I was just in one of those moods and my boyfriend and me kinda remind me of John and Sherlock sometimes (me very clearly being John) and I just rambled this together. Hope it makes sense...
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own any of the characters (though I wish I did) I do own the situation though (Which right now I kinda wish I didn't)
Please review and correct if you find mistakes - you most likely will-
Love xx BellaDonna
I never planned this, never asked and never, ever, wanted this.
It seemed clear: Sarah, kind and caring, my perfect match, my girlfriend, perhaps one day, my wife.
You, sharp and arrogant, my flatmate, my friend, perhaps one day, a good person.
I was happy enough to to put up with sharing a flat with you, was thrilled to count you a friend, and honestly shared Lestrade's conviction that maybe one day you could be not just a great, but also a good person.
It was all fine.
But then things started to get confused. Without meaning to I found my mind wondering, not to long light chestnut hair and dark turquoise eyes, but to unruly ebony curls and metallic quicksilver orbs that melted with a single smile into beautiful shimmering lakes.
If I had been given a choice, I would not have chosen you (no offense but) you're not really the number one person I want to trust with my emotional well-being.
We never do get to choose who we fall in love with though, do we?
For so long I figured it was no use telling you how I felt about you, what would it achieve other than a snide comment and mockery?
You were married to the job and, even if you were interested in a divorce, I wasn't sure I could handle being with you. What if I was wrong about you? Maybe I just imagined those glimpses of humanity that I so stubbornly believed to be the real you? Hell... what if I was right? Could I handle being the only one to actually know you? Could I shoulder the responsibility of that look in your eye?
It worked well enough, I stayed at a firm companionable distance – besides reaching into your pocket for your phone – but then you started to change ( because you are Sherlock frigging Holmes, and everything has to be made more... interesting) your touches became more lingering, your stance closer and your glances more meaningful.
Until we got to a point were we both knew, we just needed one last little push. We got that, literally, during a manic chase through London, and we both ended up in the Themes. Once we had clambered to the shore and checked we were both alive Sherlock turned, in one spray of droplets twirling off his coat, and faced me. I had a split second to wonder weather the shifting fog around us had somehow seeped into his eyes, before he dipped his head down and kissed me.
Everything seemed so perfect, you showed me a side of yourself no one ever saw. Tender and protective our lives entwined together easily and I found I loved you more than I had ever loved anyone before. There was, however, always a niggling doubt that in the shadows of the night turned into full blown fear. I trusted you with my life, no questions asked, but I did not trust you with my heart. When you absentmindedly played with my hair in the evening, or gently ran your fingers along the inside of my arm, I felt all doubt leave me; only to feel it return in full force the second you volunteer me to flirt with a suspect, or jumped in front of a cab. Does it not bother you when I flirt with others? I know it bothers me when you do it; Do you not worry I might get hurt? Do you not know how the thought of any harm coming to you hurts me? Do you really care for me as I care for you?
Now we are lying beside each other, a smile gracing your lips and tugging at the corners of mine.
You just told me you loved me, in between two kisses, murmured in a husky, smokey semblance of your voice. I wasn't even sure I heard it right before the answer was on my lips.
"I love you too." It came out easily, one of the most honest things I've ever said...
Then your phone rang and you jumped out of bed, shoving me to the side in your haste to get to the case. Out my door in under ten seconds. Leaving me wondering what sick sense of humor fate had to make me love you. Wondering painfully, whether you love me like I love you,
whether you love me at all...
Once again, hope that actually made sense...
I'd say I really LOVE reviews but I wouldn't want to be obvious so this is me very loudly not saying anything...?