Chapter Text
Sherlock rounds the corner and enters the living room. He stops and stares at John, sitting feet up in a new monstrosity which has invaded his sanctuary.
"What. Is. That?" he asks, frustrated by this disruption to what was a perfectly good afternoon.
"Oh, I got a new chair. The old one was getting uncomfortable so I've moved it upstairs." He grins.
"John, it's bright red, it's hideous. Send it back because it's not staying here. It's awful." He's not even looking at it. It's offensive to his eyes.
"Listen Sherlock, I know you don't like change but hear me out." He walks towards Sherlock and touches his arm like he's a child.
"You're making fun of me again aren't you John? How would you like it? I don't make fun of you for being an absolute moron now do I?"
"Well, yes, you do, quite often actually." He folds his arms and raises his eyebrows. "Listen. You'll enjoy having it around, I promise. I…"
Sherlock falls into his own chair, comfortable, familiar and tatty where he likes it. He leans into the softness, arms folded, giving John one of his own pissed off looks.
"I. Don't. Like. It! Take it away. It's burning my eyes." He's sulking now and John knows he's losing him completely. Right, it's now or never. Time for a long overdue distraction.
"Just give it a go. Please? If not, I'll put it in my bedroom." He gives him the softest look he can whilst being wound up tight inside. "Now come here and try it. It really is quite comfortable." He pulls him (with much resistance) to standing and guides him to the chair. "Sit here," he says, pushing him into the chair with more force than necessary.
"Nice huh?" John smirks as Sherlock crosses his arms and glares at him.
"It even has a foot stool." He lifts Sherlock's feet, one at a time, rubbing his thumbs across the soles as he does. "See, you like it already. It also has an extra wide seat. Perfect for slipping things in either side." He smirks.
Sherlock looks confused. John crawls onto the footstool and slides towards Sherlock until he's straddling his lap, wedging himself between the chair legs on either side of Sherlock’s thighs. They're breathing the same air now and John can feel Sherlock’s heart beating hard enough to break out of his chest.
"See, isn't this better?" He grips the tall back of the chair for support, pushing his face away to see the look in his eyes. He's seen this face before. It's the Irene Adler face, also known as the 'fuck, I'm scared and confused and don't know how to admit it' face.
"Do you want this? I think you do. I see you watching me and have wanted this too. I've wanted to tell you, to touch you, to have you touch me but I won't. Not if you don't want this. If I've overstepped then I'll walk away but I think I'm right." He feels Sherlock’s hardening cock against his own and looks at it with a smirk. "It's fine. They're just bodies Sherlock, just bodies. They react in ways we don't want them to at times." He pauses and then looks up at him. "Did you want it to? I know mine is doing exactly as it should be." Sherlock eyes his most traitorous body part, not saying a word. "Did you really never know? Never suspect or deduce?"
"John I'm…. Mar-"
"Married to your work blah blah… yes I know. But can't you have both? If you want both? Do you want both?"
Sherlock just stares blankly at him. He's putting too much pressure on him, it's going to overwhelm him.
He pushes against the backrest to push himself off Sherlock's lap and as his head comes forward, Sherlock moves his aside.
"Oh, I wasn't going to….. I mean I wasn't going to kiss you. I came on too strong, I felt brave and thought I'd just say it. It's too much, I'm sorry." He pushes against the arm rests to help him climb off and Sherlock grabs his wrist.
"John…. I am married to my work and I always will be. I'm sorry but that's something I can't change. People have tried to get between us before and it….ended badly." His eyes close as if he's trying to push a memory away. "I couldn't….won't…. do that to you. I'm sorry John."
"But that's the beauty of this. I'm already here, sharing the work. That doesn't have to change." He moves to sit on the footstool and Sherlock crosses his legs in the chair.
"What do you mean there have been others? I thought…"
"You thought what John? That I'm not interested? That I don't have needs and desires? I'm not a machine John, even though you sometimes think I am. Yes, I've had thoughts and feelings about others. At times there were attractions, or admiration, I can't always tell the difference between them. At university there were….. offers. I didn't take them as they would distract me from the work but there were times I wanted to. It's lonely John, sometimes it's so lonely and I crave that touch from someone I love. I need to be held and desired, to be the one who you look at with those beautiful eyes. It can't happen. I couldn't take losing you when you realise I'm not enough. I can't give you all that you want."
"You are enough! You're all…" He reaches out to touch Sherlock’s hand but he moves it away.
"Right now I am. But settling down, families, cuddling in front of fires, it's not me John. It's not me but it's you and this will never work. I wouldn't do that to either of us."
He stands and walks to his room, leaving John alone with his chair of hope that's now his chair of heartbreak. He pushes his face into it, trying to smell Sherlock, not the smell of new fabric and wood. He wants to smell him. Beautiful, comforting Sherlock. He heads to the sofa and collects the blanket that covered his flatmate’s long limbs this morning as he lay dozing on it. John breathes in the scent and it feels like home. He curls into his new chair, hugging his knees and wraps himself in the warmth of Sherlock’s blanket and scent. He wishes it were the man himself but this will have to do. He feels like his body is filling with pain and if he didn't know better, he'd swear he could feel his heart shattering. He's waited so long to say those words. He can't do this. He's angry and frustrated. "Bugger this," he says to himself, and gets his keys and heads out into the street.