Chapter Text
"Il n'y a qu' un bonheur dans la vie, c'est d'aimer et d'être aimé."
--Georges Sand
The noise of the crowd was deafening; voices surging in volume, a mix of accents and languages flying around. The excitement was palpable as Sherlock Holmes weaved his way through the crush of people on Westminster Bridge. Above him, speakers blared music and announcements from the BBC as the crowd waited for the New Year's Eve countdown to begin. Bodies jostled against each other and Sherlock found himself being bumped and nudged along, floating adrift in a sea of people.
Finding a pocket of empty pavement at the edge of the throng, Sherlock caught his breath. Bending his knees, he tensed his calves and pushed himself up off the sidewalk, his lithe, dancer's body leaping into the air several feet off the ground. He quickly scanned the crowd and, spotting a flash of red and white, hollered "Molly!"
Landing back down, he waved an arm frantically and shouted Molly's name again. His dance partner and friend squeezed out of the crowd a moment later. Her shiny brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and secured with a red and white scarf that matched her fitted, striped jumper. She carried her jacket over one arm and her face was flushed with excitement.
"This is fun, isn't it?" She shouted to be heard over the roar of voices around them.
Sherlock smiled crookedly and linked his arms with Molly's. "I'm not sure we have the same idea of fun."
Punching him lightly on the arm, Molly laughed. "Live a little! It's exciting... really gets my blood pumping!"
Sherlock laughed as she bounced back into the crush, dragging him with her.
***
"Christ, remind me why we're here again?" John struggled to see over the throngs of people as he and Greg stood at the edge of the crowd.
"Hey, it's not so bad." Greg grunted, leaning against the railing of the bridge. "Thought you needed to get your nose out of your medical books."
John pulled a face. "You mean you decided to waste away my valuable studying time to come stand in the cold and freeze our bollocks off while being surrounded by drunk idiots?"
"All work and no play...." Greg muttered, eyes flicking over the people nearby. Though he knew how to have a good time, Greg never could fully shake his job as a police constable. He'd only been on the job for six months, but had wanted to work for the police his entire life. Even now, though he looked relaxed, he was on alert and observing the people around them.
John huffed and checked his watch. "Do we really have to stay for the fireworks? I've got a game early tomorrow."
"You're playing rugby on New Year's day?"
John shrugged. "Well... yeah. No one wanted to cancel practise."
"If I wasn't working, I'd be tempted to come watch everyone with a hangover try to play rugby."
Laughing, John kicked at his friend's foot. Greg slid smoothly out of the way, a teasing grin on his face.
"Thought Mary was meeting up with you?" Greg asked.
"Nah, I think that's over. Might call Sarah up this weekend, though. Or James."
"Jesus, John! Going for every flavor, eh?"
"Hey, it's just a little fun. And I'm careful. I'm a doctor, remember? I know how to take care of myself!"
"Almost a doctor." Greg chided.
"Close enough." John stuck his tongue out at his friend.
"Mature."
"You know it!" John patted his jacket and a look of panic crossed his face. "Shit! My phone's gone!"
"When'd you last have it?" Greg scanned the ground around them.
"I haven't needed it since I got here. Damn it, I just got that phone!"
***
Sherlock's foot bumped into something, sending it skittering away. Bending to retrieve the black square, he saw it was a mobile, slightly scuffed. "Bet someone misses this."
Molly, who was leaning back and fanning herself after an exuberant session of jumping and dancing to the music with anyone who would join her, cracked open one eye. "Hmmm?"
"Nothing," Sherlock said, waving dismissively at her. "You catch your breath."
He pressed a button on the phone and woke it up. Swiping to unlock it, he started scrolling through contacts. Two of the listed contacts had exclamation points in front of them so that they were at the top of the list. He could either call "! Mum and Dad" or "! Greg".
Dismissing "Mum and Dad" as being likely unhelpful at nearly midnight on New Year's Eve, Sherlock tapped Greg's name and held the phone up to his ear, plugging his other ear with a finger.
"'Lo?" A faint voice sounded after a few rings.
"Er... hello, is this Greg?"
"Can't hear you, mate! I'm in a crowd."
Tamping down impatience, Sherlock raised his voice. "I'm trying to find the owner of this phone!"
"What? Phone? Oh!!" The voice got even quieter as the man at the other end of the line must have turned his head. "Oi, John! Someone's got your phone!"
A muffled rustling and a clearer, louder voice came on. "Hello? You've got my phone?"
"Yes, I found it on the ground on Westminster Bridge."
"Oh, great! You just saved the day! Where are you? How can I find you?"
"Erm... I'm still on the bridge..." Sherlock looked around for anything that would identify his position.
"This crowd is infuriating." The voice on the phone groused. "Can you get to the edge of the bridge? The one farthest away from the Eye? And walk towards the center?"
"I can do that." Sherlock edged in the direction the voice instructed, pushing past bodies writhing to music. "How will I know when I see you?"
"I'm kind of stocky. Blonde hair. I'm wearing a blue-striped jumper. What about you?"
"Tall, black hair. I'm wearing black jeans and a black long-sleeved t-shirt."
"A bit fond of black, eh? Or are you the prince of darkness?"
Sherlock smirked, even though the stranger couldn't see him. "Black is easy. I don't have time to fuss about clothing."
"And here you are." A short man with sandy, windblown hair and blue eyes approached, pulling a phone from his ear. "Thank you."
Sherlock ended the call and handed the man the phone. "No problem."
Taking the phone, the stranger extended his other hand to Sherlock. "I'm John Watson, by the way."
Hesitating a moment, then taking the warm hand in his, Sherlock smiled. "Sherlock Holmes."
"Wow, that's a mouthful!" John's eyes crinkled when he smiled and he licked his lips in a way Sherlock found extremely attractive.
"My parents are... creative." Sherlock shrugged.
John's eyes roamed Sherlock's body, taking in his entire length. The tight jeans that hugged his thighs and showed off his dancer's muscles, the equally tight shirt stretched across his chest. His milky skin that contrasted so well with the black curls always falling in his eyes. John licked his lips again, clearly appreciating the view.
"Enjoying the night?" Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him and gave his patented icy stare that usually scared everyone away.
Instead of backing down, John sidled a little closer and leaned in. "No, in fact, it's been tedious. But it could get a little better?"
Gazing down at him through half closed eyes, Sherlock decided he wouldn't mind playing the game. "What would you suggest?"
"We could watch the fireworks? They should start the countdown in a few minutes." John checked his watch. "And after... I know a little coffee shop nearby that stays open all night? Coffee, maybe dessert?"
"Does this coffee shop serve dessert?"
"Nope." John winked.
Impressed with the shorter man's confidence, Sherlock leaned his head back and laughed. "Right. Okay, why not?"
John came closer, bumping his hip against Sherlock's and snaking his hand around his waist. "Do you say yes to all the strangers with lost phones?" He asked coyly.
"You're the first." Sherlock tried to think of something witty to say, but the pumping of his blood distracted him.
"So I'm special!" A delighted grin crossed John's face.
Enjoying the feel of the hand resting at his waist and toying with his belt loops, Sherlock hummed deep in his throat. "You're very special."
John laughed, increasing the fan of crinkles around his eyes and mouth in a way that made Sherlock want to touch each one.
From above, the music faded and was replaced with an announcer starting the countdown. In unison, the crowd began to chant: "10... 9... 8..."
The swell of voices grew, the vibrations thrumming at the bottom of Sherlock's chest.
"...7...6...5..."
Sherlock locked eyes with John and exchanged a silent question.
"I'm keen if you are!" John shouted to be heard over the chanting.
"...4...3...2..."
Nodding and leaning forward, Sherlock brushed his lips softly to John's. The throng of voices cried out "...1! Happy New Year!"
Fireworks exploded frenetically above the London Eye as John and Sherlock deepened the kiss. John's hand slipped under Sherlock's shirt and tripped lightly up his ribs. The rough skin of his fingers felt good against Sherlock's flesh. He gripped the back of John's neck and let his other hand roam lower to cup his arse, squeezing lightly and eliciting a decidedly flirtatious giggle from John. Their lips parted and tongues met, exploring each other's mouths. John tasted clean and minty, his lips surprisingly soft and gentle. The kiss continued until it stole away Sherlock's breath and he had to pull back, gasping. The fireworks were over and the crowd milled around, people gathering their things and trying to find the best way to leave.
"You said something about coffee?" Sherlock breathed, staring at John's lips, wet and pink.
"Er...." John glanced around, disentangling himself from Sherlock. "This way."
Sherlock tried to follow John as he darted into the throng of people, but just as he did, a particularly large section of the crowd surged by, boisterous yells and raucous cries going up as a large group of drunken university-aged boys ran by. Sherlock was knocked back and he lost sight of John's blue jumper.
"John?" He called, scanning the bobbing heads.
No answer came back to him and though he walked in the direction John had pointed, after twenty minutes of fruitless searching, he gave up. The coffee shop - and John - lost to him.
"There you are!" Molly jogged up behind him. "Been looking all over! Why're you over here? We need to go the other way!"
Feeling defeated, Sherlock allowed Molly to pull him in the opposite direction. As Westminster Bridge emptied and the first hour of the new year ticked by, Sherlock Holmes headed home, alone.