Happy For the Stranger (Johnlock)

8

The next thing I know, I'm asleep in Sherlock's bed, dreaming about him and anything that we could be. When I wake up, small beams of lights are flooding through the curtains and Sherlock is not next to me in the bed anymore. Standing up and rubbing a sore spot out of my neck from sitting up and sleeping I walk to the kitchen where I hear several swears and grumbling. It seems like Sherlock is feeling better.

"Shit!" i hear a cry and the fire alarm goes off, black smoke billowing from the kitchen.

"Sherlock, what did you do?" I hurry into the kitchen, suddenly very awake and I see him huddled on the floor, clutching his hand, a fire burning on the stove. "Oh, Sherlock." I take the fire extinguisher from the wall and douse the stove in the foamy stuff, until the fire is out. Opening the windows, the smoke begins to pour out. I kneel next to him o n the ground. "Did you burn yourself?"

He nods pitifully and I run to get my medical kit. After putting oil on his hands and wrapping it up, I direct his face to mine by putting my finger under his chin.

"What on earth were you doing?" I give a small, concerned chuckle.

"You took are of my all yesterday and I wanted to repay you, so I was trying to make you breakfast, but somehow the pancake batter caught on fire and I may have mixed up some acid with the milk and that probably didn't help." His sad eyes break away from mine and the stubble on his chin prickles my fingers.

"Sherlock." I chuckle and drop my hand, sitting on the floor next to him, probably a little too close than normal friends would be sitting.

"Would you rather go out for breakfast?" He asks and I nod looking over at him.

"I'd love to."

I start to get up to get dressed but he stops me. "This is a breakfast date John! You don't wear clothes/ You wear your pyjamas. Let's go!"

I chuckle, but my mind is stuck on the first thing he said. Date? Is this a date?

Hailing a cab, we drive to a small breakfast nook on the corner of a street. The inside is painted orange and yellow, happy colours. Once we're seated we both order eggs, bacon, toast, fruit and just about everything else.

We talk for a bit until our minds are brought to the incident this morning and it's suddenly the funniest thing on the planet. Discussing the topic more and more we just laugh more, until tears are running down our face, and I'm holding onto his wrist for support.

The waitress comes back at that exact moment and smiles as she sets down our food. "Breakfast for the happy couple!" She says with a smile.

"Oh, we're not dating." I say nonchalantly, but then look down and see our now intertwines fingers... oh.

She leaves with a smirk and I look up at Sherlock. He looks as surprised as I do, and immediately pull his hand away.

I'm slightly disappointed at the action, but smile anyway, digging into the food. Conversation stops as we both eat, but the unmistakeable feeling of his foot against mine is almost too much.

After all the food is gone, we split the check and decide to walk back to the flat, even though we are in our pyjamas. As we walk, our hands brush several times, but none of those times it lasts. When we get back to the flat we silently climb the stairs, the unmistakable smell of burning food still evident. Opening more windows, the smell still doesn't go away, but it will eventually. The day passes on in silence, me reading the paper and watching crap telly, and Sherlock continuing on some gruesome experiment. When the sky grows dark I begin to get ready for bed, and i hear the small sounds of a violin being tuned.

I realize I haven't even heard him play yet, so I sit myself down in a chair and listen to the plucking of the strings until he picks up the bow and runs it smoothly over the surface of the strings, producing a lovely sound that makes me want to fall asleep.

And within minutes, I do, vaguely remember moving up the steps, but not walking. Strong hands laying me in my bed and I think this part is my imagination, but perfect cupid bow lips pressing against my forehead. I must be dreaming.

"Goodnight John."

I smile.