“John,” I wondered in a quiet moment alone, “how does it feel?”
“How does what feel?” he looked at me, concerned by the seriousness in my voice.
“To be loved by Sherlock Holmes... How does it feel?”
John laughed shortly, before taking my hand and looking directly into my eyes, “You have to look really hard for the signs. You have to believe that it's possible, no matter how impossible the man is.”
I smiled cautiously, “I'm surprised you didn't deny that he loves you...”
“Normally I would have,” he said sincerely, “but I can tell this is important to you. That being said, if you ever tell him about this conversation, I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you.” After a moment of straight-faced staring, he broke into his kindest chuckle. “You should know how it feels anyway – he loves you too.”
“I don't think he cares about me the same way he does about you though.”
“What makes you think that?”
“It's just the way he looks at you, John. The way his eyes change colour as they consider something you've said, or the way he worries about you when you're not there.”
He stroked my arm comfortingly, “He does that when you're not around too, you know. He's constantly asking where you are, what you're up to, and if you're safe. Honestly, I wish you were around more so he'd shut up,” he smirked.
I smiled, “Really?”
“Really.”
“His eyes don't change for me.”
“You'll have to stand where I'm standing one day, and see for yourself. Whenever you say something clever, I get shot a look of pride. You never see it, because you're too busy worrying you've said something stupid!”
I could tell he'd been waiting for me to see these things for myself for a long time, as he seemed a little annoyed at my, I thought innocent, questioning.
“John, you're not joking with me now, are you?”
“Right, that's it,” John lost his patient nature, took my hand and pulled me into another room, where Sherlock stood, staring blankly out of the window, playing a simple tune on his beloved violin. “Sherlock...”
Sherlock turned slowly, blinking carefully, as though he hadn't blinked in several minutes. “Yes?”
“Come here.” John pointed for Sherlock to look at me, “Look directly into her eyes, and don't look away. Got it?”
Not normally one to take orders, Sherlock gave John a cautioning glance, before going along with it. It seemed important to John, and Sherlock's interest had been peaked.
“Do you remember,” John narrated our eye contact, “the time she slapped you for trying cocaine?”
I could see a mischievous sparkle in Sherlock's eyes.
“Or the time she enlightened you on the subject of being nice to animals by biting you?”
His eyes glinted with blue flecks growing into his green pupils, the colour changing as his smirk grew.
“Or the time she solved a case with a single sentence?”
“I solved it,” Sherlock's low voice made me shiver, but there was amusement on his face.
“But it wouldn't have happened, if it weren't for those simple few words...”
“No,” Sherlock admitted.
“Think of those things for a minute.”
John tapped my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “Don't move. Keep looking into his eyes.”
“I can still hear you, John,” Sherlock muttered.
John pulled me away from Sherlock a little, and whispered quieter, “Look into his eyes, and watch as they change. What do you see in there? Don't move!” he repeated as I glanced at him. “Keep looking at Sherlock. I can see what you're seeing, and that's the look of pride he reserves only for you. Lestrade thinks it's an older-brother type of thing, but having seen him pine for you when you're away, I'd say it's more than that.”
Something shifted in Sherlock's expression, and I wondered if he could hear his best friend share his secrets with me.
“His mood is instantly lifted whenever you're around – you have no idea how insufferable he can be when you're not here...”
I laughed shortly at this, and Sherlock's lips curled up at the edges.
“Look at the man that's a mystery to most people,” John continued, “and know that he cares about you. You wouldn't be here if he didn't – you wouldn't be able to tolerate him if he chose not to care.”
Sherlock stole a glance at John, and John stopped talking. I knew then, that John was completely right. I couldn't disagree with anything he was saying, and I knew it had taken courage for John to be so open, especially in front of Sherlock, so I stayed silent.
“Is there a purpose to this?” Sherlock interrupted the lingering silence.
“Just saying something you never will,” John smiled. “Now look at him for as long as you want, and know that what I've said is true. I'm going to make some tea.”
After squeezing arm gently, John wandered off to the kitchen, leaving Sherlock and myself looking at each other.
“Did he tell you what you wanted to hear?”
I nodded.
“What did you ask him?”
I blushed.
“I heard everything,” he confirmed.
“I know,” I looked down.
“Did you ask him how I felt about you?”
I nodded sheepishly.
“Do you have your answer?”
“I think so.”
“He's right. I'd be extremely unlikeable if I didn't care for you.”
I smiled at this, wondering how bad he could really become...
He took one long stride across the room to me, and pulled me into a hug, whispering, “If this doesn't prove I care, I don't know what will.”
I looked into his eyes, now a shimmering deep blue and twinkling with mischief before burying my head in his neck. A hug from Sherlock Holmes told me all I needed to know, and I was no longer jealous of John, but very grateful to him. Sherlock Holmes loved me, and although I'd never hear him say it, that hug and John's words, would keep me by Sherlock's side forever.
