Chapter Text
Sherlock knew he wasn't supposed to do that kind of thing these days. Things between them were so much better. Now they talked. Sort of.
After Mary, after Eurus, after this whole fiasco, they had settled on one rule : no more secrets, no more assuming the other knew what one of them was about.
And it worked, mostly. John seemed happy, balanced, confident. John trust him again. He let him watch his daughter alone, for Christ sake ! They laughed, run after criminals, argued about inane things such as keeping experiments too close to things they were supposed to eat. Long gone were the guilt and the hard feelings. And then...
Sherlock needed to think. Maybe he'd been wrong, that would certainly not be the first time. Especially when it came to these – sentiments, not his area. He had thought about it a lot after his birthday, nearly two years ago.
"Complete you as a human being". It still didn't make sense, not in his experience anyway. He had even researched it. Couples, romantic entanglements. Lots of data were to be found. None made sense.
His conclusion had been a bitter one. No need to compare the data with the facts stored in his mind palace, he knew they could never match. He wasn't that naive, even in those matters. In this area, he was doomed to fail.
So John's belief that romantic entanglements were a way to improve one's life only meant one thing : one day John would leave. Sherlock didn't know if he could go through another wedding, another best man speech.
Of course he could, he told himself. It's all just transport in the end. Though he had read the other day about broken hearts being a real, medical condition. Sometimes, after a loved one passed away, people would show all the signs of an heart attack, though nothing was eventually wrong with their hearts. Anyway. Irrelevant.
How could you rely on another person to make you happy when you were supposed to find happiness in that person too ? As if two people could have the exact same need in the exact same time. What were the odds ? And what was the fuss with happiness anyway ? Domestic bliss. Boring.
But... This morning he'd been awaken by the sound of his door being opened not-so-slowly, followed by not-so-quiet tiptoes. Then a muffled 'Lock ? You asleep ? Dad said no to wake you..." He had promised Rosie to bring her to the park that morning. The spring has settled in and she loved watching bugs as much as he did, though she prefered ants over bees. "Ants are more funny", she said. "Funnier", he'd replied, though he didn't get her point. Bees were so much more... Focus, Sherlock, not the point here.
He had completed a good case the day before, one that lasted a bit more than three days. By the middle of the afternoon, back at Baker Street, he had been welcome by a very cuddly Rosie. They had made plans for the next day, and he had fallen in his post-case near comatose slumber. He also had promised John he would eat three square meals that day.
So they had a full breakfast, had been strolling Regent's park for the best part of three hours, and been back for lunch. Then nap (on Rosie's part), a bit of tyding up (on John's part) a bit of research on case-related stuff (on his part). By the end of the day, Rosie was playing in the sitting room, telling herself elaborated stories, and John had been cooking a very good-smelling thing. Then all hell broke loose
- "Would you taste it, please ? I want to make sure you're actually going to eat it, just to know I'm not wasting my time here." John said with a smile, holding out a spoon of the asparagus risotto he was making.
Sherlock bend over to lick the spoon. He hummed in delight and was ready to tell John how good it was, when he saw it. John's pupils had darkened a bit, and as Sherlock stood back, John was watching his lips with an unmistakable air of arousal. John wants me, was the only thought that crossed Sherlock's brain before he panicked.
- "I... The case... Just remembered loose ends... Don't wait up..."
Then he run down the stairs, grabbed his coat and was gone, leaving a gobsmacked John in the kitchen, an empty spoon in his hand.