Johnlock Oneshots (Requests are closed)

French

Johns POV

"John, Je vais bien," Sherlock said.

I groaned and put my head in my hands. "Please use English Sherlock," I sighed.

"Je Suis," he muttered.

We had just gotten back from the hospital. Sherlock had hit his head. Apparently, he hit it so hard he started speaking french. Though thanks to someone in the hospital who spoke it he thought that he was speaking English. The doctors were perplexed. So was Sherlock. He really thought he was speaking English. "We've talked about this, you aren't." I sighed.

He groaned and covered his face in his hands. They had let us go back to Baker Street and we were sitting in our respective chairs. "Je pense que Je saurais si Je parlais la mauvaise langue," he muttered.

I groaned and stood up. "You figure this out I'm going to bed."

I felt his eyes on me as I went upstairs. It was my fault that he hit his head.

"John, come on he's getting away," Sherlock shouted at me.

We ran for a couple more minutes. "Dahm it, he got away," he muttered.

I groaned. Then I heard a click and whipped around. The guy was pointing a gun at us. "Fuck," I muttered.

This guy was called the matchmaker. He got his name by getting people together then shooting them. It really was cruel. For a while, we just glared at each other. He kept moving his gun so it pointed at the both of us. "You know normally I would just kill you but," he paused and grinned, "I have an even better idea."

He smiled wickedly. Oh, I really hated this guy. "Now," he pointed the gun at me, "kiss him."

"What?"

"You heard me. Kiss him."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sherlock freeze. I really didn't want my first kiss with him to be like this. I didn't even know if he liked me back. I heard him release the safety. I shook my head. I turned toward him and grabbed his shirt collar. "Sorry," I whispered.

Then I kissed him. It lasted maybe five seconds then I threw him backwards. I fell back just as he fired the gun. I managed to shock the guy enough to tackle him. I held him down until police arrived. Then I remembered Sherlock. He had hit his head and was out cold.

I sighed and pulled the blanket over my head. I really hope he doesn't remember. Though even if he does I doubt I could understand him.

Two days of pure torment later I was standing next to Sherlock at Scotland Yard. Anderson's wife was over today to give him his lunch and I was expecting the worst. "Vous êtes tous des crétins," he muttered.

Anderson's wife laughed. "They're not all bad," she said.

He smiled at her. "Pas toi. Je vous aime bien," he said.

She smiled. "Thank you," she said.

I gasped. "You can understand him?" I asked.

She smiled. "My mother was French so I learned both English and French."

Anderson was off somewhere. Probably making out with Sally. This poor girl. I glared at Sherlock knowing that he was thinking the same thing. "Well, we were about to tell Anderson what happened. If you could translate him that would be great." I said.

Sherlock smiled at me. Apparently, we had the same idea. We walked down the hallway to an office we knew he was in. Sherlock swung the door open. Then quickly slammed it. They were doing a bit more than making out. Anderson's wife liked the strangled sound and Sherlock gagged. I just shook my head. "Sorry," I whispered.

Tears filled her eyes. "Did you know?" she asked.

"Yeah. Sorry, we didn't want to interfere. Didn't knows that they would be doing it now though.'' I said.

Sherlock gave her a sympathetic look. "Il est idiot et vous méritez mieux."

She nodded. "Thanks. I'll uh be going now," she whispered walking away.

The office door flew open. "Where did she go?" Anderson asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "Elle obtiendra probablement les papiers du divorce signés."

I recognised the word divorce and I think Anderson did too. He ran down the hallway. Though he took the path opposite of where his wife went. We looked at each other and sighed. Sure we were hoping to catch him in the act but we were still sympathetic for his wife.

A week later I thought I would try something new. I walked over to the detective and handed him a piece of paper. He finally realized about three days ago that I couldn't understand him. He realized he was speaking a different language but couldn't switch back. "Try writing down what you're trying to say," I said.

He cocked his head. He gave me a thumbs up. We had started using thumbs up and down a day ago. He grabbed a pencil that was on the table next to him. He looked curious then wrote something down. Then he sighed. He handed it back to me. It was in french. I groaned. That didn't work.

Another two days passed and nothing changed. We were sitting across from each other in our chairs. I was reading the newspaper. "Je me souviens du baiser," he said.

I handed him my phone without looking at him. Google translate was at the ready. He typed something and handed it back. I remember the kiss.

I nearly dropped the phone. He looked confused. He grabbed the phone. He handed it back a minute later. You are in love with me.

I sighed and nodded. Knew he was gonna find out sooner or later. He smiled. Wait, what. He leaned toward me. "Je t'aime mon cher," he said.

Oh, I knew what that meant. I kissed him for the second time. We pulled away after what felt like forever. "You're an idiot," I muttered.

"I know," he whispered.

I gasped. He cocked his head. "What?"

"Sherlock, you're speaking English."

His eyes got a bit bigger. "Oh thank god," he muttered.

I laughed and kissed him again.