He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

A Demonstration of Masculinity

    "Daddy are you going to get up?" Hamish's voice asked, pushing open John's bedroom door and peeking into the semidarkness.
"Yes, Hamish, I'm getting up, give me a moment." John groaned, sitting up in bed and rubbing his tired eyes. He didn't feel refreshed at all, the way you were supposed to feel after going to bed. Instead it felt like he had used up all of his energy in his dreams, chasing after Sherlock like a lost puppy and now he was completely drained for the rest of the day. John groaned, shutting off his alarm clock once and for all and sliding out of bed, tying his bathrobe around his bare chest and shuffling down the stairs to pour Hamish some cereal and get him started on the day.
"Is Mr. Sherlock going to be around today? I want to give him my drawing." Hamish wondered, sitting on the stools again and kicking his feet in anticipation as John brought down some Coco Puffs from the cabinets.
"He's coming over this morning; I hired him to help us out with our gardening." John admitted.
"Will I be able to see him before I go to school?" Hamish wondered, his smile remaining just as enthusiastic. John shrugged, pouring milk into Hamish's cereal and sliding the bowl over to him.
"I don't know, I guess it depends on how early Sherlock wants to be here." John decided.
"I hope he hurries up, and I hope he brings Redbeard." Hamish admitted with a little pout, staring into his cereal without taking the first bite.
"He'll be here Hamish, don't worry. And if not, you could always show him after school." John assured. Hamish nodded, starting on his cereal while John went to turn on the news, peering out the front window every so often for that white pickup truck to pull into someone's driveway. He didn't know if Sherlock was going to start at Mrs. Hudson's house or at John's, but either way just the appearance of the truck would make John feel a little bit better. It was a rather weird thought to see a guy like Sherlock in a pickup truck. Those cars are usually made for tough guys with muscles and beards and Sherlock was a little fairy prancing around with curlers in his hair. John could sooner imagine him driving a Volkswagen Beetle than a truck, even though with his height John doubted Sherlock could fit through the door.
"You got your stuff all packed?" John wondered, looking away from some news report on local taxes. He didn't want to scare himself with the money right now and besides, he wasn't quite sure what town he was even in.
"Just have to get my homework folder from upstairs." Hamish shrugged, ladling his spoon around his bowl to find any lingering Coco Puffs that might be submerged in the milk.
"Alright then, hurry up; the bus will be here soon." John decided and Hamish nodded, dropping his spoon and leaping off of the stool. John sighed, knowing that he was going to be the one responsible for washing Hamish's bowl and spoon. When Hamish reappeared he was trying once more to fit everything in his backpack, able to zip it shut without too much force but you could see the edges of his binder sticking out from the sides. John just laughed, shaking his head and ruffling Hamish's hair before leading him outside. Honestly John had no idea why he walked Hamish out to the bus stop when it was right in front of the yard, maybe it was because he was scared Mrs. Turner would come out and attack him with her cane, but either way Hamish seemed to appreciate it. John looked hopefully for the truck, not only for his sake but for Hamish's as well, who was scanning the road watching for the same man.
"You think he'll be here?" Hamish wondered. John saw that there was a folded up drawing in Hamish's hands, but John couldn't see the whole thing.
"I don't know buddy, I can't predict him yet." John shrugged, looking down the road for either the truck or the school bus, whichever came first. Hamish nodded, looking a little bit disappointed as he stood with his little backpack in his monster truck shirt. John could only smile, watching his son with a sense of pride. It was a miracle, human life, to think that such an adorable, thoughtful boy could actually be John's own son kind of shocked him. But what surprised him even more was that Hamish could turn out so respectful and so polite even when he was directly related to Mary. Finally there was the sound of an engine coming down the road, and both John and Hamish perked up to see who it might be. Thankfully John could make out the white pickup truck coming down the road, and he couldn't help but smile.
"It's Sherlock." John told Hamish, patting him on the back to make him pay attention.
"Yay, Mr. Sherlock!" Hamish exclaimed, jumping up and down and running to meet the truck as it pulled into Mrs. Hudson's driveway. Redbeard jumped out of the front seat, barking and wagging his long red tail excitedly as Hamish ran to meet him.
"Hello Hamish, you're awfully chipper this morning." Sherlock said with a smile, letting Hamish give him a quick hug before stumbling back, craning his neck so that he could see Sherlock's face so far above him. John walked slowly over across the road, keeping his hands in his pockets and trying to look at Sherlock without thinking about the dream he had last night. What a beautiful dream it was...
"I drew you a picture." Hamish said proudly, holding up the paper with a large smile.
"You drew one for me?" Sherlock asked, making a very surprised face and taking the picture. He examined it for a moment before smiling widely, chuckling and patting Hamish on the top of the head.
"It's great Hamish, I couldn't draw this well until I was fifteen, in fact I'm sure I still can't draw this well." Sherlock admitted with a laugh.
"I thought you'd like it." Hamish agreed. John smiled innocently at Sherlock, who finally seemed to notice he was standing there as well.
"Hello Mr. Watson." He said with a smile.
"Good morning Sherlock." John said with a yawn. Sherlock smiled a little bit, his eyes sweeping John for a moment.
"Nice bathrobe." Sherlock decided. John looked down with a bit of a shock, frowning when he saw that Sherlock was right, he was still wearing his fuzzy blue bathrobe.
"I could've sworn I got dressed today." John muttered, and Sherlock just laughed. Thankfully the sound of an engine approaching ended that conversation, and John looked back to see the bus pulling up.
"Hamish that's your cue!" John called, and Hamish nodded, running and giving his father a hug before scrambling onto the bus, waving out the window until John was out of sight.
"Such a good kid, I don't know where he got it from." John admitted with a sigh, turning back to see Sherlock examining the drawing once more. Redbeard was marking his territory on Mrs. Hudson's mailbox, which made John happy she wasn't awake yet.
"Your son is quite the artist." Sherlock said with a little laugh. John stayed where he was, not sure if Sherlock was inviting him to see the picture or not.
"Honestly I haven't even seen it; he didn't show it to me yet." John admitted with a shrug, and Sherlock just nodded.
"I can see why." Sherlock decided. John's face fell, his cheeks getting red as he could only imagine what Hamish drew, what Hamish thought he knew...
"What is it?" John asked, walking swiftly over to Sherlock's side to examine his son's idea of art. John groaned when he saw it, all drawn sloppily in crayon but the picture was undeniable. There was a little stick figure family, one of Hamish, the smallest one, playing with a terribly drawn stick figure dog that was drawn all in red. That was the cute part, but the part that made John cringe was the two stick figures standing off to the side, one with short blonde hair and one with curly black hair. The two stick figures were standing very close together, their little stick arms overlapping to show that they were holding hands, with a little heart scribbled above.
"Oh my god, oh my..." John grabbed the picture out of Sherlock's hands as fast as he could, folding it up and shaking his head rapidly. "I don't know where he got that from, I really don't, I'm so sorry oh my god that's so embarrassing." John muttered, his face glowing bright red. Sherlock, however, was simply laughing, looking thoroughly amused.
"You don't think I'm taking a seven year old's drawings seriously do you?" he wondered, smiling down at John like he was an idiot.
"No, I mean...I don't know you well enough to tell." John admitted. Sherlock just shook his head, taking a deep breath like it was some tragedy.
"Mr. Watson, I'm a very practical man, I believe things when they're presented to me, not through some drawing from a child." Sherlock assured.
"It's not true, by the way, I don't, you know, I'm not in love with you." John muttered. Something told him that he had to cross his fingers as he delivered that lie right to Sherlock's face.
"I don't doubt that Mr. Watson." Sherlock assured with a smile, but something in his eyes told John that he wasn't being entirely truthful. Something in his eyes made John think that Sherlock knew more than John would like him to know.
"Could I have the drawing back?" Sherlock wondered, holding out one of his very elegant hands.
"Oh, um, ya sure." John muttered. "He drew it for you I guess, so enjoy."
"It may not be entirely true but still, it'll look nice on my fridge." Sherlock decided, folding the drawing back up and setting it on the seat of his car. John just tapped his foot rather awkwardly against the driveway, his hands twisting nervously in his pockets.
"So would you like to come over and see what you can do to the yard?" John wondered, not knowing what else to say at the moment.
"Oh, ya of course, I suppose I can do that first." Sherlock agreed.
"No, no if you weren't planning on my yard first then it's totally fine, you can do Mrs. Hudson's yard first if you wanted to." John assured.
"I had no particular order in mind Mr. Watson, I just do my job." Sherlock assured. John nodded, not quite sure what to say next.
"Alright, ya that's cool." He agreed with a shrug. Sherlock just smiled, as if John amused him in some way.
"As long as it's 'cool'." He agreed with a little laugh, and John shook his head defensively.
"Not trying to be hip, just, let's go look at the flowerbeds, shall we?" John suggested, seeing this conversation was going nowhere.
"We shall." Sherlock agreed, his eyes sparkling as he followed John across the street into his yard.
"Come Redbeard!" Sherlock called, and the dog came running from around the back of Mrs. Hudson's yard with a large stick in his mouth, wobbling around on his paws as he tried to compensate for such a large weight.
"So these are the front flower beds..." John muttered, gesturing to the front of the house rather obviously.
"Yes I was able to gather that." Sherlock agreed. John nodded awkwardly; of course Sherlock would've known that, he's a bloody gardener. Oh dear this was going so badly, if John wanted to make a good impression why did he say such stupid things?
"I would hope so." John agreed. Sherlock stood there for a moment, examining the flower beds as if he were trying to imagine some flowers around the outside of the house.
"Are you planning on painting the exterior anytime soon?" Sherlock wondered.
"Why would that have anything to do with landscaping?" John muttered, his eyebrows creasing in confusion.
"It has everything to do with gardening." Sherlock pointed out. "You need to pick a flower that matches the exterior of the house. I wouldn't want to plant roses only for you to paint the house an ugly orange."
"Why would I ever paint my house orange?" John wondered.
"It's an example Mr. Watson, simply an example." Sherlock assured, raising his arms to calm John down a little bit.
"Oh, alright, ya. Well I mean I don't want to paint the house, maybe touch up some of the paint around the edges, I don't know." John shrugged. The house was covered in brown siding with white window frames and gutters, making it look a bit like a ginger bread house. The yard was a disaster so it looked rather uncared for, but John was sure with some help from Sherlock he could get it up to even Mrs. Turner's standards.
"Alright then, brown siding, that's a bit easy. What do you think about blue flowers? I'm thinking hydrangeas, like the ones I planted for Mrs. Hudson, maybe hyacinth." Sherlock muttered, frowning as he concentrated on the decorating.
"Ya, blue...blue flowers. I mean you're the expert here, I can't pretend to know much about plants." John admitted, nodding along to whatever Sherlock said. Gardening tips and color coordination, two very manly tasks that a straight man definitely possessed. Definitely not confusing there.
"Well this is your house Mr. Watson, I can't tell you what to do with it you have to make that decision on your own." Sherlock insisted. John looked at the house and then back at Sherlock, who was looking at him like he would have some master gardening tips to put out there.
"Ya I don't know, sorry." John shrugged. "Blue is good." Sherlock's beautiful lips cracked into a smile and John couldn't help but smile back, a tingling in his heart like fireworks were going off. He couldn't help but think back to the dream, that lovely dream where they did more than smile at each other. Half of John wished that his dream was looking into the future, and he highly debated leaning against the house just to prove this hypothesis of fortune telling.
"Blue it is then. I'll look into it more; maybe some inspiration would strike later on." Sherlock decided, tapping his fingers against his leg and walking around the back of the house. "Now we could do something in the back here, maybe larger plants, how cool would bamboo look, lining this area of the deck?" Sherlock asked excitedly.
"Horrible, bamboo is like... panda food." John pointed out with a little frown. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head as if he were disappointed with John's lack of taste.
"John it's more than that if you know what to do with it." he pointed out.
"Well I don't know what to do with it, that's why I've got you." John insisted. Sherlock nodded, smiling once more at John as if he were a proud parent.
"Indeed, that's why you've got me." he agreed. Sherlock walked around the house a little bit more, deciding that later on he wanted to make the bank outside the kitchen window into a new flower bed, how he thought a cute little bubbling fountain could look good next to the front porch and how John should really consider adding some color to his house, whether that be by adding a wreath to the front door or adding decorative curtains to the inside. In the end Sherlock just stared at the front flower beds for a good while, his fingers tapping his chin, standing completely still. John stood near the porch, watching Sherlock as he contemplated the exterior decoration. John was starting to get a little bit weirded out by the fact that Sherlock could stand still for long, it had to be at least five minutes of complete silence, nothing moving except his fingers and his eyes, scanning the flower beds as if he had some sort of laser vision. Not that John was complaining, he was having a good time staring right back at Sherlock, finally able to stare at him and appreciate every little feature of his beautiful face without getting look at weird. John was just admiring how sharp Sherlock's cheekbones were when finally Sherlock looked back up, dropping his hand from his chin and giving John a very radiating smile.
"There we go; I've got exactly the thing." Sherlock decided, looking very proud of himself.
"Oh you do, good. Just by...staring at some dirt?" John wondered rather cautiously, wondering what type of brainpower Sherlock Holmes possessed. If he was able to visualize different layouts of flowerbeds in his brain then John was sure his talent was being wasted. Sherlock shouldn't be a gardener he should be a mathematician, or a detective, or a rocket scientist or something. He had mentioned that he went to college for chemistry, so it was a rather shame that his brain was going to waste while he played in the dirt.
"You'd be surprised what a little staring could do." Sherlock decide with a little smile. Oh, I doubt that. John was able to fall in love in a couple of days just by staring.