Johnlock Oneshots

Spark of Emotion

"I'm. Not. Gay!" Shrieking each word louder than the last, John Hamish Watson is splendidly done with Mycroft Holmes. "Why does everyone think we are in a relationship! We are roommates. R-O-O-M-A-T-E-S!"

"Roommates has a double m," Mycroft chuckles casually.

"You get my point!"

Frozen stands a confused, smirking Sherlock Holmes, "You aren't gay? Since when?" Yet at John's ire, he knowingly hardens his teasing expression.

"No, I am not Sherlock!" Storming out, John notices that Sherlock is wearing his deep purple shirt which always irritated him to his core. Sherlock's skin shines more radiantly and his collarbones are partially exposed whenever he wears the shirt; moreover, it contrasts with his sickly pale complexion. "All it does is exaggerate the gorgeousness he has. And, I can't help but sneak glances at my best friend."

When John realizes he has traveled far enough, he uses his phone's mirror to check if his flushing cheeks have calmed. "No, I am not gay, but I am in love with Sherlock Holmes," he admits to himself. "And now I have to face the mess I left behind."

Sighing, John returns back to 221B Baker Street, but is met with a Sherlock-less house.

"Well," he thought, "at least I can deal with the consequences later..."

Time passes endlessly, and Sherlock arrives home late to see John asleep on the couch and dinner ready in the kitchen.

Muttering, Sherlock celebrates, "Well, today I don't have to eat to my pleasure. All it does is slow my restless brain. Quietly, quietly, grab the plate, tiptoe, tiptoe. Tiptoe! There, and slide it into the—"

"What do you think you are doing? Eat. Sherlock! You are malnourished. I know you have been throwing your dinner away for the past two months, and you barely eat otherwise."

"But—"

"Sherlock!" Warningly, John snaps awake and softens his voice, "Please."

"Fine whatever! I'll just throw out the food when you are not looking," he smartly plans, but his hungry self subconsciously devours most of the delicious food before he has the opportunity. 

"More?" asks John, already reaching for the dish, to which Sherlock smiles sheepishly.

After monitoring him like a worried mother, John shuts down his laptop and retires to his room to struggle to keep awake. "Sleeping is an absolute curse," he ponders. "I rest so little... it's unhealthy, but if I do..." Shaking the thought away, he turns on his side, "Oh, and how much must I be ruining my eyes by using my phone..." Aimlessly, he switches apps and settles to check on his blog.

Awaking to petrified screaming and utter chaos, John Watson is dressed in military uniform while sharp deafening shots fire in the distance. Spying his colleague, he rushes out to treat the injury on his leg. 

"Faster, faster, faster," he thinks, "just a little faster and I can reach him before..."

It all happened so fast. First, the splattering of vivid blood over John's uniform as his friend cried out in pain. Fixing his eyes on the bullet, John is overwhelmed by a new sense of panic. This is war!

"Dead," he recognizes.

"No—," he refuses.

As he loses himself in the severity of the situation, he hears a distinct shot and feels a throbbing pain on his left shoulder while his friend lands on his right leg. And then he screamed and screamed at the dead eyes staring back at him, his dry throat hoarsening. 

"gone! Gone! Gone!"

Shooting up, John feels the frigid sheets on him and pulls his tussled tufts of hair out as he tightens himself into a ball and squeezes his thighs into his chest. 

"No... please... no..." Mumbling helplessly, John, unable to discern present from past, slowly buries himself in unwanted memories. Crashing through the door, Sherlock stumbles groggily and sits by him.

"Comforting is not really my forte," he wonders silently, but he has secretly perused enough of John's romance book collection to do something bold and unlike him. To test the waters, he gently grasps John's right shoulder and lightly pulls it towards himself. Unexpectedly, John crumbled into his arms.

Freezing slightly as adrenaline shoots up his body and his face warms, Sherlock reasons, "He's in shock, so go away pesky feelings." 

Continuing, he wrapped his arm around John to gently massage his tense spine. Eventually settling his hand on his hair, Sherlock tucks himself into John's blanket while John buries himself deeper into Sherlock's grasp.

"I will only stay here until John calms," Sherlock vows as he dozes off, "but in the meantime, I'll make myself comfortable."

Awakening to blinding sun-rays, Sherlock attempts to roll out of bed, but is constricted by the awkward position he is in.

"Any movement will wake John, who needs the sleep, but if I don't move, he'll know I slept with him." 

Flushing at the thought, Sherlock snuggles in. "Just a couple extra moments of touch. It won't feel weird to John if I explain the situation, right?"

Dozing off in the warm sunlit room, Sherlock enjoys every moment of the two blissful hours in which he reminisced every memory that he had of John. "Everything about him... Serious, jovial, sarcastic, lively... His blue eyes clouded with bursts of grey... I'm in love with him... First time I've admitted it to myself. Isn't it odd, how everything happened? I didn't feel this... passion before him. I met him through an acquaintance... and despite deducing a ton about him, he did not scream, 'Piss off!' or despise me for it. It intrigued him... he liked me and complimented me... I've never gotten a compliment on my crazy impulsive tendencies or speeches, and he stayed. I intrigued him... The same way danger intrigues him. He doesn't hate me for my uselessness or troublesome lifestyle, but treats me like a human. I'm not there to solve a boring, obvious crime, but as a companion. Ah, life was monotone before John," he concluded. "He adds such a thrill to it. He truly is my only friend, best friend... and more."

Stirring, John groggily senses, "I feel alive... Where am I? It feels like I have all the time in the world. I'm not alert, nor am I in a daze... Secure... peaceful... How?"

Recollecting his memories, John realizes, "Sherlock!"

Freeing him suddenly, Sherlock props himself up onto his arm, "John! Good morning!"

"Why—"

"You weren't sleeping well, and I too fell asleep with you when I came." Sherlock pretends he is unfazed, but his internal thoughts frenzy, "Was that too casual? What a ridiculous explanation! Great, lost your only friend because of your selfishness. Maybe you should just risk it and just... Okay. I can't—I can't lie to him anymore... I have to tell him now!"

"Th-Thank you," Blushing wildly, John mutters appreciatively.

"Does he feel the same?" John contemplates gazing at the pale ocean eyes locked into his. "Is it worth the risk?"

"I lo..." John begins, "ahem—I'm going to shower." And he tears his eyes away from Sherlock's love-filled ones to climb out of the soft sanctuary as Sherlock closes his gaping mouth.

"I doubt I'll ever have the chance to tell him again."

A/N 

I hope you enjoyed the story! Show support if you'd like and write any suggestions please! Take care of yourself and if you have any ideas do message me! 

A little backstory: This story was in my mind for quite a while, so I wrote it for a rough draft for a story writing thing because I had run out of ideas. However, I forgot to change the names, so my teacher found out I ship Sherlock and John. (I don't think she watched the BBC Show!) Thank you!

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Until we meet again, A.H.