The Mind Of a Fangirl // One-shots

It's All Coming Back to Me Now // Sherlock

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)
Ship: Johnlock / mentions of Mystrade

The one where one evening keeps haunting John's mind.

It had only happened once.

After the engagement party of Mycroft and Greg, something had happened. Something that wasn't acknowledged, something they didn't speak of.

John wasn't sure how it happened, but when he woke up the morning after the party, he was lying in Sherlock's bed.

Naked.

With the detective next to him.

He remembered he had really enjoyed himself at the party, while Sherlock kept complaining about the ridiculousness of it. He remembered how he had had maybe just a little too much to drink. He remembered how they decided to leave after the two of them had developed trouble standing upright, he remembered how they said goodbye to Mycroft and Greg, he remembered how they went outside and how Sherlock hailed a cab, taking them back to Baker Street.

However, he had no idea what had happened between the moment they entered their flat, the last thing he remembered of that night, and the moment he woke up with Sherlock next to him, both wearing next to nothing.

Something had happened, and John could of course guess what; he was just not sure how, and why he wanted to remember it.

He should feel weird about it: he was straight and he was not attracted to Sherlock... and the two of them still ended up in bed together.

After John had woken up, he had panicked a little, seeing the man next to him, and had run off to his own room. A few hours later, when he and Sherlock emerged from their respective rooms, neither of them had brought up the incident.

It had been three months, and both of them had ignored what had happened.

It wasn't acknowledged, they didn't speak about it. It had only happened once, and John wasn't even sure Sherlock remembered the whole incident. Both of them had had quite some wine, champagne and other alcoholic beverages, and when John had left the room, the detective had still been asleep; it was possible he had no memories of that night whatsoever.

That was why John didn't bring it up. It had been three months, but even though John had been wanting to talk about it for all that time, he was afraid to ruin their friendship by trying to have a conversation about something that Sherlock didn't even remember. 

If he remained silent, there would be no conflict. There would be no awkwardness, there would be no grudges, there would be no hard feelings. They could just continue to live as they did now, as they had been doing before the whole... before that night.

"It was only one time," John whispered to himself. He was standing in front of the mirror, nervously adjusting his bow tie, trying to smooth the sleeves of his suit, putting product into his hair, when a soft knock on the door of his room disturbed his attempt at peace.

"John?" 

Sherlock.

John looked at himself in the mirror, sighed and took a deep breath before answering his friend. "Yes, come in. I'm fully clothed." That had, of course, been different, he thought while turning around to face Sherlock.

The detective leaned against the door frame, looking both dashingly handsome and incredibly bored, judged by his facial expression and the way he stared into the thin air in front of him. "Ready?" He asked, not even trying to keep the boredom out of his voice.

John, who couldn't get himself to look Sherlock in the eye, nodded, glancing into the mirror sideways.

"You look good, John, no need to reassure."