At first it was irritating, and then a bit amusing, but now it’s just creepy. Two dozen white roses on his doorstep?
He’s debating throwing them out and never thinking about them again since the last rose had lost all of its petals and died. He doesn’t need another thing in his life that just dies.
John sighs, and finally decides to give a bouquet to Mrs. Hudson and throw the other one out somewhere. John makes his way to the sitting room, where he picks up one of the bouquets with pursed lips.
Is Sherlock’s admirer stalking him? Is this some kind of sick joke?
He taps on Mrs. Hudson’s door, and she swings it open after some bustling and clanking of pots.
“Oh! Hello, John. Those are lovely roses, are they for me?” Mrs. Hudson asks.
John clears his throat. “Erm. Yes. They are, actually. Someone delivered them to me this morning, and I had an extra bouquet. I thought you might like them.”
Mrs. Hudson grins, knowingly. "Oh, and have you seen this special someone?"
John shakes his head and sighs, "No. It could possibly an old enemy of Sherlock's stalking me or something of the sort. I'll have to ask Mycroft to look into it."
Mrs. Hudson nods, taking the flowers and squeezing his forearm. "It could be someone who fancies you, you know. You'd be quite the catch for some men." She winks, gesturing for him to come inside the flat.
John doesn't bother telling her he isn't gay. He knows he and Sherlock had something, even if he kept claiming he wasn't interested. He had said that for ‘Sherlock-married-to-his-work-Holmes.’ But God, if confessing everything he'd ever felt about Sherlock would bring him back, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
He sinks in a seat at the homey wooden table, running his hands on the smooth surface.
"I can't..think about that, at the moment.” He closes his eyes briefly. “It's too soon after Sherlock."
It's been two years, but it will always be too soon. It's an open wound covered by a thin scab, that will leave a scar no matter how much time passes. He'll never get over those lively eyes and tangled curls and swirling coat. The thought makes his heart ache and a heavy lump in his throat he tries to swallow. Time does nothing to end the pain, it only finds new distractions to help forget.
Mrs. Hudson smiles sadly at him and squeezes his shoulder. She understands his pain, the soft suffering that goes on behind the scenes when he's all alone. There's a steaming cup of tea on the table when he blinks again, and he nods gratefully. He takes a slow sip as Mrs. Hudson putters around the kitchen and gets a vase for the flowers.
"Oh! They're stunning!" She exclaims. "Do you know what white roses mean, John?" Her eyes sparkle with youth, despite the wrinkles in her skin displaying her age.
"No, I don't. What do they mean?" He takes another tentative sip, testing the temperature.
"They're used at weddings, John. Someone wants to marry you!"
John sputters and nearly chokes on the bitter liquid. "What?! Mrs. Hudson, you've got this all wrong. They can't marry me if they haven't met me. Besides, I'm not interested."
"You'd be surprised, my ex-husband-" John stands up and firmly places the mug on the table.
"Yes, erm. Sorry, I've got to get going. Work and all."
"Oh yes, sorry for keeping you, dear. When you find this man of yours, introduce us. I'd love to meet him. I'm sure he's charming." She winks.
John swallows and forces a nod.
"We'll see about that."
Thank you for all your comments and reading. I know this isn't the best chapter but I'm working on it! I'm writing the next installment now and it should be up by the end of the week, if not, a bit later! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! (Sherlock is coming soon. I promise :D)
Re: Fill: 3/? Johnlock, The Language of Roses
He doesn’t understand. Not one bit.
At first it was irritating, and then a bit amusing, but now it’s just creepy. Two dozen white roses on his doorstep?
He’s debating throwing them out and never thinking about them again since the last rose had lost all of its petals and died. He doesn’t need another thing in his life that just dies.
John sighs, and finally decides to give a bouquet to Mrs. Hudson and throw the other one out somewhere.
John makes his way to the sitting room, where he picks up one of the bouquets with pursed lips.
Is Sherlock’s admirer stalking him? Is this some kind of sick joke?
He taps on Mrs. Hudson’s door, and she swings it open after some bustling and clanking of pots.
“Oh! Hello, John. Those are lovely roses, are they for me?” Mrs. Hudson asks.
John clears his throat. “Erm. Yes. They are, actually. Someone delivered them to me this morning, and I had an extra bouquet. I thought you might like them.”
Mrs. Hudson grins, knowingly. "Oh, and have you seen this special someone?"
John shakes his head and sighs, "No. It could possibly an old enemy of Sherlock's stalking me or something of the sort. I'll have to ask Mycroft to look into it."
Mrs. Hudson nods, taking the flowers and squeezing his forearm. "It could be someone who fancies you, you know. You'd be quite the catch for some men." She winks, gesturing for him to come inside the flat.
John doesn't bother telling her he isn't gay. He knows he and Sherlock had something, even if he kept claiming he wasn't interested. He had said that for ‘Sherlock-married-to-his-work-Holmes.’ But God, if confessing everything he'd ever felt about Sherlock would bring him back, he'd do it in a heartbeat.
He sinks in a seat at the homey wooden table, running his hands on the smooth surface.
"I can't..think about that, at the moment.” He closes his eyes briefly. “It's too soon after Sherlock."
It's been two years, but it will always be too soon. It's an open wound covered by a thin scab, that will leave a scar no matter how much time passes. He'll never get over those lively eyes and tangled curls and swirling coat. The thought makes his heart ache and a heavy lump in his throat he tries to swallow. Time does nothing to end the pain, it only finds new distractions to help forget.
Mrs. Hudson smiles sadly at him and squeezes his shoulder. She understands his pain, the soft suffering that goes on behind the scenes when he's all alone.
There's a steaming cup of tea on the table when he blinks again, and he nods gratefully. He takes a slow sip as Mrs. Hudson putters around the kitchen and gets a vase for the flowers.
"Oh! They're stunning!" She exclaims. "Do you know what white roses mean, John?" Her eyes sparkle with youth, despite the wrinkles in her skin displaying her age.
"No, I don't. What do they mean?" He takes another tentative sip, testing the temperature.
"They're used at weddings, John. Someone wants to marry you!"
John sputters and nearly chokes on the bitter liquid.
"What?! Mrs. Hudson, you've got this all wrong. They can't marry me if they haven't met me. Besides, I'm not interested."
"You'd be surprised, my ex-husband-" John stands up and firmly places the mug on the table.
"Yes, erm. Sorry, I've got to get going. Work and all."
"Oh yes, sorry for keeping you, dear. When you find this man of yours, introduce us. I'd love to meet him. I'm sure he's charming." She winks.
John swallows and forces a nod.
"We'll see about that."
Thank you for all your comments and reading. I know this isn't the best chapter but I'm working on it! I'm writing the next installment now and it should be up by the end of the week, if not, a bit later! Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy! (Sherlock is coming soon. I promise :D)