Chapter Text
John Watson sat back in his chair. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply and tried to let go of the day. As if sensing his need, Sherlock picked up his violin and began to play a beautiful piece. It was so soothing John could feel himself release more stress; while sinking deeper into his chair. When the concerto ended, Sherlock put his violin down. John knew the sound even 2with his eyes closed. Sherlock didn’t say a word, but John could sense it wouldn’t last long.
“John.”
“Yes?” John tried not be annoyed-sounding, but it was a close thing. He clenched his fist a bit instead, hating that the moment had been disturbed.
“I’ve been working on tidying up my Mind Palace and I found an alarming amount of gaps on your floor.”
“Did you say floor? Do I really have an entire floor? How big is Lestrade’s?” His eyes opened slowly to study his friend. Sherlock looked odd’ his face was pink. John couldn’t recall that ever happening before.
He has a closet. But I fail to see the relevance to-“
John had suddenly pushed himself upright. “Am I that important to you that I warrant an entire floor while poor Lestrade only gets a closet?”
In response, Sherlock turned his back to him and stared out the front window. A silence lay heavy in the air interrupted only by the sounds from outside. Turning gracefully on point, Sherlock glared at John. “This wasn’t supposed to go like this. Why are you being so unnecessarily difficult?”
Johns eyes widened at the response. The whiplash change of demeanor was off putting as well, even if it was par for the course. Sherlock was like that.
“But I’m SO changeable!” Rang out in John’s mind and he felt sick even giving Moriarty a thought after what he had put them through. Small things tended to trigger that terrible time at the pool. He could almost feel the weight of the explosives again. Shaking his head, he shot straight to his feet, marched in to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. Observing his friends actions, Sherlock was left confused with no recourse but to file this with other questions about Captain John Watson, G.P. Had that been fear on John’s face? Another mystery.
It was strange really that it was only very recently he discovered the discrepancies the subject matter had taken a turn as well. Perhaps in time another floor would have to be added to Johns.
When John returned to the sitting room, tea in hand; Sherlock remained quiet. He sat down and studied the man over his folded hands. John drank for a few minutes before he decided to give in. “So what questions do you need to ask me for your Mind Palace? And mind you, I reserve the right to refuse if I feel it’s too personal. “
“Right!” Sherlock smiled broadly, bounded up and sat in a ball on the soda. “First off, I need to touch your hair.” Sherlock was up and off the sofa crossing to John before the other man got a work out. But John Watson still had military reflexes. He darted out of the way before Sherlock’s long arm could reach him. “Oy! What in bloody hell do you need to touch my hair for?”
“Sensory and tactile information are crucial in order to obtain more data about you. It’s been quite annoying not knowing.”
John held out his arm stiffly to put space between them. But a smile tugged at his mouth. “So you’re saying you’ve wanted to run your fingers through my hair?”
“Yes, exactly!” Sherlock bounced forward, easily reaching past Johns arm to feel his hair. For a moment, he went stiff in reaction before the moment passed. Long, talented fingers of the accomplished violinist sent waves of soothing bliss through his body. He may have moaned in response. “Do you like that?” Sherlock was pitched low and filled with the excitement of a new discovery; his excitement rivaling that of Lestrade calling with a serial murder case.
“God yes, I’ve been knotted up all week from work. It’s been terrible, really.”
“You could have told me John. I thought you knew you can tell me anything.”
“Even if it’s boring?” John’s mouth tugged up into a smile. “I’m surprised the Great Sherlock Holmes didn’t know,” John teased. Stepping away from Sherlock with some regret. “But, I guess that’s what this is all about, isn’t it? What’s your next question?”
“Have you ever committed any sexual act with a man, say when you were in Afghanistan?”
“I am not gay.”
“Yes, well I’ve spoken to Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Anthea, Mike and your sister. All of whom believe that something must have happened to you in the past that has created this need to reaffirm your sexuality.”
John’s mouth dropped open. “You’ve asked our friends about this? Sherlock!”
“A bit not good?”
“I’d say so!”
“I would still like to hear an answer – that is if you’re brave enough to be truthful.”
John rubbed a hand down his face. Speaking the truth at this juncture could start a chain reaction. He wasn’t ready – and he drifted off into a flashback memory from the war. Concerned, Sherlock reached out to John’s good shoulder and gave it a good shake. “John? John? Are you alright? Should I call Mrs. Hudson?” John blinked and came back to his senses. He looked up into fearful, searching eyes. “Never mind, I can see the answer on your face. You have never put it out of the realm of possibility or pursued it. But others – first in uni I think, then Med school. They sought you.” Sherlock took a deep breath, “In Afghanistan someone tried without your consent?”
“How did you- you know what? Nevermind. Forget I even asked. But you did miss one thing.”
Sherlock growled, “If they hurt you-“
“No. And no man has ever interested me.”
“You are wrong John.”
“I think I’d be the one to know, don’t you?” He got to his coat, put it on and left the flat slamming the door behind him and never looking back. If he had he might have seen Sherlock smiling from ear to ear. He’d hit a nerve.