“Mr. Holmes?” Robbie calls gently as he walks into the room: finished with his shift and ready to listen. “Ah, Robbie” Mr. Holmes replies “You may as well call me Sherlock.” Robbie nods in conformation. “So,” Robbie prompts after a weighty pause “John Watson” Mr. Holmes, no, Sherlock, takes a deep inward breath “John,” He begins “Was a friend of mine” Robbie raises his eyebrows at that and Sherlock catches it. “Yes, yes, I know you read the blog. John was many things to me: my beloved, my affianced, my partner, my conductor of light, but fundamentally he was always my friend. I thought for a long time about how much I wanted to tell you and what, and I believe I will begin a few years after the dissolution of John’s marriage.” “About that,” Robbie interrupts, earning him a stern look from Sherlock “What happened to Mary and the baby?” “Confidential.” Sherlock says “Mycroft’s been dead a great many years, but I think it’s best if I take that with me to the grave. But I digress. I think I’ll begin with when John and I finally got on the same page”
Sherlock genuinely hadn’t meant to book a room with only one bed on for the one night of their brief trip to Lancaster; he just hadn’t been paying attention when booking the room. The case had been solved in a disappointingly brief five hours which meant he would actually be going to bed that night. He had been surprised when John hadn’t protested the sleeping arrangements. They washed up and settled down for the night. They were both tired because they had to take an early train, and John quickly dropped off to sleep. Despite his fatigue, Sherlock was determined to stay up so he could memorize every detail of John sleeping beside him. He wanted to encode it so thoroughly in his mind so that on the loneliest of nights he could pretend that John was right there beside him. (Later, one of his biggest regrets would be that he’d never finished what he started). Having not intended to sleep, Sherlock was surprised to wake up many hours later. He was even more surprised to find himself completely wrapped around John with his nose buried in John’s hair and John’s arms loosely around his waist. He was stuck, unsure of what to do. He certainly didn’t want to move, but if John woke and found them like this, would that not be a violation of his friend’s trust? Wouldn’t things be awkward the next morning? After all, this wasn’t the kind of thing that flatmates did, it just wasn’t on. Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts by John’s arms tightening around him and John’s low grumble of “Stop thinking, Sherlock, and go back to sleep.” And to Sherlock’s continuing surprise, he did.
Re: Maybe the start of a fill (5/?)
“Ah, Robbie” Mr. Holmes replies “You may as well call me Sherlock.”
Robbie nods in conformation.
“So,” Robbie prompts after a weighty pause “John Watson”
Mr. Holmes, no, Sherlock, takes a deep inward breath
“John,” He begins “Was a friend of mine”
Robbie raises his eyebrows at that and Sherlock catches it.
“Yes, yes, I know you read the blog. John was many things to me: my beloved, my affianced, my partner, my conductor of light, but fundamentally he was always my friend. I thought for a long time about how much I wanted to tell you and what, and I believe I will begin a few years after the dissolution of John’s marriage.”
“About that,” Robbie interrupts, earning him a stern look from Sherlock “What happened to Mary and the baby?”
“Confidential.” Sherlock says “Mycroft’s been dead a great many years, but I think it’s best if I take that with me to the grave. But I digress. I think I’ll begin with when John and I finally got on the same page”
Sherlock genuinely hadn’t meant to book a room with only one bed on for the one night of their brief trip to Lancaster; he just hadn’t been paying attention when booking the room. The case had been solved in a disappointingly brief five hours which meant he would actually be going to bed that night. He had been surprised when John hadn’t protested the sleeping arrangements.
They washed up and settled down for the night. They were both tired because they had to take an early train, and John quickly dropped off to sleep. Despite his fatigue, Sherlock was determined to stay up so he could memorize every detail of John sleeping beside him. He wanted to encode it so thoroughly in his mind so that on the loneliest of nights he could pretend that John was right there beside him. (Later, one of his biggest regrets would be that he’d never finished what he started). Having not intended to sleep, Sherlock was surprised to wake up many hours later. He was even more surprised to find himself completely wrapped around John with his nose buried in John’s hair and John’s arms loosely around his waist. He was stuck, unsure of what to do. He certainly didn’t want to move, but if John woke and found them like this, would that not be a violation of his friend’s trust? Wouldn’t things be awkward the next morning? After all, this wasn’t the kind of thing that flatmates did, it just wasn’t on. Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts by John’s arms tightening around him and John’s low grumble of “Stop thinking, Sherlock, and go back to sleep.”
And to Sherlock’s continuing surprise, he did.