He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Battle of the Sexualities

    For a moment they just stood there, lost in their own thoughts of relief, their thoughts drifting to the beautiful gardener who was just a house away.
"I think you've got a chance Molly, he seems to like you." John assured. Molly shook her head in sadness, as if she's excepted this long ago.
"Like I said, I've known him five years. If he really did like me then he would've admitted it, I think I've been as friendzoned as you could possibly get." Molly decided. "But you, I've never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you that night. He looked enchanted, a look of wonder I've only ever seen him wear when he's looking at a beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers."
"Oh good, so to him I'm nothing more than a bunch of flowers, that's reassuring." John muttered with a laugh.
"That's not what I'm saying at all, Sherlock really loves his flowers, and that's an expression I think anyone one would want to have directed at them." Molly assured.
"So then I guess we're either both forever alone or this is a race." John decided.
"A race for his heart?" Molly wondered with a laugh. "I think you've already won."
"We haven't even started. But it's good to know that I'm not the only one that has been put under his spell." John admitted with a sigh of relief.
"Don't worry John, I think the only person that doesn't like Sherlock is Mrs. Turner, and she doesn't like anyone, so she really shouldn't count. I think I've even seen Greg bat his eyelashes at him." Molly admitted with a laugh. "Then again, that was after Greg drank a little bit too much, but you know, your inner feelings come out with just a bit of alcohol."
"I've still yet to formally meet Greg. I talked to him a little bit on the street the other day, but that was before I knew he had such a reputation." John admitted with a laugh.
"Oh don't worry, you'll meet him soon enough. And once you have you'll wish you never did." Molly decided with a laugh.
"Why's that? he's not a charmer too, is he?" John wondered nervously.
"Oh god no, quite the opposite. He's the definition of a human disaster, but he is just so amusing it's impossible not to love him." Molly admitted with a laugh.
"Well then I look forward to meeting him." John decided, and Molly nodded in agreement, finishing off the last of her sandwich and staring rather glumly at her plate.
"Do you think Mrs. Hudson knows the truth?" John wondered, perching on one of the stools at the counter.
"I don't know, I mean, I'd imagine she would, she's more of a mother to Sherlock than his actual mother." Molly decided with a shrug.
"I went over there yesterday for lunch and she kept giggling, like she knew something I didn't." John decided.
"Oh she's just got a way of knowing things long before anyone else does. Sherlock probably didn't even tell her but she probably knows anyway, she reads people better than anyone I've ever met." Molly admitted.
"So she knows that you like him?" John guessed.
"Yes, and she knows that you like him as well. I guarantee it." Molly agreed with a little smile. She seemed thrilled to have someone on the same page as her, someone she can be honest with. John liked that as well, he didn't have to tiptoe around the truth like he had to do with Hamish and Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock himself.
"Brilliant, always good that her first impression of me is gay and in love with her gardener." John sighed.
"Don't worry; she knows that it's normal. She'll probably be rooting for you honestly, she's always trying to get Sherlock to come out of his shell and go on a date with someone." Molly admitted with a laugh.
"Obviously she hasn't succeeded." John guessed.
"If she had, she hasn't mentioned it. I think Sherlock wouldn't really tell anyone either, for some reason he likes to be a lone ranger, separated from romantic feelings. At least that's what he told me." Molly admitted with a sigh. "But that might just be because he wants to keep me in the friend zone."
"I doubt that, and I guarantee the only reason he wouldn't be interested in you is because he's gay. He'd be crazy not to like you back if he were straight." John assured. Molly just laughed, shaking her head and blushing a little bit in embarrassment.
"I doubt that, he's a pretty picky man." She pointed out.
"Don't be modest Molly, you know it's true." John insisted, and Molly shook her head once more.
"Well I guess we'll just have to find out, won't we? You're playing for team gay, and I'm team straight. The game is unlocking Sherlock's heart, and the prize, I suppose, is his love." Molly decided with an almost sad smile, as if she already knew how this was going to end.
"An interesting game." John decided.
"Are you in?" Molly wondered, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Of course I am." John agreed. Molly smiled happily, obviously thinking of something to make it more interesting.
"Let's put some money on it." she decided. John just laughed, shaking his head.
"Does it look like I have any money to spare? I haven't even filled out my application for the hospital yet." John insisted, nodding to the sheets of paper shoved carelessly next to the toaster oven. Molly nodded, but obviously she understood.
"Alright then, no money, but you should step up your flirting game if you want to know the truth. God knows I've tried." Molly admitted. John got up from his stool and put their dishes in the sink to clean later, leaning against the counter with a bit of a blush in his cheeks. The thought of flirting with Sherlock made his stomach twist nervously, that meant that he had to slowly reveal to Sherlock his intentions, and what if his feels aren't returned? What if Sherlock pieced together this little puzzle and completely abandoned John? Even though he could be more, Sherlock was still John's closest friend around here, and if he left John would feel more abandoned than ever.
"Well I guess the first step here is to make Sherlock like me again, apologize to the best of my ability." John decided with a sigh.
"Yes, you should get on that." Molly agreed.
"I'll make him a cup of coffee I suppose." John decided, the only heartfelt apology he could afford at the moment.
"Make sure it's black, two sugars, Sherlock can't stand anything else." Molly warned, and John nodded.
"Oh, well that's great; I've been giving him medium roast." John muttered in embarrassment.
"It's an easy mistake, and it's worse because he'll never bring it up. He'll be polite and drink gross coffee for years." Molly admitted with a sigh.
"That sounds like a story." John decided with a laugh.
"You're so lucky you've got me John, because if not you'd make all the same mistakes I did." Molly admitted with a little laugh.
"I suppose I am lucky, we can be each other's wingman." John agreed.
"Except we're both after the same guy." Molly pointed out.
"That only makes it more exciting." John agreed, and Molly just laughed in agreement. When the bus pulled up outside Molly was long gone, and John was sitting on the front porch in one of the pullout chairs he had unearthed from the garage. He was intentionally sitting outside just in case Sherlock wanted to be the one to apologize, but for as long as he sat there the truck remained in the driveway yet he didn't see any sign of Sherlock in the yard. Maybe he was purposely ignoring him, maybe he was staying inside and gossiping to Mrs. Hudson for the whole time he was 'working', but either way John never saw a sign of the gardener since he had stormed off that morning. Not that John was just sitting out here to make it obvious he was still alive, he was going to make use of his time on the porch whether Sherlock wanted to man up or not. John was filling out his application for the doctor's office, and the more he wrote the more he thought that maybe he should just work at the gas station.
"What are my references...." John muttered, staring dreamily into space as he wondered who he could use. None of his previous employers were from around here, and he certainly couldn't use his mother or something like that. Ugh, job searching was so tedious, that hospital probably couldn't pay people to even get an application, so why did John have to fill out so many questions? How many other doctors could be applying to such a weird little shack? Needless to say when the bus pulled up it was a breath of relief, and John set his application on the ground and walked up to where Hamish was walking down the stairs, his backpack slung over one shoulder and a smile on his face.
"Hi daddy!" he exclaimed, rushing over and giving his father a big hug, as if he hadn't seen him in decades when it's only been a couple of hours.
"Hey buddy, how was school?" John asked, ruffling his hair and letting Hamish wave goodbye to his friends as the bus pulled away.
"It was awesome. Could I have a friend over Friday night?" Hamish wondered hopefully, craning his neck to look up at his father. John frowned, thinking about what plans he might have that night. Of course had had nothing planned because eh he had no friends, so he just shrugged.
"I don't see why not, who is it?" he wondered.
"His name's Archie, he sits next to me and he's really funny." Hamish said with a happy little smile.
"I'll see what I can do; you'll need to fully unpack your room though." John warned, and Hamish frowned a little bit.
"Alright, but if I do that tonight can we have him over?" Hamish wondered hopefully.
"I suppose we can, yes." John agreed, and Hamish smiled wider than ever.
"Yay! You're going to love him, he's so great." Hamish insisted, rushing into the house to start unpacking. John was left in the front yard, sighing heavily and looking back at Mrs. Hudson's yard for any sign of Sherlock. He was shocked to see that Sherlock was actually there, getting something out of the back of his truck. Ironically though, Sherlock had picked this moment to look over at John as well, and for a split second their eyes met. John smiled rather awkwardly and Sherlock turned away, grabbing what looked like a large shovel and nearly ran to the back of the house, out of John's sight. John frowned, but shook his head carelessly. If Sherlock wanted to be immature let him be immature, John was going to be the bigger man here and apologize tomorrow morning, whether Sherlock liked it or not.
"Want some more beans?" John wondered as he watched Hamish twirl his pasta around on his fork, making a big mess of canned marina sauce all over the table. Hamish shook his head, slurping his spaghetti up and making an even bigger mess on his face. John just laughed, seeing the very obvious resemblance between himself and his son. John had put together a very makeshift dinner, complete with pasta, toasted sandwich bread, and canned green beans. Hamish didn't seem to notice the lack of quality, but John was starting to get a little bit tighter with the budget. He had mortgage to pay now, electric, water, heating bills, and now he was paying Sherlock to run around his yard and play in the dirt. John really needed to crack down on this job hunt, because now it was only him making the money and he had to raise his son all by himself. Stupid Mary, stupid Charles, whoever he was. He's probably rich. John scowled, stabbing into his bowls of green beans rather aggressively.
"If Archie comes over can Mr. Sherlock come? I've told him all about Redbeard and he wants to meet him." Hamish said happily. Obviously he didn't know what was going on between John and Sherlock at the moment, so John just nodded, staying silent and letting Hamish talk.
"I saw that picture you drew for him." John pointed out, staring at Hamish accusingly over the table. Hamish just blushed a little bit, shrugging guiltily.
"What?" Hamish wondered, looking confused as to why John was upset.
"You said that they wanted you to draw a picture of dogs and cats, not your make believe love story. And you gave it to Sherlock, that was humiliating, it's one thing joking around with me but people get awkward when you talk about that with them. He might not find it as funny as you do." John insisted. Hamish just frowned, looking down into his plate as if there was more to the story.
"We had to draw our family, not dogs and cats. I didn't know what else to draw, since mommy's gone, Mr. Sherlock was the only person that came to mind. I didn't want to be the only one without a mommy." Hamish muttered, dropping his fork in shame. John stared at Hamish with a feeling like horror building up in his chest, not even bothering to make sure his mouth didn't fall open.
"Hamish I'm sorry, you should've told me that." John insisted, putting his fork down as well and feeling like crap. He had just yelled at Hamish for being sad about not having a mother, why kind of rubbish parent did that make him?
"It's alright daddy, I know you don't like him but I just wished that you did. I think he'd be a great daddy." Hamish muttered, not daring to look his father in the eyes so he just stared at the table in shame, his little feet scuffing along the floor boards below.
"I'm doing everything I can Hamish, and I think that once I find a partner you're going to be pleasantly surprised." John insisted.
"Will they have a dog?" Hamish asked rather hopefully, finally looking up at John, who smiled at him.
"I don't know, I guess I'll have to ask them before I get too attached." John decided.
"You should, I really want a dog, one like Redbeard." Hamish decided.
"Maybe once we get settled down we can get you a hamster or something, a pet of your own." John suggested. Hamish nodded with a smile.
"I want a guinea pig." Hamish decided excitedly.
"A guinea pig? Don't they squeak really loudly?" John wondered.
"Ya, but that will be alright, we can keep it in my room." Hamish assured.
"We'll see, but having your own pet is a lot of responsibility." John pointed out. John had a fish once, when he was younger. He loved that fish but forgot he had to change its bowl, and it died after three days. John cried so hard that his parents had to have a talk with him about how death is a natural part of life, and John held a big funeral in the backyard and insisted that everyone wore black clothes. It was a rough time indeed. Hamish seemed to have lost interest in dinner so John let him run upstairs and finish unpacking the last of his toys. John was left to scrape all of the uneaten pasta into the trash and do all of the dishes, washing them, drying them, and stacking them back into the rather depressingly empty cabinets. John was just about to dig out his application again when the doorbell rang. John sighed, putting down the dish towel and wondering who it could possibly be at this hour. Maybe it was molly, coming to collect her betting money because she had successfully gotten a date with Sherlock. Or maybe it was Mrs. Turner, here to complain about John's neglected flowerbeds and Hamish's name again. Either way John wasn't in the mood, so when he opened the door and saw Sherlock standing on the doorstep he almost screamed.