Nothing But Flowers (Johnlock)

Chapter 5

"I'm a suspect for murder, John."

The word Murder seemed to echo, seeming overly loud, blocking out everything else, even though Sherlock had said it softly.

John swallowed hard; unable to do anything but stare at the man he thought he knew. Was this even remotely possible? John had questioned Sherlock's ethics in the past, but would have never suspected him of being capable of going that far.

"That's ridiculous." John found himself saying, the words just bubbling out of him. And once verbalized, seemed to click as true.

Sherlock's green eyes widened slightly in surprise, and then John could see the tension unwinding from him. He hadn't been sure of the reception he would get from John, but he had still knocked on his door despite that, looking for help. It said a lot about the other people in his life.

With the tension lessening in Sherlock, he seemed to slump slightly, and John grabbed his arm to push him back onto a chair. He was clearly exhausted from everything he had been though today.

John went to fill the kettle. "I'm making some tea and heating up some soup. You need to keep your energy up."

Sherlock tried to dissuade him, but John overrode his objections. The way the man quickly ate the soup showed how long since he had eaten last. Afterwards, John guided him to the washroom.

"Have a shower while I look for some clothes for you to sleep in." John said as he closed the door, slumping against the doorframe when he was alone.

His mind was whirling a thousand directions, with thousands of questions. But he could tell Sherlock was in no condition to answer them tonight. They could wait until morning. Luckily it was the weekend, and he didn't have any big plans.

He found an old t-shirt and some pajama bottoms, and softly knocked on the washroom door before leaving them on the edge of the sink. Sherlock's body behind the opaque shower curtain sending a reminder to John of just what he was getting into.

It was even worse when he went into his bedroom, looking down at the double bed. After all the hours they had spent in Sherlock's bed, they had never slept together. But there really wasn't another option. His small living room area only had a couple single person loungers that weren't good for sleeping on. Plus, it would be strange to turn Sherlock away from his bed after everything they had shared already, wouldn't it?

Hearing the washroom door opening shook John from his contemplation. He went out of the bedroom to see Sherlock dressed in his old clothes, everything slightly short. He looked lost and a little young, like a teenager who had just had a recent growth spurt.

"Come on..." John gestured to him to follow and stepped back into the bedroom. When Sherlock followed him, the room seemed impossibly smaller. Awareness of this man thrummed along John's veins, but not in a purely sexual way like it had before.

Sherlock's eyes seemed large and dark in the dim light of the bedroom, his vulnerability so close to the surface John couldn't help but respond to it. Pulling back the covers, John crawled in, and then held his arms open for Sherlock.

There was a jerk of surprise there before Sherlock scrambled into the bed, diving into his arms, as John pulled the covers back over them. They shifted until comfortable, ending up with John on his back, Sherlock draped over his chest and resting his head on his right shoulder.

It felt strangely right, holding this man, stroking a soothing hand over his back as he settled even more, sinking with a bone-weary exhaustion into John.

"John, you must have questions..." A sleepy baritone whisper seemed loud in the quiet room.

Moving his hand upwards, John ran his fingers through his slightly damp curls. "Tomorrow, Sherlock. They will keep until then. Sleep now."