Lines and Numbers (Johnlock)

Chapter 6

YOU GUYS BETTER BE READY FOR SOME GOOD SHIT HERE! DRAMA! ACTION! ROMANCE! MOSTLY CUTE-ASS ROMANCE AND SHERLOCK NOT HAVING like porridge or some shit idfk, BUT WHATEVER. (Little bit of a trigger but not really, just stay safe.)

The next morning, when I woke up, Sherlock wasn't in bed. He'd tucked the blanket into his side, though. Nothing really had happened last night, but I'd fallen asleep in his arms. And I hadn't had one nightmare.

I got up, put on robe, and went to the kitchen. He was there, surprisingly, looking through a cookbook. "Do you want me to make breakfast?" he asked nicely.

Nope. Not gonna fall for it.

"Actually, how about I make it? I was thinking some sort of porridge, if you'd like," I said in the same tone of voice. I saw him pale a bit. "Which recipe? I can find it for you in-"

"I know it from memory, Sherlock, it's porridge. You can put that away."

He looked from me to the book and back again, then swallowed the lump in his throat. He got up. "Fine, Goddammit. You'll see through anything, won't you?" He asked, putting it back where it went. I shrugged, getting out ingredients. "I'm not letting you count your calories like that. Don't even try to watch. And don't guess. It won't be right. I know your stomach won't hold that much, so I'm altering the recipe. I hope you enjoy it. Now, go get ready," I told him.

He left to go put on his clothes, and I quickly measured everything out.

He came downstairs a few minutes later, and I set the table, which was clear, for once. I served both of us a bowl of porridge, taking mine with some milk and brown sugar, and sat down to eat. He poked at it with his spoon. He picked up a spoonful and dropped it back down, watching it fall. He drank half his glass of water before he ate, and would have downed the whole thing had I not stopped him. "Sherlock, please just eat it," I said somewhat sharply. My voice softened. "Please. I made them for you. Please. I need you to be okay."

He looked at me sadly. I could see the regret and guilt in his eyes. "Okay. I'll... eat. Sorry. Old habits..."

He took a small spoonful and put it in his mouth, moving it around before finally swallowing. I could see him stirring it and messing with it, but he was eating, so I just ate my own bowl of porridge and watched him from the corner of my eye to make sure he wasn't sneaking any away.

Sherlock ate about a third of the bowl before looking up at me, pleading with his eyes. I shook my head and pointed my fork toward his food. He quietly continued, glancing at me with each spoonful, taking small sips of water between each bite. I had him eat a little more than half of the bowl of thin porridge before he straight-up would not eat the rest. I took his bowl from him silently and put it in a tupperware in the fridge. I sat in my chair, taking the newspaper so I had something to do.

He joined me, sitting in his chair across from mine. We sat silently for a couple of minutes, me just staring at the newspapers, not really reading, and him looking at me. After a little while, I sighed, put my newspaper down, and walked over to him. He looked tiredly up at me, and I brushed my hand across his cheek, making him smile softly. "John?"

"I love you, Sherlock. No matter what. And I want you to be okay," I murmured quietly. Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the side of his face. The blood rushed to his usually pale face as I walked back to my room. I sat on my bed, my face hot. Just sat. I could hear Sherlock in the other room, pacing, but that was a nervous habit. He'd done that for forever, so I wasn't going to tell him to stop this time. I knew his nerves were all over the place, because mine were,too.

I just kissed the great Sherlock Holmes, I thought. I grinned wide and lay down on the bed. And he didn't stop me.