The Last Romantics

I Don't Suppose It's Me?

With such new knowledge as I had, I decided that the only way to actually make my dreams come true was to go out and catch them for myself. We were in a stalemate now, John and I, and the only way to break such a terrible thing was to make a move of my own. Evidently the time spent moping around in our own solitary quarters was not going to be enough to get us closer together, for both of us seemed too much a coward to initiate things on our own. Therefore the only logical thing I could do was write up something of a poem, not an apology poem but something more about loneliness, and hustle off to the docks to meet john at our undesignated but quite official time. He would expect to see me here, I'm certain of it. It had been nearly a week since I had last sat upon this bench, though I was sure that every day in between he had checked to see if I as there. He was just as fascinated with me as I was him; I knew it had to be true! More than anything I wanted to see that poem of his once more, I wanted to understand it within the context of all known possibilities. As far as I knew there were only two possibilities as to who that poem could be written for. If I could understand it within the context of Mary Morstan than I would be able to douse my ambitions just enough to sit upon them some more, but if I could understand it perfectly well between the two of us then I would say what needed to be said. It wasn't a question of whether or not this confession was going to happen, it was instead a decision of when it would happen. And how. So there I sat on my bench, tapping my foot innocently against the ground as I scrawled around in my notebook, adding in lines where I saw fit and humming over top of my work. The poem itself was just a reflection of the past couple of days, a description of being stuck in a cage with the key in your hand, though not being bold enough to sneak your hand past the guard to unlock it. There was no option to distract the guard; the only option was to stall. And each moment you sat in that cage your pain grew worse, as there was no food or drink behind the bars. You had the key; you had the chance of escape! But was it worth the risk of being beaten, tortured, or killed if discovered? At this point I decided that it was, for the torture I was inflicted upon myself was certainly nothing worse than what would be done to me if I waited any longer. My life seemed to be crawling by, each day without his face growing more and more unbearable. I was ready...and here came my opportunity, strolling past the crowd of sailors who were headed towards the town instead of some silly bench alongside the docks.
"Sherlock, I didn't think I'd be seeing you around here anymore." John exclaimed with a laugh. "Thought those old sailors scared you off for good."
"Well...scared me off for a week at least. Not for good." I assured, tapping my fingers nervously about my notebook but not doing myself the liberty of shutting it. I almost wanted him to ask about it, it would be an easy way to begin the topic of bold leaps and unrequited love.
"Well that's good. It's good to see you." John muttered, sitting down next to me on the bench and taking a moment to stare off at the ships that he had become so familiar with. It was silent save for the sea birds, all of which were taking their own lunch break upon the docks, picking up various pieces of discarded fish and food from where they had fallen upon the wood. I looked over at him, finding him quite mesmerize with the view and rather unresponsive to my nonverbal approach.
"How is your poem coming along?" I wondered at last.
"Well you seemed pretty satisfied with it, so I figured I didn't need to edit very much." John admitted.
"You could start a career, you know. I could help you get started, get it published. You could write a book and never go to sea again." I pointed out, to which John just chuckled. He didn't seem to think that was a very plausible theory, though he shrugged his shoulders in some agreement none the less.
"That certainly sounds ideal." He admitted. "What are you up to there?"
"Oh just a little something." I muttered, smiling as his eyes focused on my lines. "See what you can make out." I handed the notebook to him, a very straight forward approach to be sure. Though he accepted it all the same, as if he didn't know that poem was part of a much larger scheme. For a moment he read, pausing only once to brush the long blonde bangs out of his face where they had fallen most inconveniently. He seemed to read it once, then again, and when at last he was finished with his close reading he looked up at me with an expression nothing short of surprise.
"You seem to have covered a much more complicated aspect." He admitted.
"You understand, then?" I commented. John sighed heavily, looking over it once more as if he knew only too well what my words meant.
"Oh yes, I understand." He agreed. "It's about love."
"As are all things these days." I muttered, my cheeks turning a bit red in my body's natural defense mechanism. It didn't want to be put under such pressure, my blushing was always a signal that the whole of my body wanted to flee and hide in the shadows once more, it was an early warning system for disaster. Oh but that was what any biological processes couldn't understand! They recognized danger, but not hope. That's where my brain came into play, keeping me glued to this bench whether I liked it or not.
"I don't suppose you've fallen in love?" John wondered at last, looking up towards me with a bit more confidence than I could ever have mustered. I hesitated, thinking quickly about the hundreds of answers I could give, all ranging from terribly indiscreet ("ya, with you") to perfectly avoiding the question ("never, but what about this weather?"). In the end I decided to go somewhere in the middle.
"I think I may have." I admitted at last.
"Okay. Well, I suppose congratulations." John muttered in response, kicking his heels against the pavement once more as if that was all he could find it within his power to do.
"Have um...well have you?" I managed stiffly; worried that such a question might be too forward. Maybe he would take that as what I intended it to mean...God forbid!
"Ya." John agreed.
"Oh." I nodded. "Well congratulations."
"Thanks." He whispered. I nodded back, really not able to come up with anything at all that would serve as a reasonable response. The only way to go on talking was to change the topic, any more mention of our conversation of love would be prying much too deep, it would be downright invasive. I couldn't do it, neither could he, and so we sat quietly once more. It took a good two minutes of silence before he spoke louder than words. I was busy entertaining myself by watching the seagulls entertain themselves along the docks, so tense that I almost didn't feel John's hand take my own. For a moment I was so afraid that there was nothing to be done about it, but when I looked over at him I saw his staring with the widest eyes back at me, terrified but determined all the same.
"Ya, oh." I muttered, opening my hand up a bit more accessible and allowing him to set his own inside.
"Good." John nodded, clearing his throat a bit nervously but nodding again in agreement to our mutual actions.
"Good." I agreed. Well that was it then? That was confirmation without any sort of word, that was a mutual understanding without the need for awkward conversation. It was quite satisfying, having his hand fit into my own so perfectly. And for a long while we sat in such a state, neither of us brave enough to move, for fear that a small interruption in what had become a practical oil painting might disrupt the moment. Well if his shifted I wouldn't let go, and I'm sure he felt the same. Though on the off chance that either of us broke concentration and realized suddenly what it was we were doing, well that could be the make or break moment of our entire relationship. Though I took this to be a good sign, in fact it seemed like a confession to me. We must have sat there an hour, for at long last the sailors began returning to the docks, all looking a lot more well fed than John but definitely not nearly as satisfied. He seemed perfectly content, even as he realized that he had skipped over his only opportunity for a lunch.
"That's my cue." John muttered, softly pulling his hand away from mine as if he was very reluctantly to leave it behind. I took this opportunity to stretch my aching fingers, he did the same. Though both of us were blushing, sign enough that there was no hostility in response to the moment. We both seemed perfectly satisfied, as if that was exactly the end result we were searching for.
"I suppose I better be off." he managed again, looking towards where the sailors were headed and nodding his head in farewell. My voice didn't seem to work, I was so mesmerized with the moment that it didn't seem right to say goodbye just yet. though he turned, obviously more motivated than I to get off this bench for good, and my reality snapped back.
"John!" I exclaimed, jumping off the bench so as to follow him the three paces he had already made.
"Sherlock?" he cried with a turn, as if anxious to hear my parting words, anxious to hear anything from my mouth.
"I don't suppose it's me you've fallen in love with?" I whispered, holding my hands up towards him but not to touch, more of a defense if anything.
"Well...well yes I think so." he admitted quickly. "And you?"
"Yes. Yes! Well not with myself, I mean I love you." I exclaimed, nearly jumping up and down with the new found freedom those words allowed me. Suddenly this weight was relieved off of my back; suddenly I was as free as a bird and quite prepared to take flight. I was worried that should I jump I would just float away into nothingness, leaving my love behind.
"Okay!" John exclaimed. "Good!"
"You go work." I insisted, pushing at his shoulders in some desperation as if that was what we should be focusing on, his silly little sailor work instead of this startling revelation.
"I'll work! You go home." John agreed.
"I shall indeed!" I exclaimed, now properly breathless. His face had become quite flushed as well, though we were both helpless but to smile. This was, if nothing else, the most beautiful day of our lives.
"Bye Sherlock, I'll see you later." John decided, nodding his head in a final farewell before turning his back and running off towards the docks, despite his being at least three minutes earlier than the hour. I turned around and ran as well, and while I had no place to be it just felt right. My body was filled with such energy, such relief, that I really had no choice but to work it off. I had no choice but to run."