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sandcobangevent · 1 month

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Silence Your Phone and Open Your Heart

By @littleoceanbabe and @starfruitsomething

Ping!

“Watson, your ph-” Sherlock moved to grab John’s phone from the table, but it was snatched up lightning quick.

“Thanks, Sherlock!” John beamed, almost hugging his phone to his chest. Sherlock saw his cheeks redden slightly. Incredibly odd behavior, from his flatmate.

“...Are you feeling alright, W-”

“FINE! Sorry. I’m fine, Sherlock! Just. Erm,” John’s eyes darted as he tried and failed to come up with some excuse, “Just expecting something, is all.”

Odd, again. But Sherlock didn’t feel the need to pry, even if his friend was acting completely abnormal, “Alright, then.” Sherlock settled back into his seat to look down his microscope again, and saw John shuffle away awkwardly out of his peripheral.

Ping!

Sherlock only paused in his reading at the noise, blinked once, then sunk back into his book.

Ping! a few moments later, and Sherlock startled, in the midst of a rather fascinating paragraph. His nose wrinkled in slight annoyance, but resumed his reading.

Ping!

This time Sherlock fully lifted his head, glaring at the offender, which was nestled in John’s hands. John was seemingly unaware of the turmoil Sherlock was currently dealing with, tapping away at his phone. Sherlock huffed quietly, but went back to his book.

Ping! “Watson, you are aware of a wonderful feature on your phone that silences your notifications?”

“Hm?” John inclined his head towards Sherlock, but still staring down at his phone screen. Sherlock frowned, even if John wasn’t looking.

“Your constant influx of text messages is making it very difficult to concentrate,” Sherlock stated flatly, “Silence your phone or go to another room to text.” He blinked, “Please,” he added.

“Uhh, oh. Oh! Oh yeah, so sorry about that, m-uh, mate,” John now divulged his full attention on Sherlock, “It’s just my mum. You know how Carol can be.”

“As well as I do know,” Sherlock started, “Can you finish your conversation elsewhere?”

John flushed, “Yes, ‘course. Sorry, Sherls.” He stood and moved out of the sitting room, and Sherlock resumed his reading in peace.

Ping!

“Your phone, Watson.”

Ping!

“Watson. Your phone.”

Ping!

“Your phone, Watson!”

Ping!

“For god's sake!” Sherlock dramatically threw himself off the sofa, snatching John’s phone off the coffee table, tapping the screen.

From: Mum From: Mum From: Mum From: Mum

The messages were private, unable to be seen from the locked phone screen. Sherlock huffed, and stomped through the flat, up to John’s bedroom. He flung the door open without decorum, startling a sleeping John and Archie, who barked out of instinct before he saw it was only Sherlock intruding. John was much less dignified, yelping and flailing before slamming a palm on his chest.

“Christ, Sherlock!” He wheezed, “Ever heard of knocking??”

“Your mother is texting. Incessantly,” Sherlock grumbled, tossing John’s phone onto the bed, “Make her stop, Watson.”

John grabbed his phone and squinted at the bright screen, and Sherlock watched as he read through the messages. John groaned, putting his phone face down on the bedding without replying to anything.

“This couldn’t have waited until I woke up? How long’s it been?”

“An hour.”

“An hour- Sherlock! I said I wanted two hours, at least!”

“Your mother’s texts were annoying me.”

“So turn off the bloody phone! Jesus…” John fell back against his pillow, one hand on Archie’s back, who was already falling back asleep, “Unless she’s calling me incessantly, it’s not an emergency, Sherlock. Just turn off my phone next time, yeah?”

“...Or don’t forget your phone on the coffee table.”

“Sherlock. Let me take a nap.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Yes, Watson.”

“Saw that,” John yawned, “Close the door, will ya?”

Sherlock complied, and he didn’t hear any more pings for the afternoon.

Ping!

Sherlock sighed, loudly.

Ping!

“Your mother again?” Sherlock asked, looking up briefly from the map he was currently drawing out.

“Mm,” John replied distractedly, a forkful of eggs halfway up to his mouth, looking at his phone like it personally offended him.

It made Sherlock pause, tilting his head slightly, “Are you alright, Watson?”

John blinked, looking up at Sherlock. His cheeks flushed. That keeps happening… Sherlock thought absently.

“‘M fine, Sherlock. My mum keeps… She keeps bothering me. About something. I’m just-just getting a bit sick of it, is all.” He turned his phone screen off and placed it face-down on the table, taking the neglected fork to his mouth, “What’re you working on?” His voice was muffled from the eggs.

“Only a map of London. From memory,” Sherlock said, “I always forget something whenever I attempt it, a road or two, perhaps. It’s more of a personal challenge to recreate it perfectly without reference.”

“Wow,” John said, he swallowed his food, then looked at Sherlock with soft eyes, “You are incredible.”

It was so sincere, and seemingly so out of nowhere, Sherlock squirmed in his seat a bit, “Stop it now, Watson,” he muttered, feeling his face warm, “Really. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? Sherlock, you’re making a map of an entire city from memory, just ‘cause you’re a bit bored! You are… spectacular.”

Sherlock suddenly felt it a bit difficult to breathe. John was smiling at him, so fondly and warmly, while eating his breakfast. It felt terribly domestic and cliché.

Ping!

John’s warmth dropped instantly and he glared at his phone, placing his fork down on his plate and grabbing it.

Sherlock could only keep staring, still reeling from John’s compliment, while John was fighting with the facial recognition feature, “C’mon, you piece of- Ugh.” John typed in his code, and Sherlock saw the placement of his fingers on the screen.

0601

Sherlock watched John’s face pinch in annoyance, huff through his nose, type a short reply, and set his phone back down.

“...Is everything alright with your mother?”

John wasn’t looking at him anymore, and Sherlock felt unreasonably upset about that.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. She’s just. Juuuust being Carol, y’know? Can’t sway her any other way.” John picked up his fork and stabbed at his eggs again, shoving another bite in his mouth and still not looking at Sherlock.

“Ah. Right.” Sherlock looked back down at his half-finished map, and suddenly realized he missed an alleyway in the south.

Ping!

John was in the shower, his phone face up on the kitchen counter.

From: Mum

Sherlock blinked at it, mug of tea in hand.

Ping! From: Mum

Sherlock looked in the direction of the lavatory, just barely hearing John sing above the spray of the shower. He had about ten minutes.

Chewing his lower lip, Sherlock looked back at John’s phone, then back at the shower again.

It wouldn’t be right, he thought, It would be a violation of trust and privacy. It wouldn’t be right.

He knew he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t help himself. Something was going on with John’s mother, and despite her… rather outward personality, John loved her, and Sherlock cared for her, too.

He tapped the screen and swiped up with one hand, mug of tea still in the other.

0601

He picked up the phone and read the text.

From: Mum It’s been going on too long, love! You need to tell him!

Sherlock stopped breathing, staring at the two short sentences for a long while.

Tell who what?

He let out a shaky exhale, looking back in the direction of the loo. John was still singing, completely oblivious.

Sherlock opened the messaging app, reading from the most recent text.

From: Mum It’s been going on too long, love! You need to tell him.

From: Mum I’m worried about you, sweetie. You two deserve each other.

From: Mum Oi. Don’t talk about that like my son, either.

From: Me I just feel like he deserves more than me…

Sherlock’s heart dropped into his stomach. He's interested in someone, he thought, Someone whom he thinks he doesn’t deserve…

He scrolled up a little more, trying to gather more information.

From: Mum Morning, love! Is today the day?? Will you tell him??

Sherlock scrolled back down to the next message.

From: Me Mum…

From: Mum Only a question! You should be sweeping him off his feet by now, Johnny!

From: Me Why are you so obsessed over this?

From: Mum He makes you happy, darling.

Sherlock’s head snapped up at the sound of the shower being turned off, and he quickly exited the messages app, shutting the screen off and placing it exactly where John had left it, give or take a few centimeters. Hopefully John wouldn’t notice.

John comes out a few moments later, his hair messy and wet, wearing sweatpants and an old tee. He smiles casually at Sherlock, who feels his heart thump harshly in his chest as he nods in acknowledgement. Sherlock watches John pick up his phone, anxiety trickling down his spine and taking a sip of now lukewarm tea to try and expunge it.

No such luck, as John was now opening up his phone.

About ten seconds of silence passed, Sherlock willing his hands not to tremble around his mug. It was a tremendous effort.

“I’m feeling takeaway tonight,” John broke the silence, tapping away on the screen, “What say you?”

The anxiety was relieved so quickly Sherlock almost went into shock, “Hm? Oh, yes. Takeaway. Sounds wonderful.”

John’s phone didn’t go off for the rest of the night.

Ping!

Sherlock had been rather jumpy over John’s text notifications since his recent discovery.

Every ping! from Watson’s phone made his heart skip a beat and his breath come in pants, lungs constricting and stomach twisting.

This particular notification startled him so bad he slammed the back of his head on the kitchen cabinet he was rooting around for a specific mug in.

“Ooh, y’alright, mate?” John winced and hissed, witnessing the whole thing. Sherlock felt his face burn in embarrassment, and he refused to look back at John, rubbing the back of his skull gingerly.

“I’m fine, Watson,” He grumbled, grabbing the first mug he could reach. It was the wrong one for tea, but he couldn’t be bothered to find the right one now.

Ping!

The mug slipped and Sherlock scrambled to catch it mid-air. A few nearly fumbled, rapid-succession attempts, and the mug was saved from collateral damage.

“...You sure you’re alright, Sherlock?” John asked, once again witnessing the entire humiliating event.

“I said I was fine, Watson,” Sherlock slammed the mug down on the table with much more force than necessary and slowly moved about the kitchen to prepare his tea, taking great lengths to ensure anything in his hands was not being held for any lengthy period.

Sure enough, after 36 seconds of silence;

Ping!

“Ugh, I’m sorry. It’s my mum. She wants to call me,” John pushing himself up from his seat at the dining table, “I’ll just take it in my room. Be right back.” He wasn’t even halfway down the hall before his phone started ringing, and he picked up with a resigned “Hi, mum…” John closed the door behind him with a soft click, and Sherlock was left alone in the kitchen, save for Archie snoozing soundly under the table.

For a moment, Sherlock didn’t move a muscle, fingers wrapped loosely around the mug still sitting on the table, kettle boiling away behind him on the stove.

The kettle whistles. Sherlock stands and starts to prepare his tea. He watches it steep for 23 seconds, impatiently tapping his fingers rapidly on the countertop, resisting the urge to glance back at John’s room. He stared at his mug for another 18 seconds.

And swiftly left the kitchen, silently creeping up to John’s room.

He really shouldn’t do this. It’s yet again another complete invasion of privacy.

He pressed his ear to the door.

There was a short beat of silence before John’s muffled voice filtered through the door, “Muuum, come on, can I please convince you to just leave me alone…”

She was questioning him about something. Sherlock silently hoped (and feared, if he were being honest) that John was talking about this mystery man John was infatuated with.

“No! I told you, mum. It’s not happening,” John sounded frustrated.

Sherlock pressed his ear to the door hard enough to hurt, and lifted a hand to lay his palm flat against it as well, as if it would help him hear better.

“Stop trying to get involved!” John groaned, “...No, no god, mum, please do not come over. That wouldn’t- …Because you getting involved in my love life would be the world’s biggest disaster. No. Do not just show up. Please.”

“...Sorry, mum.”

“...I know, mum, I know. I’m not- I’m not trying to worry you…”

“I just- I can’t tell him, mum. I can’t.”

Sherlock’s heart sank, hearing the resignation and melancholy in John’s voice.

“...Can we please talk about something else now?” John sniffed, and his voice sounded a bit thick. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to fling open the door, pull John into his arms, and tell him that he should have nothing to worry about. Anybody would be the luckiest person on earth to have John Watson as their own.

But it would be rude to interrupt a phone call.

Sherlock pulled away from the door, letting his palm slide down and off as well. He silently crept back to the kitchen, sitting at the table, and taking a sip of his tea.

It was far too oversteeped.

Since the phone call, John had been oddly... Tense.

For one, Sherlock noted immediately, his phone had been silenced. He would pick it up so frequently to check for anything new, and tap away constantly at the screen, and Sherlock wouldn't hear any clicking sounds emitting from it.

The silence should have been a blessing.

It was eerie, really.

He felt as though he had to walk on eggshells around his own flat; as John's unusually flat demeanor was getting more and more worrisome, like bending a pencil, ready to snap at any point. Sherlock felt as if he could see the splinters. John would hardly talk to him, speaking in short, clipped sentences, and avoiding eye contact and touch at nearly any cost. Sherlock would normally have been grateful if it were anyone else. But this was John. He missed his voice. He missed his eyes. He missed his touch.

They were in the sitting room together when the pencil finally snapped. Sherlock was curled up on his armchair, fingers steepled together under his chin, deep in thought over their current predicament. He was aware of John's presence (it was much too difficult to ignore, through both the tension and the cologne John had put on that morning), but only peripherally. Sherlock was attempting to convince himself to assist John in this romantic fiasco he found himself in, at great detriment to himself (it wasn't ideal; John... with someone else. But if it would make John less... upset, then Sherlock would have done anything).

Ping!

Sherlock's pocket buzzed congruently to the sound. His eyes fluttered open, avoiding John entirely as he reached for his phone. The notification he was greeted with was rather confusing.

From: John Are you ever going to say anything?

Sherlock blinked at the text, frowned in confusion, and unlocked his phone. Then, he stared at the text more, looking away briefly to open his mouth to speak to John - who was still sitting on the loveseat in the same room, tunnel-visioned on his own phone - but found he couldn't come up with anything to say out loud. He looked back down at the screen.

From: Me Say anything about what?

John's phone didn't make a sound, but Sherlock saw his fingers start to move, and the typing bubble pop up on his own phone.

Ping!

Sherlock startled, and quickly silenced his phone.

From: John About this. You. Me. Us.

From: Me I don't know what you're referring to.

From: John Come on, Sherlock. I'm not stupid. I know you know.

From: Me I do not.

John sighed from his seat, and Sherlock's stomach flipped.

From: John I know you looked through my phone. I know you eavesdropped on the call with my Mum. I know you know.

The air felt thinner. Sherlock couldn't breathe. His vision darkened at the edges. I know.

"John, I'm so-"

John interrupted him by clearing his throat, waggling his phone without taking his eyes off it.

No talking, then.

From: John So. You haven't said anything.

From: Me It wasn't my place.

From: John I would sure think so. What do you mean it's not your place??

From: Me Meaning that it isn't my place to interfere with your romantic entanglements.

Another minute had passed before Sherlock received another text.

From: John ...Okay I'm confused.

From: Me It's hardly my concern, knowing who you're dating.

"Ohhhh..." John lifted his head and finally, finally, turned to look at Sherlock, "You mean... You don't know?"

Sherlock stared at John, who had an interesting mixture of relief and anxiety on his face, and frowned in annoyance, "That is what I've been trying to tell you, Watson."

"Ah. Shit, um... Well, Sherlock. Gah, this is awkward. The thing is... You-you, erm. I'm... Fuck."

"John."

"You're the one I'm... hoping for a 'romantic entanglement' with."

Oh.

"...Oh." Sherlock whispered, his phone hung loosely in his grip, not daring to blink now as John stood up from the sofa and made his way over. Sherlock's pulse quickened, sounding thunderous in his ears.

John knelt down by the armchair, closer to eye-level with Sherlock, "Is that... okay?" He was apprehensive, cautious, as if he were approaching a frightened animal. Maybe he was, as Sherlock felt the overwhelming urge to run away and hide, even if this was very good news.

He swallowed it down with tremendous effort, "Yes," He choked out, "Yes, it's okay."

"Okay, good," John slowly moved his hand, taking Sherlock's phone away. He clicked off the screen, and placed it facedown on the coffee table, "Very good." He pushed himself up, and suddenly his face was only centimeters away from Sherlock's own, "Is this okay as well?"

The ability to speak was gone, now. Sherlock only nodded dumbly, and John smiled softly. Sherlock couldn't hear his next words, but then John's lips were upon his own, kissing him softly and sweetly. The world melted away, and the tension flooded out of his body, even as his heart rate maintained its jackrabbit pace.

John pulled away first, and pressed their foreheads together.

"Don't think you got away from snooping in my phone, though," John mumbled.

Sherlock heard the grin in his voice, and laughed.