Chapter Text
Party Last
John wasn’t sure how they got into the cab, but he was sure that the close confines of the vehicle was both welcome and distracting. After his ignoble defeat in darts and kissing his flatmate
kissing his flatmate
John was content to be steered around the pub while Sherlock basked in his victory. He gave a little wave to Molly as she left with the red-haired fellow she seemed to have actually sunk her claws into and shook his head at her “call me” pantomime. In truth, he’d spend most of the remainder of the night in a bit of a daze.
kissing his flatmate
Yeah, it was just a lark for a stupid bet, but
kissing, kissing, kissing
it hadn’t felt like that. It hadn’t felt like that, at all. Fortunately, Sherlock was happy to simply continue on as if nothing had happened, chatting about his observations on the other patrons and keeping John’s drink fresh. This gave John the time and liquid courage to let himself think, really think, about their evening. He’d told Molly he’d think and she was nice. He couldn’t break a promise to someone nice like Molly. At least not when his blood was now mostly whisky.
“I do believe the phrase is ‘closing the place,’ and we did a very good job of it. I proclaim this endeavor a rousing success. Agreed, Mister Watson?”
“Agreed, Captain Holmes. I have no doubt the stories of our exploits will outlive us and sail into the pages of legend.”
John chose not to analyze the little flip his stomach made when he caught Sherlock’s eyes and watched the detectives lips curl into a roguish grin.
“Especially since the entire saga will we duly documented by my personal blogger. I actually look forward to reading this entry, substandard grammar and stilted narrative style notwithstanding.”
“You really want me to get tonight’s photos from Molly and photoshop that deerstalker onto your head, don’t you?”
“My sincere apologies. I had no idea your literary side was so sensitive.”
“Never mess with someone who knows your weak spots.”
“That is very true. Fortunately, the number of individuals who know my weak spots is singularly small.”
That smile wasn’t roguish. It was sweet. Oh god… Sherlock was giving him a sweet smile and John was rapidly gaining an understanding of what it meant when someone said a smile made them melt. Melt like a chocolate bar left out in the sunshine.
Pouring themselves out of the cab, Sherlock threw a variety of bills at the cabbie and announced to the street that Captain Holmes was back and everyone should guard their booty. After five minutes of giggling, an attempt was made on the steps. Then another. Then several attempts at unlocking the door. Then a serious conversation about sleeping in the entrance way because the steps up to 221B looked booby-trapped. Then a game of toss the coin, to test if each step was mined. Then a slow progression upwards, bodies pressed tightly against the wall in case there were angry natives waiting on the other side of their door with spears and bone knives at the ready. After a quick, yet noisy clearing of the flat by the courageous Captain Holmes, with his captive in tow, their home was pronounced safe, though the furniture looked suspicious, so they sat on the floor in front of the couch. Sherlock’s face scrunched up as if he was thinking very hard about something or needed a laxative. With an ‘ah ha!’ he slid his hand under the couch and pulled out a bottle of what looked like rather expensive dark rum. One long swig from the bottle and it was passed over for John to take a turn.
“Wow, that’s good stuff. I think your experiment is over before it’s started.”
“Nonsense. I purchased that bottle without due testing. There could be FAR better brands of rum being produced. It will take great dedication, time and number of samples to reach a definitive conclusion.”
“You’re pissed.”
“Takes one to know one.”
Giggle and hiccuping go together surprisingly well.
“Seriously, though. Really, seriously. That last party. That was you, wasn’t it? You set that in motion, you great… oh, this is really good. What was I saying? Oh yeah… that was all you. Don’t deny it. I deducated it. De…deduced it.”
Sherlock snuck a look at John with eyes that took a little of the wind out of John’s sails.
“Would you be angry if I said yes?”
Oh no… there’d be none of that.
“Angry? No… not angry. I had a super time. A super, wonderful, Halloweeny time. I’m just surprised, that’s all. Not really your style is it? Going out of your way like that for when it’s not a case or something important like that.”
“It was important.”
Sherlock had his eyes fixed on the floor and John was sure it had to be a holiday ghost that pushed his manacled hand upward to grab Sherlock’s chin and lift his face so their eyes could meet.
“Because I would like it?”
John watched Sherlock’s adam’s apple bob up and down as the detective swallowed hard before answering.
“Yes. I saw you looking at those pictures in the box in your room. The ones on top were the ones you were looking at most recently and all of those were of you as a child in some form of costume. You looked happy then and you looked happy reliving your memories. Combined with your other behaviors, it was easy to conclude that this holiday meant something special to you. It was the least I could do… for all the things you do for me.”
John didn’t let go of Sherlock’s face. Instead he ran his thumb along the line of the Captain’s jaw and felt the slight tremor run through Sherlock’s skin from the contact. It really was a nice beard and John ran his thumb back and forth a few more times to indulge in the sensation.
“You arranged a great night… a spectacular night… just for me. That’s… that’s amazing, Sherlock. Amazing, brilliant… no one’s ever done anything like that for me. Thank you.”
Maybe it was his imagination that let John think that Sherlock leaned into his touch at that moment, but he decided to let a finger run across the detective’s cheek because, imagination or not, it felt right to do so.
“So, you brought me to one party with your brother and his crowd, one with the lads at the Yard who we work with and one with my mates and people I spend a lot of my alone time with. One might say you were staking your claim, dear Captain. Marking your territory, as it were. Especially with these…”
John shook his arm so the sound of his chains rattled through the room.
“One m…might also say I was testing the waters.”
“To see if I’d go along with it?”
“And to gather data to predict the fallout.”
“You were worried what people would think of you?”
“No, I was worried what people would think of you. I couldn’t care less about people’s opinions about me, but you’re not like that, John. If… if you were going to suffer any repercussions because… “
“Because you fancy my sexy self?”
Sherlock might give Molly a run for her money in the blushing department.
“And you locked me up in case what? Someone caught my eye?”
“Simplistic, but sufficiently accurate.”
Sherlock tipped his head back and away from John’s hand. Another large swallow of rum went down his throat, but it didn’t ease the way for more information to flow out. And John just stared. Stared at his flatmate, who looked different somehow than he did before. More human, perhaps. Certainly more vulnerable. The swagger and bravado of his pirate persona was nowhere to be seen. The swagger and bravado of his normal persona was nowhere to be seen.
And he was beautiful. Not handsome. Beautiful. This was what John had been waiting to see, even if he hadn’t known it. Sherlock Holmes, the personality, wasn’t someone with whom John could ever be more than friends. But Sherlock Holmes, the man…that was different. Definitely ‘man,’ but that didn’t seem important anymore. John slid himself closer to the quiet body next to him and lifted the bottle out of Sherlock’s hands, setting it aside after one final drink.
“You great git. You could have just talked to me about it. Asked me what my feelings were…oh, wait. More fun this way?”
A whisper of a smile, but still a smile.
“Well spotted. I… I’ve seen you sometimes, John…looking my way. I readily acknowledge my strength does not lie in emotional areas, but I am quite proficient at reading faces and expressions.”
“You’re saying my mouth said one thing and my eyes said another?”
“Quite. I calculated that the chance of you accepting my interest was marginally greater than of you standing firm on your sexual identity. It was a risk, but not an unreasonable one.”
“I’ll be honest with you, and myself I guess. I’ve thought about it. About us. Maybe even about our first kiss.”
John decided to roll the dice and leave things up to the fates.
“Too bad I didn’t get that tonight.”
Sherlock jerked like he’d been struck by lightning.
“What do you mean? I kissed you. We kissed. I felt something that had to be a tongue. And it wasn’t my tongue.”
“Yeah, that was a kiss, but it didn’t count.”
“Why not? Are there rules or something about kissing?”
“Lots, actually. But, for first kisses? They can’t be for a bet. Or to please a crowd. Or be for show in any way.”
John was glad he’d developed a resistance to the Holmes glare, because this was the most blistering one he’d ever received.
“What does count, then?”
“Has to be for no other reason than to show the other person how much you care. To make the other person feel what you feel. Make your partner feel good. All that counts. Would you like a demonstration?”
Sherlock didn’t answer. He just nodded slowly and held still as John leaned in and let his lips ghost across Sherlock’s perfect cupid bow of a mouth. John took his time teasing and tasting, letting Sherlock slowly work his way into responding. This was the way a first kiss should be. Tentative and tender and all the other silly things they write about in the romance novels. This time, Sherlock was the first to offer a little more depth and John eagerly accepted, easing his tongue between Sherlock’s lips and feeling the bottom drop out of his world.
__________
Long minutes later, John’s head lay resting against Sherlock’s shoulder, each man wearing a matching, satisfied grin and hair mussed in the way only someone else’s fingers can accomplish. Somehow, their hands had become linked and neither had the urge to change that anytime soon.
“What now, Mister Watson?”
“Whatever we want, Captain. Not like there’s a map for this sort of thing.”
“I’ll get my cartographers working on it.”
“That’ll mean a lot of voyages. Add a little bit every time we sail. Sounds good, actually.”
“Will I get to wear my hat?”
“Will I get to wear my chains?”
“I think we have an accord, Mister Watson.”
“I concur, Captain Holmes.”