JohnLock

((OH GOD THE FEELZ TT.TT))

John watches Sherlock closely for a moment, listening in a sort of amazement. Sherlock sounds so... vulnerable. Which just doesn't happen. Sherlock is always strong; when he's frustrated he explodes, when he's sad he goes quiet, when he's afraid he acts, but he never lets people see him weak. He never admits that he doesn't know. At least not in front of anyone else.

It slowly occurs to John that he may be the only person Sherlock may be this honest with. The only person who really gets to see him. And he's honored that this man, this great man who he- all right, let's admit it, loves - would let him in like that. Because he was so alone before Sherlock, so alone (not that he'd ever tell him that), feeling so stupidly useless after his injury, after being sent home, and then this man swept into his life and let him in and gave him a purpose again, and it's suddenly imperative that he hug Sherlock, so he does. John wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck tightly, ignoring his apparent surprise and the irrationality of that action. He's allowed now. He can do what he likes. After a moment he leans back and smiles at Sherlock, at his Sherlock. "So," he says, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss that beanpole of a detective on the forehead. "Shall we go get your answers?"

((OH GOD NOW I'M DOING IT TOO))
 
He wonders if Watson realizes that he lowered his head just so John could reach. The doctor still has to stand on his toes just to kiss his forehead, making him laugh inside. Sherlock lifts up the corner of his mouth, his usual smile. There was no one else who fit for Sherlock like John and he knew it.
"Let's."
He opens the door, but upon realizing something, he spins on his heels back to face John. He feels like wrapping that scarf around him to pull him in, because once they get there, it's not as though he can just lean over and snog John.
Sherlock laughs at himself, "I'm never going to be done kissing you, am I?" He promptly does so for a few moments, and then takes John's hand to drag him out of the flat.

(There, some fluff to help the feelings.)
 
((You are a saint.))

John huffs. "I certainly hope not," he says under his breath, allowing Sherlock to tug him along. It's a novel feeling, leaving the flat hand in hand, and John tightens his hand reflexively as they step out into the Big Bad World. He straightens his shoulders slightly, his posture ever so slightly military, as if daring the world to try to pull their hands apart, because unless the promise of quick reunion is involved, their separation just would. not. happen. He smiles up at Sherlock as the instant they step up to the curb, a cab appears; something that never happens to John when he's on his own. He's long ago accepted Sherlock's ridiculous ability to instantly attract a cab from anywhere, at any time.
 
Sherlock pulls open the back door, sliding in, still holding onto his John.
"Lexington Complex." He says to the cabbie through the little window in the plexiglass that separates the front and back. As the car begins to move, Sherlock slides his arm around John, a question lays in his mind. Even though John had made that adorable little speech, Sherlock still wonders what exactly are they going to do about it in front of the Yard.
Because, honestly, Sherlock needs to have his doctor even closer now.
"Er, John, you know, we don't have to say anything if you don't want to."


-(I goes to bed now, nitey-night. I'll reply in the morning as usual :) )
 
John rolls his eyes and shoves Sherlock playfully with his shoulder, then settles into Sherlock's arm. "Of course I want to. But it doesn't have to be a production, if that's what you're worried about." He rests his hand on Sherlock's knee. "Look, we don't even have to say anything if you don't want to. I'm perfectly fine with just showing up hand in hand and letting them make their own damn assumptions. But my point is, I don't want to hide it." More like I want to brag about it, he admits to himself, but he doesn't say that part aloud. "I've spent far too long telling people we're not a couple. Now that we are, I don't ever want to say those words again," he finishes, looking up at those piercing blue eyes.

((Good night! My posts may be a little sporadic over the next couple of days because I'm going to be on a trip and I've yet to figure out if I can do this mobile, but for both of our sakes' I'll try to respond in a timely manner. XD))
 
He enjoys having John like this, that fiery sort of determination accompanied by his stubborn side. Sherlock curtly nods in agreement with the word. He doesn't want to have to hide his John either.
He leans his head back against the fake leather, squeezing John's hand as he thinks. He rememebers the first time he and John were on a case, how they stopped at that little restaurant as they waited for the cabbie.

"You don't have a girlfriend then? "
" Girlfriend? No, not really my area. "
" Alright... Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine, by the way. "
"I know it's fine. "
" So you got a boyfriend?"
" No."
"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good."
" John, erm... I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any... "


He chuckles inside, And now you're part of my work. In truth, he wasn't really attracted to anyone of any gender, not until he met John. John who praised him, who denounced him, John who did everything in the best way, so...honorable. He was always soldiering on. And Sherlock fell for him, I suppose that makes me John-sexual.
As the cab pulled around the bend in front of the complex, Sherlock grins at his Watson.

(There's a mobile version of the site when you use your phone or ipod or other technology-thing. Or we can do it over email if that's easier. Because, you know, this RP is sort of becoming my nicotine patch. It's a three patch RP)
 
John tilts his head as Sherlock smiles at him, a confused grin on his own face. "What are you thinking about?" he asks. He wants to know. He wants to know everything about this enigma of a man: what he likes, what he doesn't like, what he's thinking, what he wants, and most importantly, why he picked John, of all people, to fall for. John doesn't really consider himself special at all. He's ordinary, he knows that. Practical. A good catch, he supposes, but nothing stunning. Ordinary. And then Sherlock, this beyond extraordinary man, falls for plain old him. And since the man could have anyone, anyone at all, John can't help but wonder why.
((HAHA MOBILE FTW))
 
He lets out a quiet laugh. "Our first date, John. I said I was married to my work, but you tempted me anyways. And now..." Sherlock decides to lean in and press his lips to John's once more, getting a sort of rush of euphoria. He grins as he kisses him.
"Now you're part of my work." Sherlock can see John's ears turn red at his words, see what sort of affect it has on him. And Sherlock likes it. Again, he's questioning whether or not they should get out of the car, or tell the cabbie to just drive them back to flat so he can wrap his arms around John and keep kissing him and never let go.

 
John remembers that night - of course he does, he's played it in his head a million times since then, the ever present did he like me/did he not/I should do something/"married to his work" tug-of-war bouncing around his skull. Who would have thought it would have been resolved by SHERLOCK of all people? At Sherlock's words he can't help thinking of it himself, thinking of how improbable it is that he should get to be with this man. And, once again, how lucky he is that he let John in.
He smiles, seeing Sherlock's internal debate on his face, and leans up to even the kissing score with one of his own. "Come on," he says. "I want to see my brilliant detective at work."
 
"Well then, if you insist."
Sherlock pays the cabbie as John exits the car, and he can't help but watch him with a sort of joy. John likes him all clever, so he has to be extremely brilliant for him. He enjoys having John admire him.
They walk together side by side up the pathway to the apartment complex, the whole door covered in an obnoxiously yellow tape. With Anderson out front.
Sherlock frowns, making a particularly immature face at the imbecile blocking the way inside.
"Anderson, move. Now. Before you kill all the brain cells in a five mile radius."
 
John rolls his eyes, partially at Anderson, partly at Sherlock's rudeness. "He means please," he says lamely, before looking at Sherlock and very purposely taking his hand. If they're going to be open about it, might as well start with Anderson - present a united front. He asks Sherlock with his eyes whether that's all right, ignoring the surprise of the idiot in front of them.
"Well," Anderson sneers. "We always knew you two were gay for each other. So, psychopath, have you always been taking it up the ass, or is that a recent development?"
John's gaze snaps back to Anderson's satisfied smirk and involuntarily takes a step forward, ready to beat that man into a bloody mess. Nobody talks to Sherlock like that on his watch.

((I figure Anderson's an asshat about so many other things, he'd be an asshat about that too.))
 
(You know, I love you! And your brilliant mind. Just...OH THIS IS CHRISTMAS. As you can see I thoroughly like protective hedgehog :D )

Once he sees John react, he gets a look at just how much the doctor gives a damn, just by seeing those eyes that could kill. He's happy he's not on the receiving end for that one. But still, as much as he would enjoy John all strong and stoic and beating the crap out of Anderson, he'd rather John not have to deal with all the police hounding on them. Though, frankly, it would've been a service.
"It's not worth it, John, I wouldn't want you to catch anything. Besides," He looks back at Anderson, smirking, "You would know a bit about having something up your ass, hm? Sally broke off the little thing you had, well, at least she has a tiny bit of brain cells. Judging by your stature, I would say you've gotten a bit desperate. ."

 
((Haha, I'm glad you approve. He's so cute when he gets all prickly, isn't he? XD I assure you, you'll be seeing more protective hedgehog in the future. And I quite love you and your brilliant mind as well!))
John grits his teeth and forces himself to reach back and take Sherlock's hand before pulling him commandingly past a spluttering Anderson and into the building. At least Sherlock's comments were slightly gratifying. It was lucky Sherlock had stopped him- if anyone else but Sherlock himself had told him not to destroy that man for talking to Sherlock that way, he would have conclusively ignored them. As soon as Sherlock gets inside, he reaches over and closes the door in Anderson's face. Then, like a petulant child, he leans against the door to prevent him from getting in, crossing his arms and ignoring the look he's sure Sherlock is giving him.
 
He lets out a sigh, "John, look at me." He can see the doctor's eyes roll, as if he believes Sherlock is going to scold him. But that is hardly the case.
"Do I have to kiss you for you to talk to me? Because, I will. Especially with that whole display, I quite liked that. You all...defensive."
He rests his arm against the door, wrapping the other around John, forcing him to look in Sherlock's eyes. While he's holding him in place, he can hear the sound of footsteps that stop about fifteen feet away.
He turns his head, "We'll be just a minute, Lestrade."


 
John's brain derails just a little when Sherlock talks about kissing him, about finding that "display" attractive, and suddenly he's no longer furious at Anderson. He actually quite suddenly forgets that Anderson even exists. His heart thumps painfully when Sherlock leans over him, his intent clear, and it's that perfect moment: the moment of tension just before the kiss, where it's going to happen, MUST happen, but hasn't yet in that best of ways that makes your pulse race and your breath go shallow, and he's staring up at Sherlock, and-
And Lestrade is approaching. John internally curses, feeling his ears go red. What awful timing.
 
He turns back to John, knowing Lestrade was probably embarrassed and running away from the bit of a scene they were making. It doesn't bother him, no, because that want is still there, the need to kiss John.
Honestly, it never goes away. Sherlock moves in closer, practically pressing himself against John as he does so. He has to be so impossibly close to him, to hold him to tell him. Sherlock uses that one arm wrapped around to lift John up so he's standing on Sherlock shoes. Its amusing how even then, the army doctor is at the height of his nose. He sees the tips of his ears red, how adorable it is, that bashful side.
"So, talk or kiss?" He playfully smirks, knowing exactly what John wants.
 
John swallows hard, heart thumping. Sherlock is standing so close, so close, and his breath is ghosting across John's lips and his ice-blue eyes are burning holes into John's and shit there goes his train of thought, what was that no thing he was supposed to be saying? "Well," he starts, but his voice comes out hoarse and he has to clear his throat before he can continue, "We are in a rather public place..." He says it quietly, half-heartedly, but he's staring at Sherlock's mouth and that is not what he means, and he can tell that Sherlock knows it. He means, "I wish we were home." He means, "God, I love you."

He means, "kiss me now, you damn fool."
 
He chuckles at all the contradictions to John's words in his eyes, "Do you always say 'Kiss me' in subtext?"
And then Sherlock presses his lips against John's, practically holding him against the door. It was as if he didn't really know the meaning of gentle. But in actuality, it was the need to have John with him at all times, to kiss him, and it is practically impossible to hold back.
I never knew emotions were so...strong.
And then in the back his mind, there is the fact that they're supposed to be on a case right now, he's supposed to be looking at some dead body, supposed to be finding out who's contacting him. But in comparison to John, it seems a bit boring. The only appeal is that John wants to see his so-called, "Brilliant detective at work," and he wants him to find it attractive. He want's John to feel that same sort of want towards Sherlock.
"Perhaps-"he mutters, "We should-sho-should back to the....case."
It's halfhearted.
 
When Sherlock is kissing him like this, John is intensely grateful for his natural protectiveness - and for how attractive the detective apparently finds it. Because Sherlock is kissing him roughly, like he needs John like oxygen, and John realizes that he is just as addicted to his Sherlock as Sherlock is to his cigarettes. He also realizes that when Sherlock kisses him like that, it really turns him on.

He groans internally as Sherlock pulls away, but his irritation is quickly replaced by a mixture of amusement and satisfaction when he hears how affected Sherlock is. The man is stammering, and he can't seem to make his sentences make sense - this man, whose speech normally rolls so eloquently, smoothly, never pausing or stumbling. Knowing he can affect Sherlock like that does very strange things to John's head, and before he can stop himself he's kissing Sherlock just as fiercely as Sherlock was kissing him. But some godforsaken part of his brain actually registers what Sherlock said, and he breaks apart from him, resting his forehead against Sherlock's and breathing hard. "Y-yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, we should."
 
Sherlock thinks to himself that if everyday involves this...well, he would be very lucky. The way John kissed back, with some sort of ferocity, now that was admittedly arousing. But they have to break apart, if only slightly. He still doesn't let go of his hand like before, squeezing it tightly.
He leads John on, following the police tape to the door to the complex pool. Sherlock gives John one last smirk before he pushes open the door.
"Sorry we're late, well not really. Had a bit of fun on the way in. Hello, Sally, smart move breaking it off with Anderson, he is a twit and it's fun to see him all lowly. Anyways," He lets go of John for a moment as he claps his hands together at the sight of Greg, "Lestrade! Where's my body?"
He says this all extremely fast, not sure that everyone heard it all. Well, he knows John has. And that's good.
He plans to be quite impressive today.