He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

The Process of Being Happy

    "Your total is sixty seventeen, thank you for shopping at Gavin's Groceries." John mumbled, handing some middle aged mother her receipt and going to grab the next item to start bagging. John was confused; however, when all that was on the belt was a single daffodil, not unlike the one Sherlock had tried to give him this morning.
"I'm sorry, but you're going to need to..." John looked up from the flower into the eyes of the only person who could possibly cheer him up. Even in this hellhole, those eyes could make him smile.
"Going to need to what? Buy you dinner?" Sherlock wondered. John couldn't help but laugh, checking to make sure Sherlock was the last person in his line before staring at his lovely boyfriend, come to cheer him up from work.
"Well don't you know how to make a man smile?" John wondered. Sherlock just laughed modestly, staring at John with admiration.
"Having fun?" Sherlock wondered, plucking the flower from the belt and handing it to John. John took it gently, admiring the flower and feeling much better.
"I haven't been that miserable since Mary." He admitted, feeling a hole in his chest at the mention of that name.
"That's not good, never good." Sherlock decided.
"But you're able to cheer me up, obviously." John pointed out.
"A daffodil for my daffodil seemed fitting. I had to go pick a new one, however, since the local police want to confiscate flowers." Sherlock grumbled.
"They gave it back." John pointed out with a laugh. Sherlock just rolled his eyes, looking as though this were a touchy subject, as though the mistreatment of his flower offended him.
"Alright, well my first one got attacked by a certain paranoid man." Sherlock decided, and once more John couldn't help but laugh.
"I was defending my territory, how was I supposed to know it was you?" John wondered.
"Who else would possibly be in your house?" Sherlock wondered.
"A burglar, a murderer, my mother." John listed, in order from best to worst case scenario.
"So you were going to strangle your mother to death then?" Sherlock wondered.
"Well I was prepared to strangle my boyfriend to death, so yes, I suppose so." John agreed.
"There are worse ways to die I suppose." Sherlock decided.
"Indeed." John agreed. He twirled the flower in his hands, admiring the beautiful yellow flower from all angles. John didn't really think it had any resemblance to him at all; Sherlock kept insisting that his hair was gold when it was more like dirty blond, but of course he wasn't going to complain. If only he knew any tall black flowers that he could call Sherlock. The only thing he could think of that would be remotely close was a black olive, and Sherlock might just kick him if he made that his pet name.
"Well look who we have here? Juliet, in the flesh." Greg said with a laugh. Sherlock looked over at Greg and his eyes got wide, maybe in surprise, maybe in fright, John couldn't really tell.
"Oh yay, it's Greg..." Sherlock muttered.
"Hey Sherlock, how's my favorite gardener doing?" Greg wondered, batting his eyelashes in false flirtation.
"I'm fine Greg, just doing some shopping." Sherlock lied.
"Buying yourself a date for Friday night?" Greg wondered, obviously noticing that there were no bags in Sherlock's hands.
"Always so funny Greg, but tell me when was the last time you've had a girlfriend?" Sherlock wondered.
"Oh I'm just waiting for you honey bunches." Greg snapped with a smile.
"Watch it Greg." John growled, and Greg just laughed, leaning back in his register and sighing.
"Oh the defensive nature of the gays." He sighed.
"Bisexual." John corrected, and Greg just rolled his eyes.
"Whatever." He muttered. Sherlock straightened his scarf and John twirled the flower, neither of them sure of what to do now.
"How's Hamish?" John wondered, changing the topic to a Greg worthy conversation.
"Fine, he's fine. He's got a great story to go to school with; it took all of my persuasive skills to convince him not to wear the armor to school." Sherlock said proudly.
"What did you tell him?" john wondered.
"I convinced him to leave it there in case I needed it later, in case the police came back." Sherlock shrugged.
"I don't think they'll come back." John pointed out.
"Well, now Hamish does." Sherlock shrugged guiltily. John just laughed, smiling lovingly up at his boyfriend, hoping he'd never leave. Of course though, all good things had to come to an end eventually. And around here most all good things were snuffed out by a particular man with a very ugly comb over.
"What's going on here, socializing?" the manager asked, bustling over and straightening his tie, looking at Sherlock and John suspiciously.
"Asking where the dairy section was." Sherlock corrected.
"What are you, stupid? It's in the back, in the fridges." The manager snapped, as if that were obvious.
"You shouldn't call your costumers stupid sir, it's disrespectful." Sherlock insisted, and the manager looked as if he had just been slapped. Obviously he wanted to say something rude back, but Sherlock's taunting smile was enough to make him shut his mouth, sighing heavily and deciding to pick his battles wisely.
"What's that Watson? A flower? Trying to steal from the florist huh?" the manager asked, swatting for the flower with his claw of a hand. John ducked it away from his disgusting fingers, shaking his head rapidly.
"I'm not stealing anything; this didn't come from the store." John insisted.
"Then where did you get a flower from? Are you trying to tell me you brought a flower to work with you?" the manager asked.
"That's not from the store; they can't grow anything half that beautiful here." Sherlock insisted. Greg couldn't help but laugh, trying to stifle his humor into a cough. The manager, however, was starting to look furious, his face getting redder and redder as he was trying to figure out just what was going on.
"Give me that flower!" he insisted.
"No, it's special to me." John muttered, not knowing what else to say.
"You stole it, not give it here!" the manager demanded, holding out his hand furiously.
"I didn't steal it, I swear, I just..." John started.
"I gave it to him." Sherlock admitted quickly, standing a bit taller in defense. The manager stopped, looking up at Sherlock as if he were joking.
"Oh you did, did you? And why would you give my cashier a flower?" the manager asked, looking proud of himself. John looked at Sherlock nervously, hoping he wouldn't say anything that might jeopardize his job.
"What else do you give your boyfriend while they're working?" Sherlock wondered. The manager took a little puff of air, Sherlock's words seeming to have him in the stomach with a figurative mallet.
"Oh haha, very funny. Trying to save his job, huh? You may look like a fairy but Watson here doesn't, don't make up lies to try to test my humanity." He snapped.
"He's not kidding boss, I can vouch for him. John didn't steal the flower; he's been here the whole time. Sherlock came up and gave it to him, he's a gardener." Greg insisted.
"Lestrade, you know this man?" the manager demanded, confronting Greg with a scowl.
"Course I do, he works for my neighbor." Greg shrugged.
"What's more likely Mr. Bossman, an idiot who doesn't even know where to find milk or a man coming to give his boyfriend a flower? You look smart, I'm sure you can figure it out." Sherlock said. Obviously the manager couldn't pick up the sarcasm in his words, but John definitely could, and he did all he could to prevent himself from laughing.
"You! Leave my store this instant, Watson, Lestrade, back to work! I don't want you back here for a good number of days Mr." the manager warned, his eyes flashing at Sherlock, who didn't seem the least bit intimidated.
"As you wish." He shrugged, walking out of the line and giving John a small smile. "I'll see you later." He added, winking at Greg as he passed. The three of them watched him leave, his trench coat flowing behind him as he walked like some sort of cape. John had to admit, he was proud to call such a man his boyfriend.
"What a horrible human being." The manager decided, and with that he bustled off, far less impressive than Sherlock's dramatic exit.
"God, Sherlock is awesome." Greg decided with a laugh. John nodded in agreement, twirling his daffodil in his fingers, his heart racing at the mere thought of Sherlock Holmes. When John finally got off of work he made sure Greg's car was safely in his garage before hopping out of his own, walking directly over to Mrs. Hudson's, where he knew Sherlock would be. His flower was in his fingers, he had made sure it didn't get crushed throughout the rest of the work day, treating with the ultimate care. John didn't bother ringing the doorbell, he didn't really want to talk to Mrs. Hudson at the moment, and he knew where he might find a particular gardener. John walked around the house, past the beautiful bushes and flower gardens that littered the backyard. To be honest he'd never been to the back of the house, obviously Sherlock earned his pay because it looked like a beautiful wonderland, covered with color coordinated plants, bushes, and shrubs, all trimmed and weeded and looking very healthy. It was almost amazing to think that one man was capable of all of this magic. John looked around, not able to see Sherlock anywhere. Maybe he was in the house somewhere, or maybe he was over at John's, doing something with the dead flowerbeds over there. Either way John decided Sherlock wasn't here, and he was just about to turn around when he felt two arms wrap around him from behind, getting hit with a strong scent of potting soil. John didn't bother fighting back; it was obvious who it had to be.
"Good thing it's daylight, otherwise I might've thought you were an attacker." Sherlock's voice said from behind him, and Joh just sighed, squirming a little bit without the intention of escaping Sherlock's embrace.
"You smell like dirt." John decided, really the only thing he could think to say right now. There were plenty of questions floating around in his head, but for his life he couldn't catch one of them.
"Well I'm sorry to hear that." Sherlock laughed, pressing kisses to John's cheek playfully.
"What's got you in a good mood today?" John wondered with a laugh, finally shaking Sherlock off and turning to face him.
"Well, I got to sass some people today, I got to see my favorite man in the entire world many times, and I'm planting some petunias in the side garden. So I'd say my day's going pretty well." Sherlock said with a smile, pressing a final kiss to John's forehead before skipping off towards the side of the house.
"Hi daddy!" Hamish cried, covered in dirt with the biggest smile on his face. He looked like he was trying to dig a hole, but obviously that wasn't going too well.
"Hamish is helping of course, I made sure to be there when the bus arrived." Sherlock said with a proud smile. John sighed in relief, he had actually forgotten about his son momentarily, so he was happy Sherlock didn't share the same forgetfulness.
"Sherlock you're a lifesaver." John insisted, walking over to see what exactly Hamish was doing in the dirt. In the end John helped them with their planting, trying his best to keep his company shirt clean. Of course he didn't let the stupid green shirt prevent him from having any fun, and soon the flowers were planted and there was dirt all over every one of them, strewn in John's hair and smeared over Sherlock's face and plastered up to Hamish's elbows. But there were smiled on their faces, and as they stepped back to admire their work, John almost felt like he was a kid again, getting dirty and not necessarily caring.
"Well that looks lovely, doesn't it?" Sherlock decided.
"Beautiful." John agreed, looking over the purple flowers. Sherlock really did have an eye for color, and the flowers went wonderfully with the bush beside it, a soft pink.
"I've been helping Mr. Sherlock since I got home; I think I want to be a gardener when I grow up!" Hamish said excitedly, and Sherlock just laughed.
"You've got plenty of time to make up your mind Hamish, but I have to admit, being a gardener is a lot of fun." Sherlock shrugged.
"I thought you wanted to be a superhero?" John pointed out, recalling Hamish telling him that a couple of nights ago over dinner.
"Well, that too. I can be the super gardener, defeating evil with my trowel!" Hamish suggested in a loud announcer voice. John just laughed, ruffling Hamish's hair with his dirt covered hand, spraying mulch everywhere.
"Why don't we go clean up Hamish? You're due for a nice long shower I think." John decided.
"Oh alright. I've got math homework to do anyway." Hamish groaned, running off towards home.
"You're welcome to stay for dinner, if you want." John suggested. Sherlock just nodded, looking as if that were ideal. "Nothing as good as Mrs. Hudson's cooking though." John warned, and Sherlock just laughed in agreement.
"If there's anything in this world that was as good as Mrs. Hudson's cooking I would be surprised." Sherlock insisted. John laughed in agreement, for some reason he felt kind of awkward, for some reason Sherlock's dirt covered face looked insanely attractive.
"Thanks for coming to visit me at work today, I really needed that." John decided.
"Well I needed it too; I think we both miss each other's beautiful faces after too long." Sherlock agreed.
"You're calling yourself beautiful, huh?" John wondered.
"Your words Watson." Sherlock pointed out.
"Indeed they are." John agreed. "You're a beautiful mud covered man."
"May I remind you that you also have a fair amount of dirt in your hair?" Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes I know the consequences of hanging out with you I suppose." John agreed.
"It's not like I want to hang out with you, I pity you." Sherlock insisted.
"Oh really?" John wondered, taking Sherlock's hand and leading him over to the Watson house.
"Definitely. Poor thing, you have no friends, I have to entertain you somehow." Sherlock insisted.
"Where's your dog?" John wondered.
"In your house, tracking mud over your floors probably." Sherlock shrugged.
"Brilliant." John sighed, not really that worried.
"Indeed you are." Sherlock agreed, lacing their fingers together and walking up the sidewalk with John. When they finally walked into John's house they found that Sherlock had only been half right. Redbeard was indeed inside his house, but there was no mud to be seen. There was plenty of red dog hair clinging to the furniture, but other than that it was basically clean. Redbeard was lying on the carpet in front of the cold fireplace, looking like he had no trouble making himself at home.
"Hamish is probably in the shower. Do you want a wash cloth or something; get some of that dirt off?" John offered. Sherlock nodded, standing on the welcome mat just in case he wasn't going to be welcome with all this mud. It took a while, a lot of scrubbing and a lot of complaining and a lot of washcloths, but in the end all three of them were dirt free by the time dinner was ready, their clothes relatively clean and their skin pink and raw from rubbing so much. Hamish was the only one that was genuinely clean, considering he had taken a shower, but since Sherlock and John didn't have that luxury they just had to make do with what they could. John worked on dinner while Sherlock and Hamish played with Redbeard, throwing around some sort of dog toy that they had found in Sherlock's truck that afternoon. John thought it was great to see them interacting, and honestly he could see them all as a family. If they were to get married, this is how life would be like every night. This would be the happiness John felt on a regular basis. It was an odd concept actually, to try to process being happy. Ever since that ring finally slid off of his finger John had felt free, free but not satisfied. To be honest he never thought a wedding ring could bring anything but chains and shackles, but the idea of being married to Sherlock was almost like a breath of fresh air. He could finally be in love with the right person, the right man for the rest of his life. John just smiled to himself, stirring the soup he had mad, trying to fathom that he felt eternally happy. Maybe something would ruin this, maybe Mary will show up, maybe Sherlock is a runaway criminal, maybe this was all some sort of utopia dream and John would soon wake up? Either way John didn't really care. He doubted the universe had anymore crap to throw at him, he doubted that anything that involved Sherlock couldn't be half as bad as anything that involved Mary.
"Dinner is served." John said elegantly, bringing over three bowls and the large pot of chicken noodle soup, a gourmet meal of his creation. John had tried his best but obviously he was no cook, so this should be interesting. All in all it was an alright meal, Sherlock gushed about how delicious it was but John knew he was just saying all that to make him feel good about himself. The noodles were a bit soggy, the chicken a bit chewy, and the broth kind of tasted like tap water, but in the end it was edible, and that was all John was really looking for. Dinner was silent except for the slurping of the soup, no one brave enough to start a conversation with Hamish around, listening to every word. As far as awkward family meals went, this was alright. They sat around and watched TV for the rest of the night, which was a bit odd considering John and Hamish rarely ever spent time together after dinner. It was always homework/paperwork/relaxation time, and those activities rarely intercepted. But here they were, John and Sherlock were snuggled up together on the couch, John's arm around Sherlock's shoulders and Sherlock's head buried in John's shoulder, his knees curled up to his chest like a little ball. Hamish sat on the other side of John, though he was far less affectionate. He sprawled out across the arm rest and watched cartoons nearly upside down, a transfixed look on his face at all times, even through the most boring of commercials. It was peaceful, it was relaxing, it was loving. John was close to the two people he loved most in this world, and he didn't want to let go anytime soon. Unfortunately though, eight o'clock rolled around and John gave Hamish a glare, hoping he'd get the message.