May Your Heart Purr Like A Bumblebee [BBC Sherlock - Johnlock]

Chapter 8

John opens his eyes blearily, glances at the light coming through the window. It must be nearly noon. He is alone in Sherlock’s bed.

He yawns, puts on Sherlock’s spare dressing gown, rolls up the sleeves (sees that he has received eight text messages, all from Harry, and ignores them after noting that the first one contains only excited punctuation), wanders out into the sitting room. Sherlock is standing at the window, tuning his violin. Harry is not here; he surmises that she opted to stay somewhere else last night after all. (He hopes that means she was having fun, but is mostly just relieved she wasn't in the flat.)

“Morning, ish,” John says with a smile. Sherlock doesn't respond, except for a scowl.

John gives him the time that it takes for him to make tea (two cups) and toast (jam on one slice, honey on the other), and to listen to Sherlock warm up with a few scales and a short piece that he doesn’t recognize. Then he breaks in. “So,” he says, placing their breakfasts on the coffee table and taking a seat on the sofa, “want to tell me what's wrong?”

Sherlock grimaces. “Not particularly.”

“Well, you should, anyway.”

Sherlock plucks the violin strings discordantly. “John.” He does not make eye contact, looks out the window. “I have no desire to hurt you.”

John feels his stomach tighten. “But?”

He puts down the violin, still doesn’t look at John. “I wasn't lying.” John wonders when, specifically. He waits. “I am sorry if I misled you last night. It was... a weakness. But I consider myself married to my work. I don't have relationships.”

John takes a moment to think about this. “It was a weakness? So you weren’t planning all along to sleep with me as soon as the case was over?”

“No. It was a regrettable error. I have been ... letting my emotions cloud my thinking recently.” Sherlock continues to look out the window.

“Since Sherrinford?”

Sherlock doesn’t answer, but he winces the slightest bit at the name.

John gets it. “You were just seeking a distraction, then.” Sherlock gives a small nod.

John clenches his fists. “No.”

Sherlock looks at him finally, startled. “What?”

“No, I’m not going to let you do this. You weren’t making a mistake then -- you’re making one now.”

Sherlock frowns. “John, I am not interested in --”

John nods. "No, I know. You don’t want a relationship."

Sherlock nods again.

“I don’t, either.”

Sherlock looks a bit surprised, but says briskly, “Good, that’s sorted, then --”

“No.” John says again. “No. Sherlock, listen to me.” Sherlock watches him silently. John struggles to find the words. "Sherlock, what I want from you… it isn't a normal relationship. I don’t...” He draws a breath, pausing uncertainly for a moment. “I don't want dates -- well, unless you mean crime scenes -- and I don't want anniversaries and all the rest. I won't ask you to share a bed every night. I don't want you to change. What I want is, well -- actually, what we've had all along is perfect, just about.”

Sherlock looks surprised, but still guarded. “Just about?”

“Well, if we can keep shagging in between cases, that would be rather brilliant, I think,” John says with a small smile.