Chapter Text
As John sat with Mary at her booth, collecting donations and listening to her talk about herself and her life, he realized one and only one thing.
She was absolutely perfect.
As far as women go, she was probably the most perfect woman he had ever met. She was the very definition of all those words that people used when describing their ideal significant other: down to earth, intelligent, bubbly, good humored, attractive and her laugh! Oh, her laugh was warm and infectious. She was an absolute, utter joy. She was wonderful.
He had no idea how she had not been snatched up and married by now. As far as he could tell there was nothing wrong with her - granted, it took time to discover all the particular eccentricities in a person's character that made them less than impeccable, but as far as he could tell there was nothing, not one single thing, wrong with her.
He could very easily picture himself with her, content with her, happy with her…settled with her. And that was where the sinking feeling came from. That was where the imperfection reared its ugly head. She was a sound, sane choice. Reasonable, simple…safe. Safe and settled. If he pursued this; if he managed to win her over and they dated and things got serious they would be a well-rounded, quiet couple.
And considering how his life was - what with all the running and crime and danger that should have been great. That should have been what he wanted - no, it was what he wanted. Right? An uncomplicated, normal love life, an eye of calm in the center of a storm. Yet for some reason that sinking feeling rested in the center of him, cold and uncomfortable and utterly frustrating. He always thought he had known what he wanted and now that it was here, now that this exemplary woman was right before him, he found it sort of…lackluster.
And worse than that, he was continually distracted as he occasionally overheard snippets from Sherlock and Edward's conversation; the honey stand not but three booths away. It would have been easy to ignore them but Edward was loud. His voice cutting through everything like an overly large, boisterous knife of noise.
Though this was no big surprise - the man obviously took in far more air than was necessary, what with his huge nostrils and all. Oh yes, John had observed that well enough. He had leaned a little way out of his seat at the booth and seen the man standing next to Sherlock (incredibly closer than was necessary) and, at first, he had had to concede that he seemed relatively okay until he had noticed his nose and those enormous nostrils.
And then he offered to get Sherlock coffee and he had no idea how many sugars were needed and he would probably make it wrong anyway and John didn't understand why Sherlock was letting someone so terribly pedestrian follow him about. Sure, the reporter had certainly stroked the consulting detective's ego well enough but by now Sherlock should have torn him to shreds with observations and realized that Edward Hoyt was plain and dull and…
And John should really, really stop thinking this way. Who cared if Sherlock got on well with some other bloke? It would be good for Sherlock to make other friends. Even if those friends were young, stupid tossers with large nostrils.
"John?"
John turned to Mary and she giggled, shaking her head, "You alright?"
"Yes. Of course. Fine. Why do you ask?"
"You seem a little preoccupied with your flatmate."
"What?" John realized suddenly that he'd been leering at Sherlock and Edward for some time now, nearly falling out of his seat as he craned his neck in their direction. He readjusted himself and turned his full attentions back to her, "I, ah, no, no, no. Just…checking in. Sorry, that was rude."
"S' not a problem," she said shaking her head, "Amusing, actually. You two been together long?"
"Over a year now." He answered and she nodded, "That's nice. I was going to ask if there was a Mrs. Watson in your life but now I know better."
John frowned, "What do you mean?"
"Well, it was presumptuous of me," she replied, "I forgot that you…I mean, my friend Shelia told me about you and Frederick seeing one another in secondary, so I should have thought to ask if there was a Mr. Watson."
"Freddie?" John's mind flashed back in time to a gangly boy with a mop of ginger hair and far too many freckles, "No, Freddie and I were just…okay, maybe one time we," he shook his head repeatedly, "Why am I-? What do you mean Mr. Watson?"
"You and Sherlock." She said as if this was obvious, "Don't blame you for the jealousy. Hoyt is laying it on rather thick."
"Sherlock and I? What? No!" John scoffed but Mary cut him off before he could continue, "John, its okay, don't be embarrassed. You two make a very handsome couple."
"Mary…" John tried to think of the best way to tell her she was crazy. To tell her that what she was thinking was wrong. It should have been easy enough to correct. But the words wouldn't come. They sat, lodged in his mouth, making his tongue thick and she shook her head at him, patting his arm, "Ah, John Jelly Babies…you are too sweet."
John sighed, "No, Mary…you're sweet. Really, really sweet. I wish I had been lucky enough to…"
He ruefully trailed off as realization flooded him, "Old bastard…now I know what he was talking about."
"Who?"
John huffed a laugh, "My Dad. He told me this thing about…" John licked his lips and got to his feet, "Ah, it…doesn't matter. 'S nothing, really. Nothing important. Just…I want you to know that," he shrugged, "If things were…different, if I was different, if we'd met at another time…I think you and I could have really been something."
Mary chuckled, "Oh John, don't be silly! We already are something."
"Oh?"
She took his hand and squeezed it, "Yeah. Good friends."
He squeezed her hand back and then released it, letting out another breath, "Mary, you are a fantastic."
"Mmm, I believe it was the mud." She laughed and patted his arm again, "Now go on…best go find your man before our dear Mr. Hoyt tries anything funny."
John walked away from Mary, sincerely wondering what on earth he thought he was doing.
Or worse, he knew exactly what he was doing.
John searched for Sherlock and found that he was no longer in the company of Edward Hoyt but instead was standing next to his mother at her booth. She was showing him a small white plant and as John drew closer he could hear her more clearly," …they also call it Queen Anne's lace and it resembles hemlock, which I thought you in particular might like, seeing as you're a detective and detectives have to deal with poison or at least I imagine they would as poison is just one in a million ways to murder someone and I know detective have to deal with murders, so-"
"Hey, Mum."
"There you are! Sherlock's been so kind to sit here and talk to me and I was hoping to get a chance to see you two together again! It warms my heart, you know, seeing you two together and happy."
John scratched at the back of his neck and avoided Sherlock's eyes as he cleared his throat, "Yes, um, well, 'bout that…Sherlock, was wondering if I could have a word?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to answer when suddenly a wave of music swelled as the band at the far end of the street on stage finally started playing. Mrs. Watson clapped excitedly, "Oh! Oh! The music's started at last! John, you should go out there and dance with Sherlock!"
John blushed, "Mum, I-I don't think…he doesn't…we shouldn't…"
"Now, see, John! There, right there, that's your problem! You do think and you think too much; now get out there and make some memories!"
"Mum, we can't dance together! It wouldn't work. How would it work? Who would lead and…" John's words ended abruptly as Sherlock took one of his hands and, without any discernable effort, managed to draw him out into the first open available space near the stage so that they could begin dancing together.
The music was soft, perfect for leisurely movements and as Sherlock drew him close, John felt the next words leave him in a bewildered rush, "Oh my god, you're leading."
Sherlock's head titled to one side, "Would you like to lead?"
John shook his head, "No, this is…fine. All fine. It's just…we must look pretty silly."
"You care a lot about how things look, don't you?"
"No," John snapped waspishly, "If I did, I would stop, wouldn't I?"
Still, John felt as if his face was glowing bright red and he had yet to meet Sherlock's eyes when Sherlock spoke, "How did you fare with Miss Morstan?"
"Um…good, good. She was…good."
"Shall I release you then? She has not seen us yet and if you wish to dance with her-"
"No." John interjected quickly, "She…ah, it…we're not…'s not going to work out."
"Oh?"
John sighed, "She's a lovely girl. Think we could be great friends but we're just…we don't…complement one another. Least, not now…might've at one point, but now…"
Sherlock made a sound of assent then asked, "So it would be best if we continued with our charade, then?"
"Our…?"
"Do you still wish for me to break up with you?"
John's throat seemed dry as he breathed, "No."
John suddenly felt as if the space between him and Sherlock was growing smaller and it took him a few moments to realize it was because the other man had drawn him imperceptibly closer, so close that John could rest his face against Sherlock's shoulder…not that he would do that…not that he wanted to do that…
John tried to focus on drawing air in and out of his lungs, "What happened to Hoyt?"
"Edward."
"Whatever."
"He was less than pleased when I turned by observational skills on his person."
"Really? That's terrible." John failed at keeping a tremendously pleased smirk off his face.
"He also informed me that he found it disturbing that you kept leering at him and his nose."
"Not his nose. His nostrils."
Sherlock nodded, "Indeed. They were rather distracting. Like two black holes."
A surprised laugh escaped John, "That's not nice."
"I thought you would appreciate the astronomical reference."
"It's an inaccurate reference." John said, then unable to help himself, "They were more like pits on his face. Big, long black pits, sucking up all the oxygen…"
"The air did seem a bit thinner in his presence." Sherlock offered and John couldn't help chuckling as they continued to dance slowly and it occurred to John that they were actually moving rather well together, their dancing well paced, measured, effortless…
"You wanted a word."
"Hmm?" John blinked, taken out of his thoughts.
"You said-"
"Oh," John swallowed and finally risked looking at Sherlock only to see intent blue eyes that made him look away again, "Yes. Um. Well, see…the-the thing is…"
"You're nervous."
"No." Followed by, "Okay, yes, okay, I'm…I'm nervous. Listen, Sherlock, I've been…you've been…the dinner with my parents and this today, it's all been…unexpectedly nice. And, I've been meaning to ask you, that is, I think maybe-"
John's words cut off sharply as did the music as the heavens opened up, fat raindrops suddenly splattering down. The predicted scattered showers suddenly letting loose, pelting the unsuspecting people below, some of who cried out as they scattered, trying to escape the rainfall.
"Come on." Sherlock said, taking one of John's hands and the duo did their best to dash out of the torrential downpour, failing for the most part as they both got liberally soaked before finally managing to duck down a small alley between two buildings that provided some cover.
John wiped water out of his eyes, "Lord, I'm drenched. You?"
Sherlock didn't answer, instead brushing wet curls from his forehead when suddenly he looked past John, "Your mother."
"What?" The question has barely left him before Sherlock's mouth covered his own.
This kiss was a complete opposite of the last.
That kiss had been soft, gentle, sweet - this kiss was rough, devouring, feverish. Sherlock's tongue parting his lips to delve deep inside, tasting him, exploring him, tracing his teeth, running along the roof of his mouth before lighting over his own tongue which lay motionless until something in John's mind snapped or clicked or did whatever minds did when they finally, finally caught up with what was happening.
John's hands carded through Sherlock's damp, dark curls, drawing him closer, bodies locking together as he angled his head and kissed him back, just as hungry, just as eager. Sherlock let out a deep, rumbling groan, a sound that bordered on triumphant as he forcibly pushed John back against one of the buildings, his own hands clutching first at his sides, then his arms before swooping up to the back of his neck.
One kiss melted into another and another and John dimly became aware of the fact that the exchange was slowly starting to spiral out of control. They were in public, for god's sake! And Sherlock said he had seen John's mother and here they were, kissing one another senseless. Yet he didn't want to stop. John had to force himself to open his eyes, had to force himself to try to draw away, recognizing now that he was breathless, panting, and ridiculously dizzy. Dizzy. Christ, of all things…
John felt laughter, giddy and stupid, building up inside him and he started to question his sanity as he extricated himself from Sherlock and looked around for his mother. He saw no one. Frowning, he continued his search only to see that the woman who must have passed them looked absolutely nothing like his mother. For one thing, she was several pounds lighter. For another, she was an entirely different ethnicity.
He looked at Sherlock to see that he was watching him intently. John licked his lips, swallowed, "That's not my mother."
Sherlock let out a huff of breath, "I must have been mistaken."
With that he turned, as if prepared to walk off but John stopped him, caught him by the elbow and tugged, lightly, but enough to get across the message that he should turn and face him. Sherlock followed the nonverbal cue and John shook his head, "No, no…you're not…you don't make mistakes. Not like that."
Sherlock merely blinked at him, hands going into his pockets, saying nothing.
John's head cocked to one side thoughtfully, "You know, this whole time I thought I was going mad. Honest. I thought I was a complete nutter. The way you were acting and all, I thought we had switched roles somehow or you had chosen to play a part or there was some deep, complex reason behind everything but now…now I know better. Now I know everything and it's so simple, so uncomplicated that it's really quite sad I didn't piece it all together sooner."
Sherlock didn't respond, still looking at him, waiting and John smiled sheepishly, "You…everything you said to my parents…about when you started having feelings for me, that-that was…true. All of it. It was the truth. And when I asked you to-to pose as my-my boyfriend or partner or…whatever, I thought, at the time I thought, momentarily, that it was almost too easy. That you cooperated without much force, that I didn't have to bully you much. Mean, I did have to agree to give you free reign of my laptop and agree to the experiment and the favor but that's…for you, that's…pretty mild compensation."
Sherlock looked away, for the first time not meeting John's eyes and John felt a sense of accomplishment at the action, "And when we had dinner, that wine you brought that was…nice. Far too nice a bottle to have come from Tesco's. We went there as a blind, you wanted to throw me off. You bought that wine ahead of time and the way you acted, joking around with my dad and humoring my mother…you did that, all of that, because you wanted them to like you, to-to approve of you. You wanted to ingratiate yourself to them because, because you…you…"
Sherlock finally looked back at him and then, without a word, he drew his hands out of his pockets. His right hand reached out and took hold of one of John's wrists. He turned it gently, moving John's hand until his palm faced upward and then, with his left hand, Sherlock placed something there before drawing away again.
John looked down into the palm of his hand to see a button rested there. He looked up at Sherlock and noticed that the button was an exact match for the ones on his coat. Sherlock gave him a tiny smile, "For your collection."
John looked at the button, then back at Sherlock, then at the button again. He shook his head, pocketing the button before asking, "So, I was right then? No pretending? You…want to be my, um…you and I…we are…"
"If you would like to be."
John felt dizzy again. He kissed Sherlock quickly and then took his hand, "Um, yes. Actually. I would very much like to be…what my parents already think we are."
"Just your parents?"
"Yeah. Right. Don't gloat." John mumbled and Sherlock's tiny smile from earlier returned, growing bigger, "Your father assured me you would catch up eventually."
"Okay, yes, that reminds me. What did you two talk about?"
"That's between your father and I."
"Sherlock…"
Sherlock conceded a little, "He told me I had chosen an interesting venue for our first date. I will also say his matchmaking skills far outweigh your mother's."
John blinked rapidly, licked his lips, and decided he actually didn't want to know what his father and Sherlock had talked about. As they started walking, Sherlock cleared his throat, "Now that we've settled our affairs, I think it would be best to let you know that I plan on requesting my one additional favor from you this following Saturday."
"Oh?"
"Yes. And, as you recall, it must be fulfilled no matter what the perceived cost."
"Yes, yes. I remember." John winced, "So…how bad is it?"
"Not bad at all considering, as I've said, we've settled our affairs."
"Okay. Right, well then…what is it?"
"We must go and visit my mother." Sherlock returned easily, "You see, she believes we have been engaged for several months now."
John stopped walking and turned to Sherlock. Stunned. Sherlock merely grinned and kissed him again.