A relationship with Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock BBC fanfic)

Follows Back in the Saddle

Written: 6 November 2010, 11:43

Current mood: cold

Current music: classic FM


John wasn't entirely sure when he'd consented to being in a relationship with his flatmate, but it was increasingly difficult to deny that he was. Sherlock had always shown a complete ignorance (or perhaps disregard was a better word for it, the man was a genius after all) of personal space. He'd even accustomed John to disregarding certain boundaries - certainly it wasn't normal to reach into your flatmate's pocket to retrieve personal items, nor was it normal to carry each others bank cards, know each others pins and security question responses. He'd even impersonated Sherlock to the bank over the phone once to deal with a small matter of credit fraud - his flatmate had made him an almost tolerable cup of tea in thanks.

After The Pool - and John thought of the incident with capital letters, because not even when he'd been invading another country had he been strapped to an explosive device - things had gotten more... intimate.

Before The Pool, John hadn't thought much about the way Sherlock would lean on him, or over him if John was in the way. After, when John had woken in CCU because Sherlock had been poking his hand it had become more than leaning. Sherlock had started holding his hand, or the hem of whatever jumper or shirt John was wearing. While recovering in the hospital, Sherlock had gotten into the habit of using John's bed as a footstool, and John had woken late one night to find the thin genius curled up on the foot of his bed, a hand wrapped loosely around John's ankle.

They moved back into Baker Street, and John had been relieved. Not just because he could take over his own recovery now, but because it meant that Sherlock was able to occupy himself more productively. Geoff Lestrade had been very good about bringing around cold case files for the consulting detective, which John had taken more interest in as his own strength improved, though John still bore a lingering grudge over the incident with the Cluedo game. Really, Geoff ought to have known better than to introduce Sherlock to that particular board game, especially as they had both likened Sherlock to a child on more than one occasion.

Once home, Sherlock had been able to access his blog and do a bit of 'armchair' work. Geoff had consulted over the phone, and on one occasion a web camera, which had helped occupy Sherlock while John did his best to recover his usual strength. Whenever Sherlock wasn't involved with his cases, he was with John, and that is where things started to become a little more personal. John found that if he sat in 'his' armchair, the thin genius would either perch on the arm and wrap himself around John rather like an awkward gargoyle, or if John sat on the couch, Sherlock would attach himself like a limpet to his flatmate, twining his arms and legs cautiously around the doctor until they were thoroughly tangled together. He was especially cautious about the various wound sites John had sustained saving his life and the one time John had attempted to brush away a creeping hand Sherlock had looked so hurt that the doctor had relented pretty quickly.

John had found that the quickest way to calm Sherlock when he was working himself into a snit over something was to catch hold of a hand and rub his thumb over Sherlock's palm. Sherlock's whole body would slowly grind to a halt and his breathing would calm. He would fix his eyes on John (or Geoff if it was the DI who was trying to get his point across) and listen to what was being said. Sometimes he even went so far as to change his mind about whatever the point was - but only sometimes.

How all that translated to them sharing a bed, John was not sure. He would go up to his room alone, fall asleep alone and wake up with the Sherlock-limpet firmly attached to him in the morning. Sherlock preferred to cuddle into John's chest, with a possessive arm and leg thrown over the smaller man, but if John was on his side, Sherlock would spoon behind him, one hand knotted in whatever John had worn to bed the night before. He'd let go if John moved away - getting up to go to the loo or start his day - but that always triggered a small bout of sulks in his partner, so John had become accustomed to lying there until Sherlock woke up.

He didn't have a job any more, so he rarely had to get up early anyway - mostly it was to a physiotherapy appointment, which Sherlock was banned from attending as he got somewhat... distressed when John was forcing himself through the exercises that the therapist demanded. John's limp was no longer psychosomatic, though he refused to be dependent on a cane to walk, which had led to some arguments between them. Once John had pointed out that he wouldn't be able to help with the work any more, Sherlock had resigned himself to the situation. He always made John a cup of tea when he came back from an appointment - it had become his way of expressing concern.

Sarah had been to visit a few times in the hospital, though not since they'd both returned to the flat. Sherlock had refused to leave the facility that Mycroft had placed them in until John could come with him, no matter who reassured him that John would be fine and he could visit daily. Not even Mrs Hudson could convince him, though she had stopped trying when Sherlock had announced that he was going to be a Mormon for John. Come to think of it, Sarah had been there too and her visits had dropped off afterwards.

The idea that Sherlock had tried, in his own endearing and awkward and unusual way to tell John that he was no longer just married to his work, that John mattered to him, was a warming idea. John was just glad the thin genius hadn't declared that John was his mistress or the guy who he was cheating on his spouse with. John didn't think much of those who cheated and that Sherlock had somehow noticed that (probably deduced why John disapproved of Harry's breakup with Clara - his sister had been cheating with a string of people at the end there, one of whom had seen fit to tell Clara about it in the most humiliating way possible) and had done his best to come up with a solution that would fit John's moral code.

Perhaps that was why, when John woke that morning with the Limpet attached to him, he'd done so much analysis of their relationship. He was no longer seeing Sarah, Mrs Hudson had been dropping hints about celebrating their wedding and even Mycroft seemed to have lost his head and arranged things so that John and Sherlock were now sharing finances and had been listed as legal next of kin (though possibly he was just doing that to make a point with his brother - when it came to the Holmes' family, who knew what was going on behind grey eyes).

In short, he was in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes. The man who was asexual, as far as he could tell...

"Wrong," muffled the head currently buried in John's armpit, "Just waiting for you to catch up."

"That's nice of you," John told the ceiling in exasperation. Sherlock, who had apparently been awake and reading John's mind again, propped himself up on John's chest, regarding John's face intently.

"I already knew you were bisexual," Sherlock informed him, while John snickered at the ridiculous bed hair the thin genius was sporting, "And I'm gay. I didn't want to rush you though - after all you're very traditional in some area's John."

"I am, huh?" John ran a hand through the messy hair, sorting it into some type of order, "Sometimes that's a good thing, Sherlock."

"Hardly," Sherlock scoffed,leaning into his gentle hand without volition, "You've made me wait for ages."

"I'm worth it," John promised him darkly and tugged on the curly locks he'd been stroking to pull his flatmate - his spouse - into a kiss.


Disclaimer - characters and settings as depicted in the BBC series are not mine. No money being made. Plot is mine.