Tag: johnlock

beltainefaerie:

John
took a sip of his eggnog, desperately wishing his mum hadn’t suddenly decided
to pour all the brandy down the drain last night. She probably wanted to
prevent another drunken brawl, though wasn’t that just another family tradition
at this point? He sighed heavily. At least a smidge of brandy would have dulled
the pain of listening to the giant row Da and Harry were still having. Apparently, he didn’t appreciate
her fashion sense.

Of
course, deciding to wear her ‘Dyke the Halls’ sweater to Christmas Eve service
probably wasn’t her most politic decision. 

John walked outside, letting the door fall shut behind him. It
was cold and clear as he walked down to the pavement, far enough away that at
least he couldn’t hear the exact words anymore. He missed Sherlock and the coziness
of their flat keenly. Despite having a flatmate who might blow things up at any
moment, John still felt safer there. It had been years since Da had tried to
land a blow on any of them, but he was still a sight when he was mad and it
brought back too may uncomfortable memories in this house.

He wondered how Sherlock was faring. Mrs. Hudson had left some
of Sherlock’s favorite biscuits on a plate by his microscope, but John realized
he hadn’t left anything. Maybe they’d do a little something when he got home.
Not that Sherlock celebrated. Was Sherlock even home, or had Mycroft convinced
him to come to the country cottage after all? In all likelihood he was puttering
around Baker Street alone.

John smiled, as he recalled a dream from the night before. Sherlock
had been analyzing Christmas decor like Jack Skellington in Nightmare Before
Christmas. The more he imagined Sherlock bent over his microscope looking at
holly sprigs and running experiments on powdered ornament glass, the more
tickled he got, until he was giggling like loon. God, he missed that
madman.

The door slammed behind him
and Harry grabbed his glass and drained it. “Damn. You out here sounding mad
as a hatter I thought you’d found a nip of something.”

“No such luck. Mum.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Has Da simmered down yet?”

“Nope. I’m still queer.”

John snorted a strangled sort
of chuckle without much mirth. If his increasingly frequent thoughts about
Sherlock these past weeks meant anything, he might be too. He still liked
women. Always had. But something niggling in the back of his mind told him it
wasn’t <i>just</i> women.
It wasn’t often that a bloke caught his attention, but it had been easy to
ignore before. But now? He had stopped dating months ago. Unfortunately,
Sherlock didn’t feel things that way. Maybe at all, maybe just about him. He
took a deep breath and said, “Me, too.”

Harry looked up, eyes wide
for a second before they narrowed again. “I knew it! You’re shagging him aren’t
you.”

John blushed and muttered, “In
my dreams” before he could stop himself.

He figured she’d be angry,
with her taking the brunt of the fighting ever since their parents had caught
her having more than a sleepover with Sally Jane when they were 16. Instead she
just fixed him with a look which softened into such sympathy he nearly teared
up as she laid a hand on his arm and said, “Oh, John. Does he know?”

“I figure he must. He’s
Sherlock. But then, maybe not. Emotions aren’t really his area.”

“You should tell him. Clara
dated that bloke from chem class and I thought she’d never like me. We wasted a
year dancing around each other because she thought I was one of those lesbians
that wouldn’t go with a girl who liked guys too and I,” she laughed in self deprecation,
“I forgot both was an option so I didn’t ask her out after they broke up. Then
she snogged a girl at my end of term party and that was that. You never know if
you don’t ask.”

John sighed. Maybe she was
right. There was that first night, but they barely knew each other then and
John hadn’t been trying to hit on him. Not consciously. Anyway, that was a long
time ago.

“Don’t bollocks it up like I
did. One of us should get to be happy.”

Harry rarely admitted fault
for their break up, but it was definitely her drinking that pushed a wedge
between them. She and Clara had been so happy until Harry lost her job and
befriended the bottle again. They tried getting help, but Harry had to lose the
one thing she loved before she was willing to crawl out again.

John squeezed her hand. “I’m
not sure happy is a Watson trait.”

She shook her head. “Maybe
not, but you deserve it.“

“Thanks, Harry.”

“Happy Christmas, John.”  

“Happy Christmas, Harry.”

Now posted to AO3 and there’s a second chapter and the third is nearly done and should be posted next week:

http://archiveofourown.org/works/13709316/chapters/31492371