Chapter Text
Life with a highly functioning sociopath is a challenge most people would choose to ignore, but that is not the case for John Hamish Watson. In fact, he loved the idea of a challenge so much that he moved in with one. John had met Sherlock Holmes through a mutual friend, after returning to London from his time in the army. They both did not have the financial capabilities to own their own places in the heights of London, so they moved into 221B Baker Street together. John soon learned that Sherlock was not a normal person. The young detective had peculiarities that John learned to love so deeply. If you were to ask John what he thought about Sherlock, he would say that the detective has odd habits the he would never trade out for something less complicated in a million years. He would admit that it took him a while to get used to them, and he had to find ways that would make things easier for both of them. The first instance of a clear solution to their shared issues appeared 8 months into sharing the apartment.
{The First Encounter}
It was a late afternoon, and John had just stepped foot out of a taxi cab. It had been an extremely long and strenuous day at the clinic, so John deeply fancied a cup of tea and some peace and quiet. That dream ended the moment he step foot into the apartment.
“What is that horrid smell?” John asks himself, as he sets his work bag down and slips his shoes off.
The smell that was infecting his nostrils could only be described as rotting human flesh. The scent made John gag on the spot, and he immediately knew where the smell would be coming from. After a moment of searching for something to cover his nose, he settles with a place mat from their dining room table and reluctantly begins his voyage to Sherlock’s laboratory. The second he pushes down on the door handle, he is met with even more of a gut-wrenching stench.
“Oh, John! I didn’t hear you come home.” Sherlock states, seeming to ignore the smell that wafts heavily through the air.
“Sherlock, what is that awful smell?” John asks, his hands beginning to wave away the wretched air wrapping around his face.
Sherlock turns to look at John, “Oh, sorry. I’m dissecting on a bear heart, but the capsule it was in began to defrost. It got a little rancid.”
“A little?” the older man exclaims.
Sherlock nods his head and turns back to the pile of bear heart in front of him, and John scoffs, “Sherlock, you cannot have that in our home. It smells awful.”
“I need to finish dissecting it, so I’ll get rid of it the moment I’m done.” Sherlock explains, grabbing a tool on the desk.
“No, you said that last time, and the time before that, so no. Clean this up right now.” John says, fed up with the rotten smells he often comes home to.
“John, you can’t make me clean this up. It’s my house too.” Sherlock says, his attention still being given to the heart lying under his face.
“Yes, well you share the place with me, and I am expressing that I do not like you bringing in rancid smelling objects. You must express your understanding of that and find a compromise.” John says, his eyes beginning to burn due to the disgusting air wafting around him.
Sherlock sighs, puts his tools down, and faces the doctor, “Fine. What would be your compromise?”
John thinks for a second and responds, “You are allowed to bring back your scientific discoveries, if they do not have a smell. This means that you can still conduct your research, and I can still enjoy my time off work. Quite simple.”
“But what if I really want to work on something and it smells bad?” Sherlock asks, a whiny tone shining through.
“Don’t you have a work-lab that you can use?” John asks.
Sherlock reluctantly nods his head, “I guess.”
“Good.” John begins, “then dispose of your animal body part and light some candles to get rid of the smell. I will be showering and then making a cup of tea. Would you like some, after you finish cleaning up?”
Sherlocks nods his head again, “Yes, but you sound like my dad.”
“Well, maybe I need to, if you’re going to go around making messes.” John states before walking out of the room.
{The End Of The First Encounter}
Something about that evening changed something in their dynamic. All of the sudden, John kept making sure Sherlock abided by their roommate agreements. He enforced a strict rule of keeping wretched smelling science experiments outside of the apartment, meanwhile Sherlock just reluctantly followed after everything he was told. This became their normal life, but things changed even more after something about Sherlock was revealed.
{The Revelation}
“Sherlock!” John calls from the living room, “I’m heading out. I’ll be back around midnight.”
When John doesn’t get a response, he walks to the front door and slides his shoes and coat on. The moment his hand hits the door handle, he hears Sherlock hastily walking towards him.
“Where are you going?” Sherlock asks, his lab coat majestically flowing behind him.
John turns to face the younger, “On a date. Why?”
Something on Sherlock’s face changes, but John fails to pinpoint what the difference is.
“Oh, right. Have a good evening.” Sherlock bitterly states, before rushing away just as quickly as he came.
John pauses for a moment at his roommates odd behaviour, before remembering about his date waiting for him downstairs, so he rushes out the door. He meets the woman, Cynthia, at the front door, and they walk up the street to the left. This information is known due to the fact that Sherlock is looking out of his laboratory window at the young couple. He watches intently, as John laughs at something the woman says. He continues to watch them closely, until he hears a cough come from behind him. As if on cue, he jumps and turns around to find the source of the sound.
“Mrs. Hudson, how long have you been standing there?” he asks, his voice sounding like a kid getting caught for doing something they are not allowed to do.
“Long enough to know that most people don’t watch their friends that intently.” Mrs. Hudson states, making her way over to the window Sherlock is standing at.
Sherlock awkwardly coughs, “I was just checking to make sure the woman he was seeing wasn’t a serial killer. She’s not, if you care to know.”
“Oh yes, dear. I completely believe that.” Mrs. Hudson says in a sweet, yet mocking tone.
Sherlock rolls his eyes and turns to look out the window again. Mrs. Hudson can pinpoint the moment his facial expression dims, as his grey eyes search for John and his lady friend with no avail.
“Will you ever come clean to that man?” Mrs. Hudson finally cuts the tension with a hard-hitting question.
Sherlock’s entire body tenses, “no, it is nothing serious. Plus, he would never like a man. Judging the amount of women he has dated since we met, he clearly only likes women.”
Mrs. Hudson sadly smiles, “you will never truly know, until you try.”
Before Sherlock can say something that will disprove her point, Mrs. Hudson walks out of the lab. She leaves Sherlock with the biggest question of his lifetime: ‘would there ever be a universe where John Watson is not only attracted to women?’ This question eats away at him for the rest of the evening. The only thing that can cut it out is wrapping himself up in his blankets and just crying. The feeling of tears streaming down his face is a distraction from the reason for them. Hours go by with Sherlock in this state. He even fails to hear John makes his return.
“I’m home!” John yells, as he removes his scarf and shoes.
“John, dear,” Mrs. Hudson begins, worry lacing her words, “you must go check on Sherlock for me.”
John turns to see Mrs. Hudson nervously standing in the kitchen doorway, “what do you mean? What’s wrong?”
Mrs. Hudson sadly shakes her head, “I don’t quite know, dear. He hasn’t left his bedroom, since you left for your date. I think I heard him crying, but I’m not sure. Please, go make sure he is alright.”
John walks to Mrs. Hudson and places a comforting hand on her shoulder, “I will. No need to worry. I’m sure that he is fine.”
The calmness in his voice brought comfort to Mrs. Hudson, but John was truly far from calm. Every possible outcome of entering Sherlock’s bedroom raced through his mind, as he slowly made his way to the detective’s room. Crying was never something John expected to see coming from Sherlock, so logically he could only assume the worst of the worst. When he finally gets to Sherlock’s door, he takes a deep breath and gently pushes it open. John’s entire body stiffens at the sight of Sherlock Holmes, Britain’s Finest Detective, hiding under the covers on his bed visibly shuttering. The sad sobs that come from the bed practically rip John’s heart out.
“Sherlock,” John quietly calls, “are you alright?”
The second John speaks, Sherlock moves around under the blanket. His head slowly pops out from his self-made cacoon. The moment his glossy eyes meet John’s, the older man cannot help but hold down a sniffle.
“I’m fine, John- you can- you can go.” Sherlock mutters, his voice sounding horse from all of the crying.
John’s sullen face indicates to the younger man that he is not going to be leaving him anytime soon, so he melts back under the blanket.
“Sherlock, what’s going on?” John asks, inching closer to the side of the bed.
Sherlock shakes his head under the blanket, refusing to reemerge. John sighs and sits on the edge of the bed.
“I’ll wait here, until you are ready to talk to me.” John softly states, his eyes hooked onto the sad lump hidden under the blanket.
“No, just go away.” Sherlock refutes, before beginning to cry once more.
The second his sobs reach John’s ears, the older man reacts by slowly removing the blanket wrapping around Sherlock’s body. Sherlock whines at the cool air reaching his damp face, and he looks away from the doctor. John gently and slowly lifts his hands to Sherlock’s face and forces the younger to look him in the eyes. His hands begin to cup Sherlock’s face, as he says, “I’m not leaving you in this state, Sherl.”
The moment those words are uttered from his lips, Sherlock falls into him. John is quick to react and engulf Sherlock into a hug. The detective finds the crook of John’s neck and sobs into his rough skin. They sit like this for what feels like hours, as John rubs circles onto Sherlock’s back and softly runs his fingers through his curly locks.
“Sherlock,” John quietly begins, “would you like to talk now?”
John can feel a sigh on his skin, but the younger sits up nonetheless. Sherlock avoids eye contact, as he responds, “I’m sorry. It is stupid for me to have cried like that.”
“No, it’s fine. Everyone is allowed to cry, Sherl.” John explains, his hands reaching out and taking Sherlock’s hands in his own, “I just want to know what brought it on.”
Sherlock’s eyes flutter, as he looks up at John, “it’s really quite stupid. I can’t possibly tell you, or you would laugh at me.”
“I would most certainly not laugh. This is something very evidently important to you. I promise you that I would never laugh.” John states, his sincere voice calming Sherlock’s nerves.
Sherlock averts eye contact once more, “I honestly don’t entirely know what came over me.”
“Alright, I can work with that. When did this feeling start?” John softly question, his fingers beginning to slowly massage Sherlock’s callused hands.
“I guess it started, when you left. I just felt so sad and useless.” Sherlock timidly admits, immediately retracting his hands in the process.
John sadly responds, “do you have any idea of why that is?”
Sherlock shrugs his shoulders and stands up. He begins to pace around the room, his brain shifting to his mind palace. John sits quietly and lets Sherlock go on this small trip. He knows that the younger man is working something out for himself, and the moment he does, he pauses and looks to John with fear in his eyes.
“What is it?” John asks, standing up from his previous position on the bed.
Sherlock looks away from him in a panic, “Nothing. Nevermind. It’s not important.”
“Sherlock, it is clearly important to you. What is it?” John questions, worry beginning to show through the wrinkles on his face.
“Nothing!” Sherlock exclaims, sweat dripping from his brow.
John walks over to Sherlock and gently grabs his shoulders and pulls him to the bed. He forces the younger to sit right across from him, so that they are face to face. He then moves his right hand up to Sherlock’s face, as his left hand moves to the detectives curly hair. He slowly begins to play with pieces of soft hair and caress his cheek. Sherlock is met with a wave of calmness at the mere touch alone.
“What is it, Sherl?” John asks one more time, hoping to get a proper answer.
Sherlock sighs and leans into the older’s touch, “I like you. I’m sorry.”
John moves his left hand down, so that he is, once again, cupping Sherlock’s face. A small smile creeps onto his lips, as he replies, “It’s okay. I like you too.”
{The End of The Revelation}
From that day forward, John never went on a date with another random woman he met at work. He preferred to go on dates with Sherlock Holmes.
The moment they began officially dating, they had to learn a new way of life that would make everything easier for them.