A Study in Miscommunication

Chapter 7

—-John's POV—-

I couldn't remember the last time I was this happy. I was giddy. It was ridiculous and amazing.

As we drove on, crawling through the endless London traffic I reigned myself in, bit by bit. I should be irritated that he snatched my phone from me instead of asking for it; he came close to picking it straight out of my pocket. He probably would've if I hadn't moved first.

I wondered if I should ask my other questions: What am I doing here? What do you want me to do at this crime scene? Am I even allowed to do this? Why me?

That would probably end poorly so I kept my mouth shut. If Sherlock hadn't thought of those things (especially the last one) I shouldn't encourage it. Besides, I'll probably do something else mortifying.

I shifted in my seat to get more comfortable but I ended up settling closer to him. I could feel the body heat radiating from his leg. I wanted to shift away but I knew if I did it'd look like he made me uncomfortable and I wanted him to like me. The fact that he did make me uncomfortable really didn't help. If he was as good at reading people as he said he'd read why I felt uncomfortable and that would be... uncomfortable.

Recognizing that my thought process was devolving I spent the rest of the trip thinking about surgical procedures and Grandma Watson.

—-Sherlock's POV—-

I managed to enjoy the silence for two blocks before John shifted and my mind came back on. I wanted to snap at him for interrupting me but his posture wasn't relaxed. That was surprising. He should be basking in the glow of... friendship?

We were friends now, right?

Should I introduce him as my friend to the officers? No, no that wouldn't work. They'd make a big deal of me having friends and that would be weird to John and while John already knew I was weird but there was only so much one person would take before it was too much and I became freakish.

Assistant? But that would imply that we weren't friends... that he was below me. I caught a mental image of John below me and cut off a growl.

I took a deep breath to calm my thoughts and realized my nasal passages were clogging.

That was bad.

Really bad.

Harry Watson may not be a drug addict but alcoholism was close enough for most people. I cursed my weakness. Sure, I had just gotten Lestrade (and therefore my brother) off my back but I shouldn't have pickpocketed that passerby. Or taken that little detour after hanging up with Mrs Hudson.

Why was I always so impulsive?!

On the same note, why did John bring out such strong reactions in me and my thoughts? A train of thought was running through all the different ways to put John's dirty mind to the test instead of being disgusted at the idea of touching another person. The heat from his leg made me crave pressing my leg against his and capturing it.

WHY?

It wasn't the drugs. At least, not entirely. I was clean last night and that was the first time I'd masturbated to porn since I was a teenager. Usually, if I brought it up the expressions of boredom killed my libido. And it had been an age since I'd imagined anything outside of that half-sleep state when waking up.

John was different.

John was perfect.

No, no one was perfect. It had to be an act. He clearly lusted for me. He was probably just making a play to get in my bed.

Then why the outburst in front of Mrs Hudson?

John clearly wasn't thinking long term.

What was his angle?