Author Note: This is the first time I write fanfiction. Not just in the Sherlock-Fandom, but ever.
It's really scary :) Also, English is not my first language, so please forgive me if I make mistakes in these notes.
The chapters have thankfully been betaed by Sherlock'sScarf.
She's absolutely amazing, read her stories if you haven't yet.
Oh, and Sherlock doesn't belong to me. Seriously, if this series were mine, I would have made John and Sherlock kiss in the first episode. Just saying.
Heavy rain was falling over London, making everything seem grey while pounding against the windows of 221B Baker Street.
John Watson was sitting next to one of those windows, gloomily looking outside. It had been pouring like this for days now, and he was starting to go mad.
Usually, he liked walking through the streets just to free his mind of thoughts and breathing some fresh air. Now, however, he was still sitting here, not able to concentrate on anything.
Usually, John didn't mind walking in the rain, but since he had moved into Baker Street, he was trying to avoid getting sick. Currently, he was having a little cold and he didn't want to take the risk and let it become a serious one. The last time he had been sick enough to make him stay in bed for a few days, Sherlock had been so insecure in the end that he needed more support than John himself, because he wasn't used to take care of someone.
John smiled thinking of Sherlock's pathetic attempts of cooking a simple soup for his flatmate – how he had survived before John had moved in was beyond the older man.
The detective had probably lived on Chinese takeaway. Or rats or something. John smiled again. The next second, he cursed himself for not paying attention to what he was actually trying to do.
He had taken a week off just for the opportunity to update his blog – something he hadn't done in at least a month – and now he was just sitting there, dreaming around, letting his thoughts wander off to somewhere – or, more correctly, someone. He didn't like to admit it even to himself, but he was thinking an awful lot about Sherlock lately.
But that was only natural, right?
Not only was he his flatmate and his colleague, he was also one of the best friends John had ever had.
Besides, they spent most of their time together anyway, so thinking about Sherlock was probably the most logical reaction of his brain. Damn. He really had to write now.
"A Scandal in Belgravia" he typed. Yes, that sounded suitable. He hesitated for a moment, unsure where to begin.
An image of Sherlock in a sheet – and only a sheet – sitting on a sofa in Buckingham Palace popped into John's head. It had been almost ridiculously funny, both of them giggling like schoolboys.
At the same time, something else crossed the doctor's mind. Him asking if Sherlock was wearing any pants, the detective's 'no' and then their laughter. But a strange kind of excitement, one he couldn't really classify, made John swallow quite hard.
He was just sure he didn't want to think about this right now. He sighed. Sherlock, obviously annoyed, looked up from his whatever-it-was-good-for-experiment.
"Just go out and take a walk, John," he snapped. "You're driving me insane with your constant sighing and breathing and thinking!"
"Sorry, Sherlock, " John muttered. "You're probably right. I'm gonna call Clarice, see if she wants to have coffee or something."
"Who the hell is Clarice?"
"Come on, you know her, we've been dating for a few weeks now."
"Couldn't care less."
John was strangely upset by his flatmate's answers. He headed out the living room, phoned Clarice and left for his date about half an hour later.
Another girl. Great. Another few weeks that John would at first come home late, and after some time not before morning, beaming, with ruffled hair and crumpled clothes and this unbelievably stupid I-had-amazing-sex-last-night-but-please-don't-let-that-bother-you-with-your-experiments-smile. Sherlock hated this smile. It came from a world he didn't understand and no one expected him to understand, and if there was something Sherlock disliked - quite a list, actually, but this being pretty much on the top - then it was not understanding something and people knowing about it.
He still thought that sentiment was an unnecessary weakness. Well, since he knew John, it was something else. John was the first real friend he ever had in his whole life. Not that he had missed friends before moving into 221B, but now he couldn't imagine a life without the doctor.
He hated the thought of being alone again. Almost as much, however, he hated the thought of John being with some random girl once more. But that was probably just what a friend felt, right?
When John came home his hair wasn't ruffled, just awfully wet from the rain. Also, he wasn't wearing his smile. Of course it was too early for that stuff, anyway, but Sherlock felt a certain satisfaction looking at his friend's face. John didn't look too happy. If Sherlock had have any sense for feelings, he would have probably felt at least a little bit bad of how glad the kind of angry, kind of sad look on John's face made him, but well, he was Sherlock Holmes after all.
He didn't say a word, looking down on his experiments again as if they were more important than anything around him, although, for a second, he didn't even remember what they were useful for.
John cleared his throat, taking off jacket and shoes and shook his head a bit to get the water out of his hair. It didn't work. Very slowly, Sherlock lifted his gaze again.
"Fancy a cup? You look like you could need one. Mrs. Hudson just brought some tea upstairs." "Thank you". John flung himself into his favourite armchair, not making the impression of someone who planned on getting up from it in the next weeks.
"I might not be an expert here, but judging to your behaviour and the look on your face, your date wasn't very ...successful."
"No, not really. I guess she's not my type, after all." Sherlock allowed himself a slight grin behind his cup.
"Well, I still have plenty of phone numbers from that night out with the team..." Sherlock almost dropped his tea.
"You're going to meet another girl?" he asked astonished. John had closed his eyes and leaned his head back.
"Of course. What did you think? One doesn't simply give up just because something doesn't work out from time to time, right?"