How Could You? (A Johnlock Fanfic)

Holiday

ONE YEAR LATER (Sorry for the time skip but this'll never be finished if I don't)

John's POV

This past year with Sherlock has been the best year of my life. Like all couples, we've had our fights, disagreements, differences, although we've managed to get past those with relative ease. We aren't in a very physical relationship, but that's ok with me; I pride myself on the fact that one of my kisses can send him mewling like a kitten. And so, that came to be his new nickname. One morning, after an exceptionally challenging case, I sat in the living room while my boyfriend made some tea and thought about the past few years. All this time we've been together, and aside from Dartmoor we haven't had a holiday! Of course I know that Sherlock would rather be solving cases, but I also think that we need some time to ourselves. I also have to think of a plan for my little surprise. 

"You ok, Bumblebee? You look very lost in thought." Sherlock called from the kitchen.

"Y-yes Kitten, I'm fine! Just thinking, that's all."

"And what may that be?" His voice seemed much closer now, and I realised he was standing right next to me with my cuppa. 

"Well..." should I tell him? "You see, I was just thinking that the only holiday we've ever had was for a case. The Hound of the Baskervilles remember? Well I though, why don't we go on a trip? It doesn't have to be far, of course, in case you needed to-"

I was interrupted by a pair of soft lips cushioned against mine, and I inhaled the scent of Sherlock. He smelled very slightly of nicotine, which was almost completely masked by the green apples and oak smell that dominated his aura. That was almost as addictive as the nicotine he smoked to solve cases, and the adrenaline I get from rushing through the London streets, speeding after criminals. 

"That sounds lovely, Bumblebee. Where shall we go?" He moved away to his armchair and I immediately missed the warmth he took with him. 

"Actually, I was hoping you'd have some ideas?"

"Well then, my dearest Watson, you leave this with me."

The next week

Sherlock's POV

Using Mycroft's resources, my brain and (unknowingly) John's military training, I managed to solve enough cases for my brother to allow me some of his ever-growing wealth. Lending me a decent amount of money (I shall not specify how much) he decided that I could indeed take John on a holiday, and I knew just the destination. Walking through the front door of 221B Baker Street and hiding the tickets behind my back, I started climbing the stairs as quietly as I could, so I didn't let John know that I was home. Slowly creaking the door open, I could see my Bumblebee updating his blog on his laptop; how I wish I could hack the damn thing, but his password is one of the hardest yet, and it is pretty much impossible to guess. I stepped into the room and after a few minutes of the occasional click from John's laptop, I cleared my throat. He leapt up in surprise, fists up, and whirled around to face me. 

Dropping his fists to his side with a sigh, he mumbled, "Jesus Love, you almost gave me a heart attack."

Smirking, I wrapped him up in my arms (the tickets safely stored in my pockets) and placed a kiss in his hair. I grabbed the nearby eye mask and placed it securely on Johns face. He didn't protest too much, just saying "What on Earth are you doing?"

I pushed him gently down onto the sofa, and laid out the passports, first-class tickets and brand new suitcases onto the coffee table. 

"Take off the blindfold, John."

He did so, and shock was written all over his face. Mouth hanging open, he looked at the tickets and gasped in surprise. 

"Paris? We're going to Paris!"

"Indeed we are Bumblebee. Is that ok?"

"Oh Sherl," he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me close, resting his cheek against my stomach, "It's perfect! When is it scheduled for?"

"Three days from now."

"Three days? So, Friday. Well then Kitten, best get packing."

"Ah yes. Forgot about that."

Rolling his eyes playfully, he grabbed the cases and my hand and dragged me to our room to start packing. I spent ages staring at my wardrobe, deciding which outfits to take, smart, casual, and my sock index. Eventually, I settled on my favourite purple shirt and a few others, a few pairs of black slacks, black jean and some polo shirts I picked up the other day, and the rest of the necessities; toothbrush, toothpaste, underwear etc. Next I grabbed a phone charger, a book, two pairs of polished black shoes, and my secret supply of hair curlers - my hair was naturally bouncy, but every now and again I liked to roll them up to make them twice as curly as usual. 

I looked over at John, who had packed in a similar way to me. I grabbed the passports and tickets to put in my carry-on bag, and noticed a folded piece of paper fall to the floor. It read:

'To my dearest brother, enjoy your holiday. I am but a phone call away. Mycroft."

Smiling, I turned to John.

"Dinner?"

"Starving."