"I really am sorry about that," John murmured in apology once more. He briefly put down his tea cup to hesitantly put an arm around the other man. "I overreacted, and I should have stayed. I was wrong."
John didn't often tell Sherlock when he was right; the man usually knew quite well that he was, and he was right an awful lot of the time. But when it came to matters like this, matters of emotion and human interaction, even John could be wrong sometimes. He felt faintly guilty for walking out on Sherlock the other day, leaving his friend to deal with the aftermath of that unexpected outburst.
"I hope my participation in this experiment makes up for it a little," he continued, tightening his arm a little around the other man. "Anything you need, I'll try to provide. And if it does help us with our sleep, well, all the better for it, hm?"
"It's alright." Sherlock replied quietly, glancing curiously at John's arm around him because it was such a strange yet oddly appealing thing to have happened. He didn't question it, just relaxed against him again and, for once, enjoyed human contact. He just smiled at John's assurance that he'd made a mistake, not remarking on it, but appreciating it all the same.
"Yes, it does." he replied, tugging his knees to his chest the better to curl up under John's arm. He nodded in agreement at John's words, having already seen how his idea had helped their sleeping habits even after just two nights of sleeping in such proximity.
"I have high hopes for this experiment. It seems it's already yielded favorable results." On top of sleeping better, they each seemed in better spirits in general this morning, when before Sherlock had been decidedly not a morning person (nor an afternoon or night person, but that was neither here nor there). "Thank you for agreeing to this." he said suddenly, softly as though hoping John wouldn't hear,
( ... )
John most certainly did hear it, and the quiet words struck him; there was something almost vulnerable about the tone of voice, the soft gratitude, something John was not used to when it came to Sherlock. Perhaps his brilliant friend could have done with this kind of intimacy a long time ago; it just depended greatly on who would be able to give it to him without demanding too much from Sherlock in turn. John was a very unassuming man. A lot of people might think it a weakness, but John had come to find that, in his friendship with Sherlock, it was most definitely a strength
( ... )
Sherlock just nodded slightly against John's shoulder, still unwilling to pull away despite the fact that they were awake now and their proximity couldn't be attributed to the experiment. He couldn't help himself, the little slivers of human contact he'd gotten so far only getting him all the more addicted to it. It was almost enough that he could stay here all day, though John did have a point. He found himself looking quite forward to tonight, to getting to stay in John's bed and wrap himself up in his scent until he could hardly remember what anything besides John even smelled like. It was an odd thought, especially for him, but no less appealing.
"I suppose." Still, he didn't move from under his arm. He hummed contemplatively, curious as to what they could get up to when it seemed the criminal classes were in somewhat of a lull. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, probably a bit more open to suggestion today than usual in thanks to the warm comfort of being curled up in bed against the warm body of his flatmate.
and then rl happened, eep! still here. <3crimebloggerMarch 13 2013, 14:43:29 UTC
"I haven't thought about it yet," John mused outloud, utterly relaxed. Despite his reluctance to get up and away from the warmth of the bed and Sherlock's body, John knew if he did not get up and do something soon, there was no way he would be able to sleep properly tonight.
"What did you like to do when you were a child?" John asked his flatmate, looking down at him with a smile, his expression open. "Not that we have to do any of those things. I'm simply curious." The thought of a small child with sharp eyes and dark curls made John's heart constrict painfully inside his chest. He could - very easily - imagine Sherlock to have been a lonely child, brilliant and utterly misunderstood. John wondered what it would have been like, being around already then. Would he and Sherlock have hit it off as well as now? Or would John have been like the other children, thinking Sherlock an outsider, a freak... He'd like to think not, but of course, there was no way of knowing for sure.
Sherlock just gave a soft hum in response, still unwilling to even entertain the idea of moving just yet. John's question gave him pause, flicking his eyes up to glance at him
( ... )
John merely nodded slowly and made a quiet sound in confirmation. At this point, anything Sherlock deduced from him was hardly a surprise anymore. The man knew more about him than John knew about himself. Lifting a hand, he ran his fingers through the other's curls, feeling perfectly lazy and wonderful.
"It was just easier that way," he murmured in reply to the fitting in, before he smiled a little wryly. "I got underestimated even then. Got myself into a row or two on the playground." That he certainly did remember with perfect clarity. Being surrounded by some of the larger boys of his class, and the look of surprise on their faces when John turned out to be scrawny, and vicious and threw a mean punch. He was small for his age throughout elementary school, always had been, but after that day, people regarded him differently, and he was mostly left alone.
"I was liked by some people, but I didn't really have friends. Much less a best friend. Like you are to me."
Sherlock still couldn't quite place why he hadn't gotten up just yet, normally jumping up to do a million different things just as soon as he woke up. John was such a good pillow, though, especially when his hand stroked through his hair like that, feeling warmth gather in his very core at the sensation. How was it that John knew just how well that worked to keep him complacent? Or maybe he didn't, and maybe he was just doing it because he wanted to. Either assumption gave Sherlock a lot to ponder, though he wasn't doing too much thinking just now, being that he was so content laying against John like this
( ... )
John had had no trouble getting people to like him when he was younger, that much was certainly true. He was kind, unassuming, patient, understanding... Best friend material. At the same time, however, he never felt the need to deeply connect with any of the people he surrounded himself with. That kind of loyalty would not be given easily. It had to mean something, and it had to be worth it. And till Sherlock, John had never come across a person who brought that out in him. For Sherlock, John wanted to be the best companion he could be.
At Sherlock's question, John smiled wryly. Placing the breakfast tray on the nightstand, he lay down on his side again, facing the other man. "That," he began, slowly, looking into Sherlock's eyes, "depends entirely on the friendship, I think. And one's perspective. I am fairly certain this, what we are doing, is unconventional. Male friends do not sleep with one another like this. However..." His smile turned a little kinder, a little warmer, as he regarded his friend. "Best friends do help one
( ... )
Sherlock glanced up curiously when John moved, adjusting himself accordingly to lay down next to him. He normally would never have found a conversation about sentiment so engaging, but when John's eyes locked with his, he found he couldn't pull his focus from him. He nodded intermittently, John's smile making his insides do a strange flip at the sight of it. Was this how one normally felt around their best friend, like being close like this was something totally natural? He had no way to know, so he quashed the unfamiliar feeling and pressed on
( ... )
The entire morning had been almost unbearably intimate, a feeling driven home even more by the fact that Sherlock was not an emotional person. At all. John knew his friend cared, sometimes, in his own way, but this... this was more than that. This was new, and John didn't really know what to do with it. Still, he would take great care not to create a repeat of the other day, where he had lost control of himself and stormed out of the flat. That would simply not do.
Regardless of all that, John sat up and moved out of the bed upon hearing Sherlock's question, tugging down his t-shirt and running a hand through his bedhair. "I did say that, didn't I?" he quipped gently, smiling down at the other man. "Let me go and get a shower, and I'll, I don't know, check out some things on the net, see if anything's up that might be of interest to us. Alright?"
The floor felt cold against John's bare feet. He missed the warm comfort of the bed and Sherlock's presence already.
Sherlock made a soft noise of protest when John had the nerve to get up, sitting up to watch him as he got up. He wrapped the blanket further around himself and tugged his knees to his chest, regarding John as he spoke with his cheek resting against his knee
( ... )
John was taking his time in the bathroom, needing a few moments of privacy to reflect on the past two days, and certainly on the morning that had been. It had been surprisingly nice to sleep next to Sherlock this past night, and nicer still to spent the morning in bed with him, all wrapped in one another. This concerned John. It concerned him greatly. Because no, it was not something best friends did-- at least not something he did with his best, very male, friend. And this was what had bothered John the most, he thought, as he stood under the shower. It had felt like a morning shared between a couple. And that distant realization and knowledge... had not bothered him in the slightest. He had not even wondered about it. He had simply fallen into it, wrapping Sherlock in his arms, petting his hair, sharing smiles and stories and breakfast in bed, for goodness sake, like this was something they did every day. Sherlock's behaviour had thrown the good doctor as well. He had made John breakfast in bed, had said a number of things that were
( ... )
Sherlock was trying resolutely not to think too much about the unsettling feelings (as much as he abhorred using the term in reference to himself), having been getting too caught up already when this was supposed to be just an experiment. What would he do if John got cross with him again, or if he ever decided to find another boring girlfriend again? He'd probably fall back into old habits, ignoring the need for sleep until succumbing to exhaustion, never again actually enjoying the activity as he had been. It tugged at him unexpectedly to think about waking up without John next to him, so he pushed it all down and grabbed his mobile, distracting himself by checking for any interesting news headlines
( ... )
John smiled patiently at Sherlock's mutters and murmurs; a bored Sherlock was an unpredictable Sherlock, but John mostly found it endearing... Mind, as long as the boredom was not aimed at him or any of his belongings. Scrolling mindlessly through various London websites, John tilted his head in thought, leaning into Sherlock as much as the other man was leaning into him. "We could... go to a museum? Art gallery? Theater? Science museum has a new exhibition..." Really, the capital offered too many things to keep track off on a daily basis, but actually finding something that would hold Sherlock's attention for longer than a minute was going to be a challenge. "We could go to the shooting range I frequent," he offered, looking sideways at the other man. "I tend to go on this day if we don't have a case on. Or, I don't know, maybe Molly has a new body in that's suitable for one of your experiments
( ... )
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John didn't often tell Sherlock when he was right; the man usually knew quite well that he was, and he was right an awful lot of the time. But when it came to matters like this, matters of emotion and human interaction, even John could be wrong sometimes. He felt faintly guilty for walking out on Sherlock the other day, leaving his friend to deal with the aftermath of that unexpected outburst.
"I hope my participation in this experiment makes up for it a little," he continued, tightening his arm a little around the other man. "Anything you need, I'll try to provide. And if it does help us with our sleep, well, all the better for it, hm?"
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"Yes, it does." he replied, tugging his knees to his chest the better to curl up under John's arm. He nodded in agreement at John's words, having already seen how his idea had helped their sleeping habits even after just two nights of sleeping in such proximity.
"I have high hopes for this experiment. It seems it's already yielded favorable results." On top of sleeping better, they each seemed in better spirits in general this morning, when before Sherlock had been decidedly not a morning person (nor an afternoon or night person, but that was neither here nor there). "Thank you for agreeing to this." he said suddenly, softly as though hoping John wouldn't hear, ( ... )
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"I suppose." Still, he didn't move from under his arm. He hummed contemplatively, curious as to what they could get up to when it seemed the criminal classes were in somewhat of a lull. "What did you have in mind?" he asked, probably a bit more open to suggestion today than usual in thanks to the warm comfort of being curled up in bed against the warm body of his flatmate.
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"What did you like to do when you were a child?" John asked his flatmate, looking down at him with a smile, his expression open. "Not that we have to do any of those things. I'm simply curious." The thought of a small child with sharp eyes and dark curls made John's heart constrict painfully inside his chest. He could - very easily - imagine Sherlock to have been a lonely child, brilliant and utterly misunderstood. John wondered what it would have been like, being around already then. Would he and Sherlock have hit it off as well as now? Or would John have been like the other children, thinking Sherlock an outsider, a freak... He'd like to think not, but of course, there was no way of knowing for sure.
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"It was just easier that way," he murmured in reply to the fitting in, before he smiled a little wryly. "I got underestimated even then. Got myself into a row or two on the playground." That he certainly did remember with perfect clarity. Being surrounded by some of the larger boys of his class, and the look of surprise on their faces when John turned out to be scrawny, and vicious and threw a mean punch. He was small for his age throughout elementary school, always had been, but after that day, people regarded him differently, and he was mostly left alone.
"I was liked by some people, but I didn't really have friends. Much less a best friend. Like you are to me."
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At Sherlock's question, John smiled wryly. Placing the breakfast tray on the nightstand, he lay down on his side again, facing the other man. "That," he began, slowly, looking into Sherlock's eyes, "depends entirely on the friendship, I think. And one's perspective. I am fairly certain this, what we are doing, is unconventional. Male friends do not sleep with one another like this. However..." His smile turned a little kinder, a little warmer, as he regarded his friend. "Best friends do help one ( ... )
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Regardless of all that, John sat up and moved out of the bed upon hearing Sherlock's question, tugging down his t-shirt and running a hand through his bedhair. "I did say that, didn't I?" he quipped gently, smiling down at the other man. "Let me go and get a shower, and I'll, I don't know, check out some things on the net, see if anything's up that might be of interest to us. Alright?"
The floor felt cold against John's bare feet. He missed the warm comfort of the bed and Sherlock's presence already.
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