The Devil Was Never Here

An Odd Way To Nap

"Molly must be asleep by now; it's been about an hour." John guessed, checking the clock on his phone before pushing it away carelessly.
"I can only assume. I hope she is a deep sleeper, I would hate to wake her up with our meaningless conversations." Sherlock muttered, sipping the last bit of coffee from the bottom of his mug.
"I don't find our conversations meaningless, quite the opposite actually." John admitted. Sherlock just laughed in a sort of relieved way, even if he thought John was just trying to but his self-consciousness at ease.
"Well then, maybe they're not, who knows?" he wondered. "I don't like talking just to mask silence."
"What are conversations that interest you then?" John asked curiously, his eyes glowing bright even in this dimly lit living room. Sherlock just shrugged, setting his cup back onto the coffee table and hugging his knees to his chest.
"Oh, I don't know. I like those conversations where you just talk and talk, where you just admit things dispute the consequences." Sherlock admitted. John just laughed, nodding in agreement while his cheeks turned a different hue, as if something about admitting things disturbed him.
"Yes I agree, those late night chats. Who have you talked like that to?" John asked. Sherlock tried to think for a moment, but really only one name ever came up.
"Victor." He admitted. "Victor knew everything about me."
"Well that's because you were in love. How long were you two together?" John asked, trying to keep his tone casual while his eyes flicked nervously around the room.
"About two years." Sherlock said regretfully. "I only wish I knew more about him so that I could've prevented his death, maybe talked some sense into him."
"If he were still alive do you think you would still be together?" John asked curiously. Sherlock looked up at him quickly, not only had that question startled him but the very fact that he didn't know the answer startled him more. Just when he thought he had pondered everything about Victor Trevor, here was another question sprouted from the brain of another beautiful man.
"I'm not sure, I haven't thought about that." Sherlock admitted, leaning his right shoulder against the couch and gazing at John through the multicolored light of the television.
"If he had continued down that path I think you would've found him rather incompatible." John guessed, sounding a bit hopeful.
"And what do you know about my taste in men? Maybe I find dark magic...attractive?" Sherlock said in all seriousness, just to try to scare John a little bit. Of course there was nothing attractive about dark magic and necromancy, but John didn't know that, at least not yet. John looked up at him with a rather nervous look, as if trying to figure out if he were lying or not. But Sherlock had perfected his poker face over the years, and John's fears weren't subsided just by observing Sherlock's face.
"Well I mean, I guess it's whatever you're into...I'm not going to judge." John admitted nervously, avoiding Sherlock's eyes at all costs. But finally Sherlock just let himself laugh, giggling to himself quietly while John tried to figure out just what he found so funny.
"Oh so you were lying?" John clarified, sounding annoyed yet relieved.
"Well of course I was! As someone who wallows in death their whole life I hardly find dark magic acceptable, much less attractive." Sherlock assured. John took a deep breath of relief, nodding a little bit with a rather small smile.
"Good, I kind of thought you were crazy for a moment there." He admitted heavily.
"Well no one said I was sane." Sherlock shrugged, waving his white hand through the air carelessly.
"That's a matter of opinion I suppose." John decided, his brown eyes focusing on Sherlock once more, focusing with a glare that refused to subside.
"What do you think of my sanity, Mr. Watson? Surely a man who walks in the paths of the dead can't be altogether there?" Sherlock wondered curiously, his eyes sparkling in an almost flirtatious manner. John just shrugged, a small smile appearing on his lips dispute there being no reason to smile.
"I think that every man is different in his own ways, and you are no exception. Sanity isn't a true form of the human brain; it's what's considered normal. If your mind works a little bit differently than someone else's then you are to be considered insane, maybe because you can just think broader than the masses." John guessed. Sherlock could only laugh, shaking his head a little bit in awe.
"The wisdom of a doctor, truly remarkable." Sherlock admitted with a smile.
"I don't think I'm that remarkable." John defended. Sherlock looked at him with some pity, not because he thought John wasn't spectacular but because John surely couldn't realize just how spectacular he was.
"Well then maybe you should take a moment to look at yourself through my eyes." Sherlock suggested. John just raised an eyebrow in curiosity, as if he were wondering just what that meant.
"I could be wrong; Sherlock, but I might consider that as a sort of pick up line." John decided, laughing a little bit while his cheeks flushed.
"I hate to correct you then." Sherlock muttered. John's eyes studied him for a moment, and Sherlock watched him just as intensely. For a moment then it didn't seem to matter who they were or whether or not one of them wore a ring on their finger, for just that brief second as they observed the other they seemed to be somewhat compatible, somewhat united. Sherlock had the strangest urge to ease himself closer to John, he wanted to be with him in a way he knew he shouldn't. There was a strange energy radiating off of the two of them in the lamp lit darkness, but nothing became of it that night. No matter how personal their conversations became or how long their eyes were focused on one another, they didn't make any sort of move to initiate anything. That was for the best, of course, but now John wasn't just repressing an invading soul he was also repressing thoughts, feelings which he couldn't explain. Maybe it was just the caffeine pumping through their veins, or possibly the darkness taking its final toll on their mental states. Or, quite possibly, it was simply the act of repressing that made them more and more desperate for the other. Maybe it was there mere consideration that there were undesired feelings that sparked more and more temptation. And yet, nothing became of it.