Hero Down

“So… How did we fall in love?” John asked casually over breakfast one morning.

Sherlock nearly snorted his coffee. For a moment he turned away, waving his hands helplessly in front of his face as he tried to swallow the liquid in his mouth. Finally it went down and he coughed to clear his throat. “Excuse me?”

“The story in the obituary that says I’m your lover. How did it happen?” John tried not to laugh at Sherlock’s misfortune with his morning beverage.

“What does it matter? It happened!” Sherlock replied, wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“It doesn’t magically appear out of nowhere.” John replied. “There must have been something? How did you woo a relatively straight man into your bed? Anyone who has seen us out in public would have noticed, right?”

“Not if we kept it private…”

John sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Tell me a story, Sherlock. Tell me how I came to be your ‘lover’ as the obituary stated. Was it mutual?”

“Of course it’s not!” Sherlock replied. Giving pause he thought about what he had so carelessly blurted and what John had really asked. “Not at first. But one thing led to the other.”

“How? I’m hardly one to have one thing lead to another. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept with anyone... somewhat by choice.”

“Maybe we were drunk…”

“When have you ever been drunk enough to do something like… that?”

“A long time ago… before I met you. But I didn’t. They wouldn’t… anyway, I don’t know how…”

John cocked his head to the side, looking at Sherlock critically. “Have you ever been in love?”

“What? Me?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows in surprise. “In… what way?”

“Like two people who are in love with each other?”

“No.” His fingers played with the utensils on the table. “I never had time... and it just seems like a huge waste of time… and focus. And not something for someone like me to do. Besides…” He gave John a sad, faltering smile. “Who would want me?”

“Molly wants you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Molly is an idiot.”

“She’s still someone who is interested in you.”

“I don’t want Molly.” Sherlock slapped the table, his fork vaulting itself into the air and landing on the tile floor with a metallic clatter.

John stared at the fallen fork for a time, biting his lips. “That… was…” Chuckling softly he returned his attention to Sherlock. “Is there anyone you want if you could have them?”

Sherlock shut his eyes and bowed his head, running his trembling fingers through his curls. “Yes.” Quickly he stood up and left the room.

John stared at the table before him. So Sherlock Holmes was capable of wanting another human being. John felt a bit dickish for forcing Sherlock to answer. What sort of person would a man like Sherlock Holmes want? Getting up from the table he went to the master bedroom and lay down on the bed.

It was time to remove the stitches and he wasn’t really looking forward to doing it himself. But since Sherlock had been chased off he had to make do with himself. Down went his trousers and he sat up to look down at the bandage. Scooting over to the edge of the bed he picked up the scissors in one hand before peeling off the bandage. Setting the dressing aside he went for the stitches, removing them one by one. The wound was closed. Carefully he cleaned it and added bandages. With a sigh he lay back down on the bed, medical things still laid out on the night stand.

“You did it yourself.” Sherlock stated from near the foot of the bed. A towel was wrapped around his waist and another was at his shoulders. Idly he rubbed the water from his hair.

“Mission accomplished.” John answered, crossing his bandaged leg over the other to show it off.

“Now you can swim and shower.” Sherlock sat down on the bed, lightly touching John’s bandage.

“The self repair of the human body is a marvelous thing.” John smiled at his friend.

“Amazing what it can do. And every scar has a story to tell… that we can read if we really paid attention. For instance… you’ve been shot twice. You obviously have a dangerous career. And this…” Sherlock’s finger brushed a pock mark on John’s cheek. “You’ve had chicken pox. And you scratched them.”

John stared up at Sherlock who hovered above him. The past few days spending so much time in close proximity was making his heart race. Already he was so confused by his own reactions and Sherlock’s easy going intimacy. It had only taken a few weeks of being flat mates for Sherlock to smudge the personal boundaries between them. It seemed he took up more and more of John’s space… more so since the incident. If Sherlock invaded too far… could he invade too far? Was there even a point in which to stop and hold his ground? Did he want to? It would be so easy to just surrender and let Sherlock consume him.

Sherlock lightly touched John’s nose. “This is how I would woo a relatively straight man to my bed.” Giving a smile he crawled over John and lay down beside him.

“Yes… well I didn’t mean literally to your bed. Since my injury we have been sharing a bed. But that’s mostly been out of convenience.”

“I admit that has also been some of my own selfishness.”

“It has?”

“If I’m sleeping beside you then I know where you are.”

John turned to stare at Sherlock. The man that clung so desperately to him… was this a reaction to Moriarty’s mind games? Gently John reached out to place a hand on Sherlock’s damp temple. “Moriarty isn’t here. We’re safe, Sherlock. He can’t take me away.”

“I want to believe that.” Sherlock whispered, his hand reaching up to cover John’s. “I want to believe that you’ll always be safe. But I’m afraid… This is the first time I’ve really feel fear about anything. He knows my weakness now.”

“I’m your weakness?”

Sherlock blinked a few times and then looked away.

“Friendship is a strength, not a weakness. With friends there’s always someone to watch our back and support us. It makes us stronger.”

“What about your friends, John?”

“My friends?”

“It seems easier for you to find friends. Don’t you have any?”

John pondered that a moment. “My medical school friends all have practices… wives and children. Many of my friends from the army are still in the Middle East… or dead. I don’t have a lot in common with any of them anymore.”

“Ah, yes… your desperate search for female companionship. You’re looking for a wife too so you can settle down with a practice and children.”

“I’ll be forty next year…”

“The last minute dash to the altar…”

“Stop that! Forgive me if I want a little companionship in my middle years.”

“You HAVE companionship, you just don’t want to look at it that way.”

“What? Stay forever with you?”

Sherlock rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Besides… Sherlock… I’m not like you. Men have… needs.”

“You mean you want to shag.”

“In so many, ugly words, yes. How do we get past that little obstacle in your obituary lover scenario?”

“Oh… we shag.”

“We do?”

“Like rabbits.”

John burst out into a laughed, trying to stifle it on the pillow. “You? Like a rabbit?”

“Don’t be silly, John… I hear it’s very good for stress relief.”

“And who’s on top?”

“I am.”

Again John laughed, smacking his face with his hand.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’ve seen the way you attack corpses in the morgue. You would kill me. I think I would be better suited since I can actually be gentle.”

“I can be gentle…” Sherlock gave John a hurt look.

John shook his head. “You’re joking.”

Sherlock leaned in, his face barely a centimeter from John’s. His breath was warm and heavy on the doctor’s face. “I can be very gentle… John… when I want to be.” His lips hovered, so close. The detective felt the intoxication John often gave him… the dizzying warm feeling. His body screamed out to make the connection and touch… make the connection. But how? With a grunt he suddenly rolled away and curled up, balling his fists into his eyes.

John felt the heat being sucked from the room as Sherlock seemed to collapse into himself. Scooting closer he rested his head against Sherlock’s back, a hand on his friend’s waist. “I was just teasing you. I believe you. You are sometimes gentle…” Sherlock seemed to relax with the touch. Shutting his eyes John lay there, once again at Sherlock’s side.