K
Kateydid3
Guest
Original poster
((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))
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))