White Noise

Room Two Hundred Twenty One

           

John felt quite happy as he finished off the last of his microwaved dinner, still without a sign of either member of his pathetic family. But he was okay with that, he was so okay with that. John charged his laptop downstairs but he didn't look at any pictures, instead he looked up beach vacations, looking at the pictures of the beautiful waves in the dying sunset, wishing beyond anything that he could be there to experience such magic with the man he loved. The clock's hands got farther and farther and soon John was closing his laptop, setting it neatly down on the hardwood floor and making his way up the stairs. He felt the weight of his wedding ring in his pocket as he ascended, and he made a note to leave it on the dresser when he left. He certainly wouldn't need it where he was going. He found Mary sitting up in bed; a book light perched behind her as she read some miserable love novel. She smiled at him, and for the first time in what felt like ages, John was able to smile back.
"You seem happy today John, something good happen at work?" Mary wondered in her sweet voice. John nodded, just going along with anything she wanted to say.
"Yes, I think that if I go in early tomorrow I will be finished with everything I need to do to catch up." John said with a smile, making an excuse for himself as quickly as he could.
"Oh, you're going early again?" Mary wondered in disappointment.
"What's wrong with that? It's not like I do anything around here in the morning anyway." John insisted, changing quickly into his pajamas but keeping his normal clothes in a tight pile next to the bed, so that when he needed to slip them back on he wouldn't have too much trouble finding them in the dark.
"It's just nice seeing you anymore, I feel like we've been drifting apart." Mary admitted. John just shook his head, sitting under the covers and smiling a very forced smile at the wretched woman next to him. She thought they were drifting? How blind was she? There was a continental divide between them, there was a universe away from any attraction, they had drifted so far that he couldn't see the gleam of her golden hair, and he then knew that it was far enough.
"Don't worry Mary, we're closer than ever." he assured, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. It pained him to do that, it literally felt like he had dipped his lips in acid, but he knew that was what was necessary, he knew that it was what she was expecting. If Mary went to bed satisfied then she wouldn't be as hostile if she woke up to find the bed empty. And besides, John could make up that miserable kiss with much better ones as soon as he finds Sherlock where he was promised to be. John snuggled under the covers, facing away from his wife and staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Finally she turned off her reading light and tucked in beside him, pulling most all of the blankets around her and mumbling a very sleepy goodnight. John muttered back, but even he couldn't decipher the sounds he had just made. Thankfully it seemed like Mary was already asleep, and soon she fell still. John waited a little bit longer; he watched the red lights of the LED clock on the bedside table as they grew steadily closer to midnight. His eyes remained open and he remained alert, he knew that his time would come. Finally after it had been a good ten minutes of silence and stillness from Mary, John got up from the bed, creeping out from under the covers as stealthily as he possibly could. It was actually quite surprising what he could do when he put his mind to it, and before the clock had changed too many numbers he was already slipping down the stairs in his work clothes, the napkin stuffed securely in his pocket. It was his invitation; he couldn't get in without it. John crept into the garage and turned on the car, the only sound that he was afraid might give away his location. But at the expense of secrecy he knew that he couldn't waste any more time, if he showed up around one o'clock Sherlock surely wouldn't let him in, and even if he did they would only have five precious hours together until John would have to slip away to work. Thankfully no lights went on as he pulled his car out of the garage, and as the door closed he made sure not to turn on the car lights until he was well away from the house. He turned off the radio and sat in silence, occasionally checking his hair in the mirror and popping a couple of mints into his mouth. He had to look perfect, his looks had to compete with those of Victor and his etiquette had to be up to par. Sherlock wouldn't waste his time with a disheveled man whose breath tasted like he had just rolled out of bed, he had too high standards. He was an angel, he had confirmed it himself, and John had to do everything he could to make himself as holy as was expected of him on the drive over. When John pulled up the curb he jumped excitedly out, his legs starting to wobble in anticipation as he looked up at all the familiar terraces, stretched empty above him like birds' nests perched on the side of a cliff. The sidewalks were almost foreign when they were empty, and John walked along the trash strewn cement to the door. He was shocked when he saw that a light was on, and he ducked behind the concreate wall when he saw that none other than Mrs. Hudson was manning the counter. She sat in a chair and was doing some sort of paperwork by the light a meager lamp, but her very presence jeopardized John's mission. How was she to know that this napkin was legitimately defaced by Sherlock? Why on earth would an old brute like that let John up to his room at this hour of night? She would send him away, she didn't know the sacrifices he had to make to be here, she didn't understand the fragileness of a love affair! She would turn him away, she would tell him to leave her Sherlock alone, and if he failed this time she would most certainly send him away every time after this! No, he had to be smarter than that, he couldn't give up but he couldn't walk in. So what to do? John looked up at the terraces with interest, seeing to his delight that a metal fire escape dangled almost too close to the ground, very accessible for a man even of his height. It was fate, he knew it as soon as he jumped and reached the cold iron stairs, God smiled down upon him and granted access to his most beautiful angel. John ascended the stairs as quietly as he could, but he now faced the problem of which room to access. This fire escape granted him access to most all of the terraces, but he just had to pick which one was two hundred twenty one. If it had been a hotel then they would've gone by floor, the one hundreds on the first floor, the two hundreds on the second etc., but he suspected that this little old apartment complex didn't have nearly enough rooms to fit that many rooms on one floor. So two hundred would be towards the top, maybe the very top actually, and twenty one would be somewhere along the right side, since the lobby was on the left. So he made his way across the topmost catwalk of the rickety fire escape, willing himself not to look down at the darkened sidewalk below. John saw the flicker of a light near the end of the building, and his steps quieted as he approached, knowing that someone was awake. He crept closer and as he approached that light he started to feel that telltale tugging in the bottom of his stomach, he started to feel his heart do cartwheels in his chest. That was enough to confirm his suspicions; only one man would stay up this late, only one man would be presumably waiting for another... The catwalk creaked beneath him as he dropped to all fours, crawling on the rough iron as he made his way towards the flickering light, his heart nearly bursting in excitement, his hands going numb from the pain of putting so much weight against the rough iron below. The light grew nearer and finally John found himself right outside the window, crouching in the shadows against the brick wall and mustering up the courage to look in. He glanced below him and saw that the sidewalk was just as quiet as he had left it, his car sitting alone on the curb, looking much different from this height. If John had ben any less mature he would've spit just to hear the impact it had upon the cement, but he thought better of it and in the end settled with accomplishing his main goal, the reason he was here in the first place. John took a deep breath and leaned forward, peering into the room where the flickering light was produced from. Inside he saw Sherlock; oh he was right it was him! Sitting by the light of a single lamp, a book clutched in his hands as he sat against the wall on his bed, he was beautiful, he was majestic; he was there for the taking! John smiled in satisfaction, just about to knock on the window when he saw Sherlock start to move. He couldn't have seen John's figure, he never once glanced towards the window, but he glanced at the clock, seeing that it was nearly twelve thirty, and finally closed the book. Sherlock glanced towards the door in disappointment, as if he had been waiting for John's arrival, and set the book down on the table next to him. Sherlock got to his feet, running his fingers through his beautiful curls so that they all stood up and scattered about his forehead. John was still tempted to knock, but he was still rather transfixed, seeing Sherlock moving when he thought he was alone, seeing him act like a normal human being instead of a flirtatious angel, it was a very interesting character study. A chilly wind cut through John's thin shirt but he thought nothing of it, in fact the single light of that lamp was enough to warm him even through this glass. Sherlock stretched out, yawning widely and sighing, glancing again at the door as if he were tempted to just go check the hallway, as if John had gotten lost. He was thinking about him, he was missing him! He was hoping that he would show! And then he reached up to his back and pulled off his white cotton shirt, standing there with his pale skin illuminated in the lamp light, a pale white aura engulfing his beautiful body as he stood there, as if contemplating whether or not he should crawl into bed just yet. John wasn't necessarily ready to give up his location, but he soon found that the window had fogged up with his erratic breath, and he smacked his hand against the window, trying to get closer and forgetting that there was a live person there, listening to every move he made. Sherlock jumped, but as soon as he saw John's foggy figure behind the glass his expression changed from surprise to relief, and he walked slowly over to the window, approaching in all his beauty, not once hesitating or debating whether or not it was in his best interest to open the window. John waited impatiently, his hands clutching at the brick windowsill until the small stones dug through his skin. His heart was beating uncontrollably, and he was about ready to break this glass if it meant he was closer to Sherlock sooner. If felt like it was taking a lifetime for Sherlock to get over to this pathetic window! Why didn't he just walk faster, why did he insist on making everything so dramatic! John was like a pathetic animal on his leash, Sherlock knew that he could do anything, he could take his dear old time, he could just loiter in front of that window pane until the sun came up and John would wait, he would comply, he would sit there with his knees digging into the iron beneath him and his hands into the bricks, waiting until that window opened like a pathetic beggar, just waiting for his love. But the sun didn't come up, at least not yet, and the moon still dominated the darkness as Sherlock's hands finally slid the window up. There was no words exchanged, simply because neither of them had anything to say. John slid as gracefully as he could through the window and Sherlock watched him, standing there in all his glory, in all his shirtless beauty, waiting for John to finally clamor onto the carpet. The lightbulb flickered, as if it was warning them that it would soon go out for good, and John took it upon himself to close the window, shutting the blinds with a determined yank with very nervous fingers. He wanted Sherlock to come up behind him and sway him where he stood, but when John found themselves in darkness once more he turned, finding Sherlock standing exactly where he had been before. But there was a new aura to him; definitely not the one John had seen when he had peered through the window. A new Sherlock stood in front of him, a much more powerful Sherlock, somehow taller, more confident, and more beautiful. John immediately felt weak, staring up at this beautiful man he tried to think what on earth he had to offer, other than, of course, his rather sketchy personality. His money? His high paying job? His family? He would give all of it but he knew Sherlock would take none of it, he didn't want that, he wanted love, love from a man who looked like Victor Trevor and loved like Victor Trevor, and John already knew he was beat in the first one. So how could he woo Sherlock enough to stay with him, how could he serenade him into a long term relationship? John didn't say anything, the room was silent as the two of them stared absentmindedly at each other, both trying to think of something to say, something to do. John wanted to make the first move but his heart was paralyzing him, it was pumping so hard and so fast that John felt it was impossible to move. So he stayed put, like a worthless block of stone, while Sherlock slowly moved his bare feet over the carpet. He walked very slowly and very elegantly, his limbs looking almost skeletal as he moved throughout the lamplight, but soon he was so close, and John raised his arms nervously over his shoulders, feeling the chill of his skin but feeling much too timid to actually touch him. He knew that the minute their skin overlapped that this would all be official, he knew that the moment he touched Sherlock's shoulders his wife was gone, his child was gone, his life was gone. So why on earth was he hesitating? John let his hands fall, running them over Sherlock's smooth shoulders and down his arms, their skin gliding together so beautifully, like sandpaper against silk. And he felt Sherlock's fingers at the buttons of his shirt, he felt his breath linger as their lips veered ever closer, teasing each other, neither going for the first move. Soon John's shirt was sliding off of his arms, and he ran his own hands back up Sherlock's arms and to his neck, his fingers dancing along his jaw bone and his lips looming closer and closer. The lamplight illuminated the two of them as finally their lips met, merely brushing over each other's as their breath interlocked and filled the other with newfound life, newfound motivation. It was the most beautiful moment of John's life, it was the most magical moment of his life, when finally his lips met Sherlock's and they shared their first well deserved, long overdue kiss. Their lips matched perfectly, like pieces of a puzzle, and before long they were interlocked, their arms cradling their other, their hands on the other's face, on the other's chest, their lips broke apart only to take gasping breaths of air, and their feet stumbled together across the carpet in some sort of dazed, love sick dance. And down they went, their feet finally stumbling upon the other and taking them crashing down to the carpet below, rolling together over Sherlock's shoes and his discarded shirt and jacket, cigarette butts and bottle caps, their lips eating at each other's, their hearts beating at each other's, their lungs struggling to inflate, their arms struggling to hold the other even closer. John had never felt so alive, he had never felt so in love, every move they made together was planned, every move was magical, it was beautiful, it was choreographed. He loved Sherlock, he loved him with all his heart the moment he had first laid eyes on the beautiful man, and for this night, and for this night alone, Sherlock loved him back. Because it meant nothing except a simple night, it meant nothing except a simple love. Sherlock had done this a million times, he thought no differently of the man at his window from all the other men who had come to his door, desperate and alone. But John saw it differently, he saw this kiss as a blessing, as a contract, as a commitment. Sherlock's love was the key he needed to release Mary's chains, and they were just now getting looser, he needed more, more than just a kiss, more than just a night. He needed forever, he needed eternity, not just this night but every night for the rest of his life, the sun and the moon would watch them for days on end, in each other's presence, in each other's arms. Until Sherlock had finally managed to liberate John from the chains Mary had placed upon him, until Sherlock had finally managed to fix those very same chains around himself.