beyond the gravestones (sherlock/johnlock fanfic)

Chapter 11

John Watson didn't want to get out of bed.

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that he was practically sleeping on top of Sherlock. His head gave a painful throb and he mentally cursed himself. He hadn't gotten this drunk since the stag night, but all the memories from that damn hotel...

What happened last night? he asked himself. He had a vague remembrance of Sherlock carrying him to bed, of asking him to stay, and of Sherlock's fingers running through his hair. Had he forced Sherlock to call him...pretty?

John wondered why everything was so complicated and he couldn't just tell Sherlock how he felt. Was he still grieving Mary? Partially. Was he still trying to build up the courage to apologize to Sherlock? Definitely. Was he afraid of rejection? Absolutely. Sherlock was still such an amateur when it came to understanding emotions. He probably thought that holding hands and cuddling and killing for each other were things people just did  when they cared. He didn't want to scare Sherlock away with some sort of unrequited love confession. He just couldn't. Sherlock was too precious to lose. Underneath the brilliance and the sociopathy, he was the warmest, kindest and most selfless person that John knew.

John would gladly have lain there forever, with Sherlock's breath gently brushing the top of his head, but he was painfully aware of how parched his throat was. He groaned internally when he realized that it was Monday. He couldn't skip work again, obviously; he liked to save his sick days for when he was very ill, or if he had to solve a case with Sherlock. He reluctantly slid out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, cringing with every step.

"Good morning, John." Mrs Hudson said warmly. "Molly's just dropped Rosie off. I thought I'd make you boys a cup of tea."

"Er, thanks, Mrs Hudson." John said, sitting down at the kitchen table. He had a full-blown headache now. "Listen, could you make us a spot of breakfast? I'm really not up to the task of cooking and Sherlock - you know how he gets when he's on a case. He'll set the kitchen on fire."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper."

"Okay, just some paracetamol then."

Mrs Hudson smiled to herself as she set the kettle on the table. "So the couch hasn't been slept on and your room is still out-of-sorts. You and Sherlock shared a bed, didn't you?" When John didn't answer, she turned to face him and smiled widely. "Well?" she demanded. "I'll officiate the wedding."

"What? No! Mrs Hudson, it wasn't like that. We just fell asleep in the same room, that's all."

Mrs Hudson just grinned wider and left the room. As she busied herself looking for paracetamol and frying bacon for the boys, she mentally patted herself on the back. Her plan had been successful, at least partially.

Nobody needs to know that I told the workers to fix John's room as slowly as possible.

***

The steady beep beep beep of the phone infuriated Mycroft. He had called Sherlock several times in the past hour, only to be ignored each time. Sherlock rarely ignored his calls - he usually just picked up, said "not now" and hung up. He was probably on a case, but Mycroft had urgent business with him. Since it was already late evening, he decided to head to Baker Street and wait for Sherlock anyway.

A while later, Mrs Hudson led him up the stairs, seeming unnaturally elated. The door was opened by John Watson, who quickly ushered him in. To his utter surprise, John handed Rosie to him and bustled off to the kitchen, saying "Hold her for a minute, will you?"

Mycroft held her at arm's length, confused. He would never understand why people decided to have...these. Rosie stopped crying and surveyed him with equal parts interest and wariness. Finally, she happily reached out and tweaked his nose. "Ta." she declared. He just held her even further, unsure about what to do. He hadn't dealt with babies since Sherlock and Eurus, and he remembered all too well how that had ended.