No but can you imagine how beautifully Sherlock is going to end??? Like I can just imagine John doing a voiceover over a montage of shots of them being In Love and then ending with them walking hand in hand into the sunset behind their Sussex cottage as a slow, gentle rendition of the Johnlock theme swells and John says ‘me and the madman. Me and Sherlock Holmes’ before the fade out ajsbajdjjsnds
Imagine: Being a master spy with several identities and Sherlock constantly thinking about you because he can’t figure out who you really are. [x]
John: Ur, Sherlock, what exactly are you doing? Sherlock: Pacing! Thinking! John: No, I mean, what are you trying to achieve by doing all of that? What are you thinking about? Sherlock: Y/N- Y/N and her bloody identity. John: Y/N? Who’s Y/N? Sherlock: The spy we met! They- Y/N- or whatever their real name is has so many identities. I knew I’d seen them before, and we have. They’ve been there in the background- and in so many cases. How did I miss it? How?! John: Maybe you were too busy being distracted by them. *smirks* Sherlock: John, this is not the time for jokes! Y/N has secret identities but… But, I have to know who they really are. I do. John: *mumbles under his breath* Just take them on a date them- learn the ‘real them.’
People sometimes wonder why Sherlock chose to Crack a joke on the tarmac instead of saying what he truly wanted to. Don’t you see? He loves seeing John beam with laughter and happiness. John used to be a ray of sunshine when he lived at Baker Street. And the last time Sherlock saw John smile that bright was upon hearing he was going to be a father. Sherlock hasn’t seen John smile like that since. So there he is, on the verge of telling John what he’s always meant to say but never had the courage… but instead he reminds John he’s going to be a father, in a way that brings John’s smile back. And that was all he needed to see.
I have been completely overwhelmed by the response to my little coming-home ficlet last night. I usually need to tweak things forEVER but @msdisdain and I were writing over FaceTime and when I told her I thought I was done she said “Post it!” and I said “But…” and she said “POST IT NOW” and I held my breath and posted and I’m so glad. And then she prompted me with #30 on that list that’s been going around, so HERE, have some drunk!Sherlock as a token of my appreciation!
John doesn’t get out of the clinic until after 1am. It’s the Friday night after the last day of exams at the local university, so he agreed to a later shift to help with the kids who got a little too drunk (or a lot too drunk) and missed a step somewhere, resulting in a cut or scrape or occasional sprain. He dresses their wounds and doles out paracetamol like candy, then helps them back outside to a hopefully slightly more sober friend and sends them on their way. No lectures; he was a uni student once, too.
But it was a long day, and by the time he pushes through the front door at 221B, he’s looking forward to a quick shower and then crawling into bed and curling up behind Sherlock’s back and sleeping for as long as he’ll let him.
Instead, as John trudges up the stairs, he finds both doors to the flat flung wide open, spilling all the light from every lamp they own into the hallway. He stops at the kitchen door and tries to make sense of what he sees.
On the table are at least eight different open liquor bottles, and four highball glasses, three of them drained of whatever their contents were. There’s also an open and half-empty jar of maraschino cherries, a lime cut haphazardly into bits, a peeled lemon with no sign of the peel anywhere, and a single olive on a toothpick balanced on the mouth of one of the liquor bottles.
And there’s one Sherlock.
He’s sitting at the table in his pajamas and dressing gown. Well, not sitting, exactly, but resting his head on one arm that is outstretched along the table’s length, watching the liquid in the remaining glass swirl around as he stirs it with a swizzle stick. When he realizes John is standing there, he sits up with a start and nearly falls out of the chair.
“It’s not what it looks like…” Sherlock slurs, blinking like he can’t remember where he is just at the moment.
“Really,” John says. “What do you think I think it looks like?”
“I think you think I think it looks like…” - Sherlock regards the table, thinks with his face, and then spreads his hands triumphantly - “I’ve opened a bar in our kitchen.”
John and Sherlock rarely drank enough to get drunk, but when they do, it’s always together, never separate. They agreed that being alone, or with other people, whilst drunk is not as much fun as it is with just the two of them.
John was just about to finish the last of his drink when an idea came to him.
“Let’s play truth or dare.”
Sherlock scoffed. “Isn’t that a game for teenagers?”
“Maybe, but it’s still fun.”
“Hmm. Fine, you go first.”
“Truth or dare, then?”
“Bold. I dare you to … Oh! Go compliment Mrs. Hudson. She got all dressed up today and no one’s said a word.”
“Then why didn’t you, if you noticed?”
“I was running late to work. Kind of feel bad now. So, go do it. For both of us.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes but got up from his seat and went downstairs to do his dare. When he came back up, his left cheek was now sported with an imprint.
“Hold on, let me take a picture of that.”
“John, don’t you dar-”
“Do not think I don’t know how to work that. I can - and will - delete that.”
“If you can find it first. For now, it’s going down my pants for safe keeping, so keep your hands to yourself.”
“Hmmf. Truth or dare?”
“What’s this nonsense about people calling you ‘three continents Watson’?”
John blushed. “Oh. That. Um. When I was stationed, I was kind of known to um -” he clears his throat. “I slept around a bit.”
Sherlock shook his head. “Oh, John. Nothing’s changed, then.” He smirked.
“Watch the cheek,” John said, although his face sported a smile.
“Truth or dare, then.”
“I suppose I’ll pick truth since I already did a dare.”
John nodded and thought for a moment.
“Tell me a secret.”
“Aren’t secrets supposed to stay secret? They have that name for a reason, you know.”
“Yes, well, I’m your best friend, and you can trust me. I’ll even tell you one of mine in return.”
Sherlock sighed. He sat up straight and looked John square in the eye.
“My biggest secret. The secret I’ve not told anyone, ever. You wish to know it?”
“John Hamish Watson, my biggest secret is that I am in love with you. You’re the first, and last, person I have told.”
At first John thought he was playing a trick on him - just saying things. But no. He looked absolutely serious.
“You - Me?” Was all John could say.
“You. It’s always you. Always has been, always will be. That will never change. John Watson, I love you. I have since I met you. I will love you if you stay, and I will love you if you leave. I love you. Always.”
John couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
Sherlock swallowed down the rest of his drink nervously, looking down at his lap. Maybe he shouldn’t have shared that secret. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to play this stupid game. Maybe -
His mind went quiet. His breathing stopped. His heart stuttered.
John - his John - was kissing him. Softly. Slowly. Gently.
“I love you, too. That’s my secret in return.”
Those four words echoed in Sherlock’s mind.
They will forever replay. They will forever give him comfort. They will forever make him happy.