That alone gave John immense relief. He didn’t quite know what Sherlock’s sexuality was yet, but hopefully it included liking… what John happened to have.
Dartmore was interesting to say the least. Before John and Sherlock had checked in to their room, they did a quick scope-out of the area. It was, as Henry described, ‘bleak but beautiful’. Tourism didn’t seem to be a problem according to the inn keepers as well as the tour guide Fletcher. Going into Baskerville was terrifying and exciting, and John just could notbelieve that Sherlock didn’t see anything later that night at the moor.
He tried to calm Sherlock down and get him to think of the facts, but nothing seemed to work. Sherlock Holmes was convincedhe had seen a demon hound, even going so far as to deduce every soul in the pub. John had given up by that point.
“Yeah, okay… okay.” John admitted in defeat. “Why would you listen to me? I’m just your friend.”
“I don’t have friends.” Sherlock said in clear distaste.
There was either something seriously wrong with Sherlock, or, more likely, he truly believed he didn’t have friends. Either way, it stung considering the way their relationship had been going. He figured it was best to leave Sherlock alone for a while.
“Guess I’m just nobody, then.” John mumbled as he got up from his seat.
After a night of finding out that a supposed clue was nothing, and a failed attempt at getting information, John made sure to pretend to be asleep before Sherlock returned to their room. Something must have seriouslydisturbed the detective to have lashed out like that. Sherlock was always in control of his reactions, never overreacting unless it was to get information. That didn’t excuse his behavior, though. Brushing off their… friendship – or whatever - wasn’t okay. It actually hurt that it was so easy for Sherlock to dismiss what was going on between them.
When Sherlock came into the room, John was facing the wall. Neither of them said a word, but the soldier could hear Sherlock rummage around in his bag and go to the bathroom to do his nightly routine. But instead of going to the other bed after finishing in the bathroom, he pulled back John’s covers, and tried to cuddle next to him. However, John was in no mood for a cuddle, so he turned over and stopped Sherlock lying down.
Even without words, they had a whole conversation where John was saying he was still mad, and Sherlock would respect that. Sherlock nodded, put the covers back over John, and retreated to the other bed. Neither of them spoke as they went to sleep.
The next morning when John woke, Sherlock was already gone. His bed was neatly made, and his coat was gone. John should have figured that after the fight they had, he wouldn’t be woken to go with Sherlock.
After having breakfast, John decided to do some writing about the case in the nearby graveyard. It was a good 30 minutes before Sherlock opened the gate and came in. He glanced up and Sherlock was very much uncomfortable. So, was he going to talk about last night?
John shut his notebook and put it in his pocket as Sherlock walked up.
“Did you, uh… get anywhere with that Morse code?” Sherlock asked, albeit quietly.
“Nah.” John answered as he got up and started to walk away.
If he was honest, he wasn’t ready to talk about it. He was still a bit tender on the subject of last night.
“U, M, Q, R, A, wasn’t it? Umqra?”
“Look, forget it. I thought I was onto something, but I wasn’t.”
“How about Louise Mortimer, did you get anywhere with her?”
“Too bad. Did you get any information?”
Did Sherlock really just try to make a joke about sleeping with her?
“You’re being funny now?” John asked, a bit of malice in his voice.
“Thought it might break the ice a bit.”
“Funny doesn’t suit you. Let’s stick to ice.”
John realized that this was Sherlock’s version of trying, but he was shite at it. This was obviously his way of trying to break through the tension. And if he was honest, John wasn’t in the mood to make up yet.
“Wait,” Sherlock insisted. “What happened last night, something happened to me, something I’ve not experienced before.”
“Yes, you said fear, Sherlock Holmes got scared, you said.”
“No, no, no. It was more than that, John” Sherlock pulled John back and turned him so they were facing one another. “It was doubt. I felt doubt. I’ve always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night.”
So, wait… did Sherlock really believe that there was a monster on the moor? This was a bit unbelievable.
“You can’t actually believe that you saw some kind of monster?”
“No, I can’t believe that. But I did see it, so the question is how? How?”
John didn’t speak for a moment. Ok, so Sherlock didn’t believe it. This meant that he was onto something, and that he was starting to come back to his senses. This was good; he could go back to working on the actual case.
“Yes… yeah, alright, good.” John said, but not exactly ready to go with Sherlock again. As far as he was concerned, Sherlock was on his own with this theory. “So, you’ve got something to go on then. Good luck with that.”
And with that, John walked away. This wasn’t just because of the hurt feelings, honestly. He wanted Sherlock to learn that when he said things like he did last night to people he cared about, there were consequences. In this case, John was angry and not accepting of Sherlock’s behavior, so he was letting the detective work out the puzzle on his own.
What he hadn’t expected was Sherlock immediately catching up to him, turning him around, and kissing him. It was firm and precise, sending a clear message that he wasn’t giving up that easily. John didn’t know what else to do but wrap his arms around Sherlock and kiss back. Once he started kissing back, he felt his whole body electrify from the slide of their lips. It was just incredible to be kissing this amazing man and he loved every second of it.
Once they parted lips, Sherlock looked deeply into John’s eyes. His pupils were blown wide, and were multiple different shades.
“John, I meant what I said last night.” Sherlock said. “I don’t have friends… because I have you: an amazing, fantastic conductor of light. I don’t want you to ever think otherwise, even in my worst of moods.”
John knew he shouldn’t have forgiven Sherlock so easily because of a kiss… but damn was it a good kiss. Against his better judgement, he muttered ‘alright’ and nodded. Sherlock even continued to be nicer than usual throughout the interrogation of the inn keepers. He had made the soldier coffee, but John didn’t take sugar in his coffee. He figured Sherlock just didn’t bother to pay attention and was attempting to be nice, so he drank it anyway.