The Case of the Meddling Siblings [BBC Sherlock - Johnlock]

4

Sherlock was getting undressed when John bolted.

As bedtime approached, John found himself becoming awkward, unsettled -- he still couldn't tell whether Sherlock had received Mycroft's messages, and he couldn't anticipate what would happen once he had. He worried that his being flustered was obvious to Sherlock, which only made him more so. He needed to take a walk and clear his head. He muttered something that he wasn't sure made sense as he headed out. He felt Sherlock's eyes on him, but Sherlock didn't say anything.

He needed a drink. Rummaging through the cupboards stocked for guest use, he found a bottle and a glass, and he took them outside. He would have preferred to get some distance from Sherlock, from everyone, but there was nowhere to go; unlike London, they were surrounded by a pitch black landscape full of not much. Instead, he softly tread the bricked paths of Stoneview's garden, near enough the house that the lights within dimly lit his way. He tried not to feel like a skulking weirdo. Or a ghost. He eventually located a chair and a table that he was sure would be quaint given more light.

He sat and drank, and he tried not to think. He just wanted to stop doing that -- overthinking was what had landed him in this mess. Watching Sherlock, wondering what he knew, wondering what he knew John knew... It was all too much. Not to mention trying to figure out what to do when Sherlock asked him -- whatever it was he was going to ask him.

He succeeded at not thinking about any of it for entire milliseconds at a time.

After a couple glasses, John realized he was going to have to try something new. He couldn't afford to stay up all night, nor to drink himself into unconsciousness -- not when there was a case on and a murderer possibly still nearby.

He sipped his drink and grudgingly contemplated Ella. What would she say?

You're afraid of Sherlock asking you something related to your sexuality. Why?

Yes, that was Ella -- direct. He scratched his nose, shrugged.

Are you afraid of him being interested in you?

It's fine if he likes men, he responded. (Does he like men? Well, "like" was probably not the right word for it, given Sherlock's general disdain for most of humanity -- but John was still curious, following their conversation during the drive up from London, who exactly Sherlock favored, and when and how he'd acted on it in the past. But he wasn't about to bring it up.)

That's not what I asked. What do you want, John? If you could have any sort of relationship with Sherlock that you desired? It would be good to start by knowing that.

He snorted. She was always asking impossible questions.

Are you attracted to him?

John poured himself another drink.

Let's start with something simpler, then. Not Sherlock. Earlier, you described what happened with Christopher as meaningless. Was Christopher meaningless to you?

He grimaced. No. He didn't like to think about Christopher. About what had happened, after. But he'd cared about him very much.

So what did you mean? Did you not want to kiss him?

He had wanted it, in the moment. He'd thought so, anyway. Who knows what they want at that age? At sixteen, nobody has anything figured out. I'm not gay.

You say that a lot.

I'm not.

That's clear. You're interested in plenty of women. But that doesn't exclude attraction to men.