The One Next Door

My Cereal Killer

                  

"So, what's Molly doing?" John asked.
"Not another group party, I can't take any more of those." Sherlock defended.
"No, never, just asking." John assured.
"I don't know what she's doing, probably having lunch with that bloody cat of hers." Sherlock guessed.
"Helen's a nice cat, she just doesn't like you." John assured.
"I don't like her either, so I guess we're even." Sherlock decided.
"Why don't you like her?" John asked.
"She's scratched me so many times, and she hisses every time I enter a room. I mean, you'd think that she's used to me by now, right?" Sherlock insisted.
"Probably. Maybe you two just got off on the wrong foot?" John asked.
"Paw." Sherlock corrected.
"Don't patronize me Holmes." John insisted. Sherlock just smiled encouragingly, as if daring John to do something about it.
"Dudley seems to like me though, haven't a clue why." Sherlock decided.
"Dudley's the reason we met." John pointed out.
"We would've met one way or another. Eventually our work/coffee shop commutes would've intertwined." Sherlock insisted.
"Well, I'm happy we met the way we did. Because if Molly hadn't been there, we'd never had chances to bond." John pointed out.
"We haven't bonded, I still hate you." Sherlock insisted.
"Of course you do, why else would we be sharing a feast of chicken nuggets together? Only true enemies do that." John agreed.
"Only the most miserable of enemies share such a vile meal." Sherlock assured.
"And why else would we go to the park together, or share a pizza, or walk to the coffee shop every morning?" John asked.
"That's all Molly." Sherlock defended.
"And why else would you complement my hair and lips?" John asked. "You see, now that has a whole new meaning..."
"Oh my goodness, does this whole conspiracy have a name yet?" Sherlock groaned.
"What conspiracy?" John asked.
"Well, everyone I know, which is like, two people, think I have a crush on you. And I don't!" Sherlock insisted.
"Aren't I so crushable though?" John asked, running his fingers through his hair and pulling a smile. Of course, he looked fabulous, but for the sake of Sherlock's mental health, he frowned.
"No, you're not." He insisted.
"You've got to have some crushes though, right?" John asked, sounding a little bit disappointed.
"I'm one to see a cute guy walking down the street, chase him down, get pushed away, think about him for maybe an hour, and then forget that he even existed. None of my crushes last long because I know that I've got no chance with anyone." Sherlock admitted.
"That's not true. You'll find your someone sooner or later, it's only a matter of time before a very attractive guy comes wandering unsuspectingly into this town, and maybe he'll even ask you out before you have chance to screw up." John assured.
"The chances that he'll be attractive, not a total jerk, gay, and into me, is like, 0 to 1,000." Sherlock insisted.
"More like 1 to 1,000, I'm here aren't I?" John asked.
"You're not gay." Sherlock defended.
"How do you know that?" John asked.
"Are you?" Sherlock asked, keeping a very annoyed face and not letting himself hope.
"No." John admitted. Sherlock's slightly elevated heart dropped right back where it started.
"Then there we have it." Sherlock agreed.
"You'll find someone, I'm sure." John insisted.
"Well, if you're sure I'm positive that I'll have nothing to worry about." Sherlock laughed.
"Dudley seemed pretty into you, I'm sure that if you ask really nicely he'll have some kibble with you. Maybe I'll even put a candle out." John suggested.
"I swear to God, one day I'll..." Sherlock's sentence was cut off when the oven beeped, their fifteen minutes were over. "Hold that thought." Sherlock decided as John put the rooster oven mitt back on and went to get the chicken nuggets.
"No fire!" he said excitedly as he pulled the baking sheet out, filled with beautiful golden brown chicken nuggets.
"Don't speak too soon." Sherlock sighed, turning off the oven. But, shockingly, no fire started, and nothing burned. It was only too perfect. So Sherlock and John sat at the table, enjoying their nuggets of victory, too hungry and satisfied to talk to one another. When the last of the crumbs were eaten and their dished washed though, John insisted that he had to take his dog out, the poor thing hadn't been taken out since this morning, and it was probably dying. Sherlock kind of hated to let him leave, but then again, he also kind of liked the silence of being alone. No one was going to judge his life choices when he was all alone. So he sighed, staring at the empty chairs around his flat and sitting down on the couch. John, what in the world was he going to do about that man? It seemed like everyone was pushing him so much to fall in love, but it seemed like the more he denied it the clearer his feelings got. There was no other man on the face of this earth that would be so willing to spend their days with Sherlock, no one so beautiful, no one so kind and caring and compassionate. John was right when he said that he fit the category, he was attractive, not a jerk, and interested in hanging out with Sherlock. The only bad part was that obviously, John wasn't gay, but that could always be fixed. He may think he's straight, but even the straightest of rulers will bend with pressure. Sherlock couldn't help but smile to himself, thinking about his life if he managed to be with John. John would be sitting here, on the couch with him, maybe letting Sherlock lean on his shoulder, snuggled up in a ball and watching TV. They'd make food together every morning, get dressed and ready for the day together; maybe John would even liven up the flat with some of his pictures or decorations. Dudley would be a new member of the household as well, stumbling around on the plastic sheets on the floor, getting slobber all over the paintings that were drying. And Sherlock and John could be together, forever, and nothing would ever stand in their way. But for now, Sherlock sat on his couch, completely alone, no dogs, no pictures, no John. That night Molly wasn't playing the role of social planner, and Sherlock didn't really want to get up off the couch, so he spent the night alone, his brain and heart wrestling over his feelings for John. Of course the logical thing to think was no, of course John wouldn't like him, what did Sherlock have to offer except dysfunction? He had no paycheck to his name, he had no humor, he wasn't even attractive. How could someone so, perfect, so well rounded, ever be interested in someone like him? And with all the denial he's been playing out, all the 'hate' he's shown towards John, he hated to have three people tell him 'I told you so'. But his heart reminded him of the feeling he got when John was around, that carefree weightlessness as John laughed at the stupidest of jokes, or when he talked to Sherlock as an equal, despite all he knew. Just that man's presence was enough to make Sherlock's knees wobble, he was downright gorgeous. But, once again, someone so perfect would never love Sherlock back. Even if he did get his feelings clear, John would never like him.