The Lazarus Machine

Chapter 34

Sherlock seemed rather desperate for the cool, damp air in the gardens.  There were lights placed here and there amongst the topiary and smaller candles flickered along the paths, but mostly the out-of-doors was watery moonlight and deep shadow.  John watched Sherlock's eyes dart around in the darkness, taking note of anyone else he saw.  A few people had spilled onto the balcony, so Sherlock pulled John onto the lawn.

"Is everything all right, Sherlock?" John asked when Sherlock had found them a cold stone bench to perch upon.  Sherlock leaned back, stretching out his long legs.  John sat upright and as close to the edge as possible, balancing his cane against the bench behind him.  The cool air felt good after the stifling weather indoors, but the bitter cold against his backside would quickly become numbing.

"Yes, fine, John," Sherlock replied shortly.  "Just tired of all the stupid people.  So much idiocy and vanity and obliviousness in one place could cause an explosion, you know.  The candle flames would set it off like black powder."

John patted Sherlock's hand.

"Can't escape them for one minute.  Just look at them, the nosy cows."

John turned his head to where Sherlock was glaring.  At least twenty more people had come out onto the balcony in the few minutes he and Sherlock had been out there.

"Perhaps a dance just ended and they've come out to cool down."

"No, second movement.  They're watching us."

John listened to the music still audible from the glowing ballroom.  He had to agree; it didn't sound like the piece had just started, nor were the musicians taking a break.  He and Sherlock were sitting near several path lights.  If John could see the expression on Sherlock's face so clearly, surely so could anyone on the balcony.

"Why would they be watching us?  We're not doing anything interesting."

"Oh, yes, John, brilliant!"

John would never have guessed what would come after that exclamation.  Sherlock shifted, pressing his knee against John's, put both hands on his shoulders, and pressed their lips together.

It was chaste, at first, but John pulled back from Sherlock's enthusiastic embrace just enough to soften the kiss, make it more tender.  John didn't know what impulse overtook Sherlock, but he wasn't going to let this chance go to waste.  He moved one hand to Sherlock's cheek, stroking the high cheekbones with his fingertips, and his other hand to Sherlock's knee where it pressed against his own.

Sherlock's lips were soft and full with a sharply peaked Cupid's bow.  John followed the well-defined line with his lips.  A shiver went through him as he thought about tracing that line with his tongue.  He couldn't believe Sherlock had initiated kissing; John had felt so sure that Sherlock had no interest in him that way.  Their kiss at the magistrate's office had been somewhat hesitant on Sherlock's part, and quick.

But Sherlock, John realized after a few seconds, wasn't actively participating in this kiss.  He was leaning forward, keeping the pressure consistent, adjusting himself to John's preferences, but he wasn't really kissing back, not exactly.  John pulled back slightly, his eyes straining to see Sherlock's eyes in the flickering light.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry… did you... have you... have you never been kissed before?  Or am I doing something you don't like?"  John made sure to keep his voice very low and not make any sudden movement of withdrawal.  If the people on the balcony could see, they could possibly overhear, and this was private, dammit, no matter how public.

"It's nothing like that, John," Sherlock murmured back softly, though that was not really an answer to the question.  "I think we've given them enough of a show so that we might make our excuses and depart for home."  Sherlock gently moved away, his hands dropping from John's shoulders. 

A show.  John turned away from Sherlock, facing the garden so his face couldn't be seen by the multitudes of curious guests not-so-subtly sashaying past through the glow from the bright windows behind him.  He focused out into the darkness until Sherlock disappeared from the corner of his eye. 

"I thought you didn't care what people thought."

"I don't care, John, but sometimes it's convenient to have them believe one thing or another."

Sherlock seemed content to let it go at that, but the conversation kept going in John's head.  He turned it around several ways, but none of them ended well.

When Sherlock plucked at his elbow again and said, "Come, John," he dutifully followed his heartless husband into the cackle of hyenas inside.