Daydream Believer

Chapter 10

The day flew by in a blur as the two spent their time traipsing around Central London, which happened to be christened with miles of ambient fairy-lights, extremely over decorated Christmas trees and light-up reindeer statues.  Despite the obnoxiousness of it all, both Sherlock and John lapped it up and thoroughly enjoyed the atmosphere, the warmth (despite it being 2 degrees) and the sense of community in which Christmas provided.

With an exasperated sigh, Sherlock pursed his lips into a tight line and adjusted his shopping bag handles in the crooks of his fingers. 

"I don't want to go back!" pouted the detective.

"I know, Sherlock. But as much as you hate him, Mycroft misses you." returned John.

"No." 

John took a step toward the tall boy and pulled him into a tight embrace while flakes of warm snow sailed down to the ground around them. He could feel Sherlock smiling into his hair as this happened, the two of them radiating desperately needed heat in the unwelcomingly glacial weather. 

"You know where I am." added the athlete, slowly removing himself from the hug. 

"Text me."

"You know I will. Merry Christmas, Sher." 

"Merry Christmas to you too, Watson." 

By the time their mutual goodbyes had been exchanged, a forlorn frown sunk onto John's face as he trundled his way back home. Unbeknownst to him the exact same expression took shape on Sherlock's face as he sat, slouched on the back of the bus.

A very jovial Harriet greeted John as he entered, patting him on the back and snatching a few bags out of his hands to lessen the pressure on his fingers. It wasn't an issue for the athlete, but he appreciated her gesture nonetheless. "Welcome home, baby brother. How was it?" chirped the girl as she placed some bags underneath their tree. Quickly, she rushed back over and stood before her brother, hands on her hips, a smile penning her face. 

"The shopping bit was good but.. Christ Harry, you should've seen the look on his face when I had to send him home." The forlorn frown which hung on John's face sank even further, his heart falling with it. John wished there was more he could do for Sherlock after what had happened these last few weeks, but it was something he'd have to overcome in his own time.

"I know it's hard, John. What's done is done and all you can do now is be there for him - and you're doing a wonderful job at that already." complimented Harriet, offering her open arms for John to fall into. He did. The small athlete broke out into sobs, his knees buckling as he gripped onto his sister's shoulders with an unseen force. 

"I.. I feel like I have no right to be emotional. It didn't happen to... me," began John, his sobs hinting at a plea for help. In response Harriet simply wrapped her brother up and traced circles into his back with her palm; a method their mother used before she up and left. 

"You have every right to be upset, if that happened to my boyfriend well.. God, it's okay John. It'll all be okay. I promise." Her voice broke a little as she comforted her unstable brother. Yet, John didn't bother correcting her about the fact they weren't boyfriends. He didn't have the energy to.

Once John had managed to compose himself, he headed for his bedroom where he spent the following few hours wrapping gifts for Sherlock. Lately, all he could think about was Sherlock. John's entire universe revolved round the detective-to-be and he absolutely adored it. 

John Watson was unmistakably, irretrievably & unapologetically in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Various Christmas-sy tunes ranging from Sinatra to Elton John provided some background noise among the snipping of the scissors and rattling of presents inside their carefully wrapped boxes. Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his pocket, causing him to jump a little at the sensation.

"Damnit! Who is i-" As John fished around in his pocket for his phone, Sherlock's number appeared on the screen, sending a pang of pain through his chest. So, he picked up the phone. 

"John." The detective's voice was dejected and crushed. Was he sobbing? Oh, God. He was sobbing.

"Sherlock- Christ, what's happened?" retorted the smaller man who was now frozen in his place.

"I can't....I can't stay here," added Sherlock, his sobs now distinct and painstakingly wounding for John.

"Come over, I'm here - It's okay," John's mind began to scramble as he thought of what to say. Nothing particular came to mind and he despised that. There wasn't anything left to say if you consider how both of them were utter messes.

"Be there soon..." Sherlock hung up. John pushed himself against the foot of his bed in pure disbelief, his jaw agape and his head spinning. What the fuck just happened? 

In preparation for his friend's arrival, the athlete began to clean his room of the wrapping paper and such, pushing the boxes for Sherlock under his bed before covering it with his throw blanket. Huffing a little, John slumped down onto his bed as the jingles from earlier echoed from his speaker; the atmosphere somewhat drab yet merry. 

Then came a knock at the door. 

"Come in!" called the athlete, his eyes making their way over to the door as it swung open, revealing a vanquished, dispirited Sherlock. Without either of them saying another word, John opened his arms and Sherlock practically collapsed into them, his breathing fast and heavy. 

"Did you run here?!"

"I couldn't be there, John.. I... Mycroft... James," The shaky breaths hitched in the back of Sherlock's throat as he began silently crying, the recollection of the trauma surfacing once more. 

"It's okay, love. Shhh, I'm here now. You're safe." assured John, running his fingers through the others' chestnut jungle, an almost-purr sound escaping from within the detective. John took this as a sign of comfort so he continued to ruffle the curls until the sobbing came to a subtle end. 

In silence, the pair laid in the other's arms, their breathing barely audible above the soft Christmas music playing in the background. Finally, John decided to break the silence with something which had been doing laps around his mind for the last few days.

"Sherlock?"

"Mhm."

"You know right, er, in the hospital? Well I... uhm," began the athlete, clearing his throat. However before he could continue, he was abruptly cut off by Sherlock.

"I love you too."

Ever so slowly, John averted his full attention to Sherlock as their eyes met - locking in place. There was so much pain in Sherlock's translucent eyes; he'd seen and endured many hardships in his time which is something John believed he didn't deserve whatsoever. Despite Sherlock being vain sometimes, he didn't deserve the grief he faced.

"You..." uttered the athlete, his mind racing the pace of an F1 car. "How did you even hear me? Your eyes! They rolled back and-"

"Oh, for God's sake." Sherlock returned, leaning upward to grab the back of John's head, closing the gap as their lips made contact. John's eyes were wide open, but once he realised what was going on, he fluttered them shut; Sherlock soon following suit. 

After an eternity of soft, sweet mumbles in-between delicate kisses, the athlete and detective laid back while staring into each other's eyes, simply enjoying the simplicity and warmth of the moment. 

"I love you, John."

"I love you too, William Sherlock Scott Holmes." Sherlock smiled shyly at John using his whole name, but he was too in love to care. 

Just on time, the clock struck twelve and the chimes from Big-Ben reverberated throughout the crisp London air.

"Merry Christmas, Watson."

"Merry Christmas, Holmes."