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breakfast-cereal · 3 years

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Stupid For You (3) -Johnlock

← ←← MAIN MASTERLIST

←← PART ONE

← PART TWO

!¡Trigger Warning¡! DO NOT IGNORE!: mentions to drugs and addiction, alcohol use, vomiting, hints to declining/poor mental health.

John felt guilty as he stared into the ceiling. He always felt guilty lately. He wanted comfort. He wanted Sherlock again. Sherlock made him feel comfortable, most of the time.

Sherlock came into their bedroom and laid down next to John. John had that guilty feeling nagging in his stomach. He wanted normal. He wanted this all to go away.

"Rosie is asleep," Sherlock mumbled.

John turned to stare at the wall. It had the ugliest wallpaper that John had wanted to change for ages. Looking at the wallpaper almost made him forget until he felt Sherlock's arm over him, and then Sherlock's body. Was Sherlock cuddling him?

"Sherlock," John questioned,

"John." Sherlock sounded incredibly groggy.

"Are you cuddling me?",

"Do you mind?" John felt a heat in his cheeks. He couldn't be blushing. Maybe he was blushing.

"No." Sherlock wrapped his arms tighter around John and pulled him closer. John moved his arm to be over Sherlock's. Their fingers gently brushed together, but neither moved. John loved this moment. It felt right. He wanted this.

John had woken up without Sherlock. He felt cold. John couldn't deny it anymore. Even if he tried the thought would resurface. John loved Sherlock. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to deny it badly because Sherlock would never like him. He knew this would be one-sided, and it hurt, but he couldn't deny it anymore. His feelings existed and he had to accept them. He had to accept all of them.

John exited their bedroom to see Sherlock pulling apart their bookshelf for Jane Eyre while Rosie watched intently.

"What's Sherly doing?" She looked at Sherlock attentively.

"I'm not sure." John came up close to Sherlock and quietly mumbled, "what the fuck are you doing?",

"Jane Eyre. The objects and Jane Eyre. There were clues the objects and there has to be in this. By the way, the password on your computer needs to be stronger. Found it out very easily.",

"You looked on my computer?" John whispered aggressively.

"It was necessary for the case. I'm sure you'll forgive me." Sherlock was right, John would forgive him. Though at the moment he was incredibly annoyed.

"You went on to my computer without my permission and now you're tearing apart our bookshelf." John wasn't sure where his point was trying to go, but he was just angry. Angry at everything. "Remind me why we have seven copies of Jane Eyre spread across the bookshelf?",

"I've accumulated them. Mostly gag gifts from Mycroft." Sherlock pulled out one copy to shake it and have a paper fall on the floor. He picked it up and ran to his desk, placing it with the other papers.

"What's that?" Rosie asked,

"Important papers for daddy's work," Sherlock responded immediately. John was always shocked by how well Sherlock was becoming with Rosie. Rather than being extremely blunt, Sherlock had worked on dialling it down. John was also shocked that Sherlock considered himself Rosie's dad.

"Why don't you go play in your room for a bit, okay?" John added.

Rosie scurried into her room and John went over to Sherlock. He had felt this strange anger after he realized his interest in Sherlock. He was angry Sherlock didn't realize. He could read people so easily, so why didn't he realize? Why didn't he call John out? Did Sherlock already know and that's why he's always been distant? Does he hate John? John began reaching at possible scenarios without noticing the tears building in his eyes. He didn't cry, but then again, he's been doing things that he never expected to do a lot these past few years.

"It seems that they're another set of coordinates. I'm going to need your laptop to check where they are or just some form of access to google maps." John gritted his teeth together. Sherlock could read people, but it seems he forgot that emotions exist. Sometimes, John felt like he was talking to a brick wall. A brick wall that responds, but can't acknowledge.

"Are you oblivious or just extremely insensitive? Because I feel like it's the latter." John gripped the edges of the table as Sherlock gave him a strange glance.

"I'm not oblivious, though I've been told I'm insensitive," Sherlock responded nonchalantly. He responded in a way that made John feel like steam was coming out of his ears.

"People who tell you that are right. You are insensitive. How do you think I feel when you disappear? Or go off on a bender? There are times I worry if you're going to die! You don't realize how you're actions are going to affect people." Sherlock stared back at John.

"I understand you're angry.",

"That's all? No apology?" John didn't care if he was being rational. He knew he wasn't.

"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock seemed genuine, but at the same time, it seemed so false.

John couldn't take it. He needed a drink, which wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism, but it was the only thing he had unless he let down his pride and started seeing a therapist again. He grabbed his coat, and this time grabbed his wallet as well. John slammed the door, hoping Sherlock would maybe come after him, but he didn't.

John was sitting in a cab. The driver gave him strange looks every once in a while that was beginning to get to John. He felt trapped. He felt stupid as well. Going to a pub at barely eleven. John saw a bookstore approaching in the corner of his eye.

"Stop here,"

The cabbie pulled over to the side and John handed him a twenty.

John walked to the bookstore and noticed it was near the building covered in vines. The building John remembered clinging on to. John would not be doing that again.

A faint ring was heard as he entered the bookstore. It was relatively quaint and packed to the brim with novels. He saw a copy of Jane Eyre leaning off the shelf and thought of Sherlock. He felt guilt while looking at the book. He had treated Sherlock so terribly and left without considering how Sherlock may feel, but then John felt anger again. Sherlock didn't care how John felt, so why should John care how Sherlock felt. John didn't feel the buzzing in his pocket of Sherlock texting him frantically. It was, John? I'm sorry. Respond SH. repeating over again with slight variations every time.

John brushed his fingers over the books, and his mind still went to ones Sherlock would like. There was a book on unsolved criminal cases that John could see Sherlock flipping through. There was another book of violin compositions. John found these books a strange combination, but he didn't question it, assuming this was a second-hand book shop. He couldn't help himself as he pulled both books off the shelf and placed them into his hands. He checked the prices and felt relieved to see they were only a total of £25 together.

The cashier smiled at him, "Interesting combination.",

"For an interesting person," John responded. He felt the anger towards Sherlock lessen. Even if Sherlock did piss him off, he still cared about him.

"Mm, would you like a gift receipt with that?",

"No, thank you." John took the books in his hands, ignoring the extra 15 cents he could have spent on an easier carry.

John placed the books down on the ground and opened the flat. He hoped the books would make for an adequate apology.

"I texted you," Sherlock said as John entered.

"I didn't realize. I got you things." John placed the books on Sherlock's desk.

Sherlock looked at the titles of them and smiled. "Thank you." He muttered.

It seemed so unnatural for Sherlock to thankful for something, but it made John feel giddy.

"I asked Mrs. Hudson to watch Rosie. The coordinates lead to a park in central London." Sherlock grabbed his coat off the coat rack and his hat. The paparazzi had calmed down a little, but Sherlock still insisted on bringing his hat places. "Mrs. Hudson should be here," Sherlock placed his cap on his head, "now."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at them as she walked into the flat. "On a date?",

"No, simply a case." Sherlock grabbed John's coat and threw it at him. John barely caught it.

"Well, have fun boys." Mrs. Hudson called from the flat as they left.

John's hand rested near Sherlock's in the cab. Sherlock moved his hand slightly so it rested on John's. John felt his heart beat out of his chest. Sherlock meant it in a friendly way, but John couldn't stop thinking about what this meant. He felt the butterflies again, and heat on his face.

Sherlock didn't move his hand, nor did John. They sat without admitting the hand holding. They had done it before, but this was different. As the last time they did it they were also in handcuffs. Or maybe it wasn't different and John was just reaching.

John was just as close to Sherlock on a train. Their hands touching again. John leaned on to Sherlock, testing the waters. Sherlock moved his hand to put his arm over John and John felt like he did in the cab. He felt like he had just had his first kiss all over again. John wasn't one for PDA, but he could ignore it for this. This was his one exception.

John knew they wouldn't talk about this once they had gotten to the park. They would never talk about this. It was like the cuddling or that thing that one time. John hoped they didn't talk about this. He'd end up admitting things he wanted to keep secret. He'd spill his feelings like one would with a glass of wine then they're a little too tipsy.

Sherlock looked at down at John and moved on to looking at his lips. It seemed as if Sherlock was studying them. He studied the soft curves, and John thought Sherlock might kiss him right there on the train. Sherlock glanced away though. He looked at the posters and people. Almost like he was trying to ignore John. John slumped down and Sherlock lowered his arm to catch John. John felt strange. Sherlock was being strange, which was odd. Sherlock wasn't usually one to be like this, but there were times when Sherlock would spiral. He would spiral off into a bender, that would cause John to panic because he knew one day it would kill him. He didn't want to have one day where he finds Sherlock dead with a needle in his arm. It terrified him. His terror always turned into anger. He tried to control it, but he wanted to scream at Sherlock when he does things like that. Sometimes he does. Sometimes he'll yell until his voice is hoarse, but it doesn't make him feel any better and it doesn't fix things. This moment on the train made all those bad moments so prominent. Instead of John's brain going to Sherlock doesn't like him, it went to Sherlock deserves better. He didn't want to think about this, especially not like this, but he couldn't stop himself. His brain went into a spiral. It was an uncontrollable waterfall of negative thoughts until the train came to a stop.

The park had lush green grass and multiple playsets. It didn't seem like the place to meet up with someone shady and who knew if they were even there? Rather than questioning Sherlock's motives to come here at this time, he followed him to a secluded area.

There was a man in a black coat standing there with his back facing towards them.

"Brother, dear." Mycroft spun around.

Sherlock had a look of complete confusion on his face.

"I expected you." He approached them, "Now, I'd assume you'd have figured it was me and not wasted your time to come here, but I was wrong. You were always the slow one, so I shouldn't have expected much." ,

"Why are you here?" Sherlock had an angry edge to his voice.

"You seemed quite bored in that little flat of yours, so I set up a fake case.",

"How did you manage to get things in our flat?" John asked,

"Well, for one, giving little gifts is an easy way to infiltrate into your flat, and then I just placed all the clues. By the way John, you should use a stronger password."

"So you placed things in our flat without permission and managed to have us not notice until the woman came?" Sherlock smiled, "Quite genius, I have to say.",

"Genius? Sherlock, he went through my computer!" John glared at Mycroft.

"You have some quite interesting files." John's eyes went wide. "Work is also a quite obvious porn file name, so I'd recommend changing that," Mycroft added. John felt a little calmer knowing Mycroft hadn't found the file on Johnlock articles.

Sherlock laughed and looked down at John. John felt small under Sherlock's stare. Sherlock glanced at John's lips again, and Mycroft coughed.

"I'd rather not see what you do in private, please take the PDA somewhere else.",

"There's nothing going on between us," John responded automatically. Sherlock shook his head in agreement.

"Nothing at all," Sherlock said.

Mycroft smiled at them, "of course."

There was a heavy tension between them as they left the park. John wanted to say something, but all he would say would raise the tension.

They both walked next to each other and John accepted Sherlock not flagging down a cab. There was a heavy silence that said everything.

"Sorry about Mycroft. He can be a little much sometimes.",

"For someone who's supposed to be a genius you're incredibly stupid." John covered his mouth in a panic. Why did he say that? He wanted to take back the words. Fall back in time and disappear.

"What?"

There was no going back. John was all in. He could either make something up or admit. John needed to admit things. The weight was taking up his life. He wanted to admit things, but he needed a better time.

"We should go to that restaurant." John pointed down the street to a random building.

"That's a bookstore, John." Sherlock deadpanned,

"Let's find a restaurant." John walked down the block looking at names of stores until he found a small cafe. Amour Cafe was printed in bold letters on a wooden sign. John brought Sherlock into the cafe. The interior had plush leather booths and small tables. The cash had food items on the shelf. Each one with a price John couldn't read out underneath.

They walked up to the cash and a person with a friendly smile greeted them. "Welcome to Amour Cafe, what can I get 'ya?",

John looked over the options, but Sherlock spoke before him. "We'll have two teas. Room at the top for milk.",

"I'll get right on that, sir. Your order number is 12."

Sherlock brought John to one of the booths and patted the spot next to him.

"Why did you order for me?",

"I know what you usually want." Sherlock looked at the table. "They have a very interesting type of wood. It seems that multiple people have sat here and some even carved in their initials. Do you see it?",

"Sherlock," John hissed, "why are you acting like this?",

"Acting like what?" Sherlock continued to pick at the table.

"Like something is wrong.",

"Mycroft can be a bit much." Sherlock tried to seem calm, but there was a bitter tone in his voice. "Sometimes he knows too much."

John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock returned the look and his gaze went down to John's lips again. John wanted to shy away, but he didn't. He kept his eyes locked with Sherlock as if they were in some strange staring contest. A staring contest where you were able to cut the tension with a knife. Sherlock leaned down at went to cup John's face but a bell ringing made Sherlock jump back.

"Number 11." The person at the counter called.

Sherlock and John watched as two people went up, their hands interlocked. They looked so happy. Sherlock glanced back at John and quickly looked away. John wanted that. He wanted it to be like that with Sherlock. He couldn't have that, though. Sherlock didn't like him. Earlier was just John's brain. He was thinking about it so he imagined it was real. Sherlock wouldn't kiss John.

John's tea was subpar, but he couldn't blame the cafe. He felt tense and anxious next to Sherlock. He wanted something to happen, but he didn't. The feeling wasn't a calm before the storm, it was more the opposite. These feelings were a storm without calm. It was the bottom of the ocean. Mostly unexplored, and confusing. Oddly, this was the most human John had seen Sherlock. He could read Sherlock this time. Sherlock was uncomfortable. He looked lost.

Sherlock turned abruptly down an alley. John wondered if this was where Sherlock was going to end up murdering him. Instead, Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pulled him further down the alley. John was shocked at the touch but accepted it nonetheless.

At the other end of the alley were rows of shops and a smaller park. Sherlock led John to the park, which was rather secluded.

Sherlock didn't let go of John as he led him through the park. John started to dislike this layout. There was a park just through that alley, yet they had to build another one. John couldn't hate this park, though, so he directed his hate towards the other park. This park was gentle. It called John, telling him it would be okay, whereas the other park was pushing John, telling him he needed to grow up. The other park also had Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock seemed to not know where they were going, but he pulled John to a tree and stopped.

"What did you mean earlier?" Sherlock questioned,

"Well, I, uhm, Sherlock," John fumbled over his words while Sherlock watched intently. Sherlock tried to figure John out. Sherlock studied John again. This time there was realization in Sherlock's eyes. The realization became confusion and the cycle started over again. John wanted to show Sherlock. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to get what he meant out somehow. John knew he loved Sherlock. There. He had admitted it. He loved Sherlock. He wanted Sherlock. He was infatuated. Stupid, even.

John couldn't take this anymore. He looked at Sherlock, starting the staring game again. This time, John focused on Sherlock's lips more than his eyes. He wanted to do something. He wanted to make the move. He feared rejection. He feared what Sherlock would say or do.

The tree was a weeping willow. It had gorgeous long branches that nearly touched the ground, though it had small openings, most likely from people entering the small enclosure underneath. The tree had an aura of comfort. It didn't need explanation; it was just there. It existed without explanation.

They were still holding hands. Sherlock glanced back at John's lips and kept his gaze there. John looked back into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock had these beautiful brown eyes that had so much meaning. Sherlock was beautiful as a whole. He was beautiful and confusing. He was a person who was hard to like, but John managed to fall for him. John Watson, who told himself he strictly liked women, fell for a man who was the hardest to fall for. He had fallen hard. He let go of Sherlock's hand and reached up. He brushed Sherlock's jaw with his hands and pulled him down. Sherlock placed his hands on John's waist as they kissed. The butterflies were there again, but this time John didn't mind. This felt right to him. He felt confirmed. Sherlock pulled John closer and put more pressure into the kiss. The kiss was like the tree; it existed. Rather than existing without needed explanation, it existed as an explanation. Sherlock had gotten the answer to his question. Because you haven't realized I'm stupid for you.

John sat at his computer with Sherlock working behind him. The blog post for this case would be interesting, to say the least. John began typing and deleting. It repeated until he had found what he was looking for.

THE FAKE WOMAN This case that was incredibly fascinating, turned out fake. A setup. Not to say it wasn't interesting. This case was revealing. It was naked. My boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes, had stayed focused on this case for days, even when it seemed nothing was to come of it.

John stared at the words written down with a smile. Boyfriend. His boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes.

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