Status: It is my first piece so please help in anyway
Johnlock's Very, Very Beginnings
The Very Very Very Beginnings
"Three years four months nine days and" Sherlock exclaimed in a voice that seemed so distant yet irrefutably persistent, like a fly bashing against the glass of a window "Nine minutes" at what must have been the point that the second hand on the clock that hung above the fridge, completed its circuit.
"Sherlock I couldn't be prouder than I am right now at the fact you can state a date but" and I knew when I said this I would most likely be the one to pay for it "what is the point in your telling me that"
It was the second I said that, the look one would normally spare for a pig destined for a slaughterhouse or a sheep stuck between barbed wire instantly revealed itself behind that ostensibly emotionless face. Ostensibly is what I thought at the time, at least.
"John, I'm telling you the exact amount of time that has passed since you moved in here"
It was that out of all the things Sherlock had ever said to me that struck me the as the oddest. Sherlock could tell you if a man was the father of a child by the turn-ups on his jeans. Could solve a murder case in mere minutes that could take New Scotland Yard perhaps months. But from the (what Sherlock said to be) three years four months and nine days he had known him he never expressed any sense of an eidetic memory. He would remember relevant things, of course, that was how he functioned, but this, it seemed to me, was completely irrelevant in the mind "palace" that is Sherlocks brain.
"Um" I said while, to my surprise, it seemed to me I was choking back something I needed to say "now, errr, why do, why do you care."
"Well it's obvious, is it not?"
"You're going to expand?"
After exhaling perhaps a little bit too much he told me.
"Three years four months nine days and nine minutes since you moved in here. Three years four months nine days and nine minutes since I fell in love with you"
He said this all so fast and naturally he could have been telling me the milk had gone off!
"Sherlock what are you saying"
"Well I thought I'd save you the awkwardness of thinking does he love me does he not!"
I replied in what I thought was my opinion but as always Sherlock my closest friend was right.
“Sherlock, I" I began to stutter at that point. "I um I don't love you"
It was to my surprise that, although living with Sherlock one gets used to anything but the norm, he began to laugh.
"Sherlock, what, what's so funny?"
"As always I'm laughing at your incompetence. John, face it of course you love me the signs are all there, I didn't think it true either when first I noticed it but once you've removed the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be true"
"Hold on, hold on when did you notice this" I exclaimed, focusing on certainly what a normal person in this situation would not focus on.
"John that is entirely beside the point, but if you must know 22 months ago, anyway and continuing from before the signs are irrefutable the awkward way you turn your head when I realize you're looking at me. Many times I've heard you say voices in your sleep all with a different tone nonetheless when you say my name it with a certain moan that even I can deduce to be sexual.
"Of course there are many more, but by the pensive expression in your face I believe I have convinced you of the blatant fact you, John Hamish Watson, are in love me.”
Comprehendible white noise. Sherlock did what he always did he made comprehendible white noise. And always I took this point to translate everything he just said. Sherlock at that point was right about the one aspect of life he seemed to fail at. Human nature. Yet, as he had identified many times before, human nature was human error.
All these thoughts running through my mind distracting me from the foghorn in my ear telling me, screaming at me what perhaps what I had always known. I loved Sherlock Holmes. Everything about him. I knew he was beautiful, intelligent, no a genius, what was there not to love. Every inch of his pale and, divine skin. I tried hard at that point to do what I had done with none of my other relationships successfully, and try and picture my life without him. Unfortunately, I could.
I had never had a bland or simple adult life. I had spent many years in Afghanistan where I was shot in the leg. At the point I met Sherlock I knew he was attractive, but I had no sexual thoughts and no thoughts of love as Sherlock seemed to have when he first met me, all I thought deep down, the intrusive thought that had not been destroyed by the bullet in my leg, was, this life I am so willingly about to step into best be exciting and put the simple word of interesting to shame.
My conscience obviously had been satisfied when the Study In Pink began. Sherlock nonetheless at this point had intrigued me to a point where I wanted to grab him by his frightfully huge shoulder muscles and kiss him passionately on the lips. But it was not my morals that stopped me at that point, because without what Sherlock did next I would have more than certainly kissed him till my lips were numb.
“John” he said positively unaware of the hormonal rush I was going through.
“John, I love you and I have for years, and somehow it makes me hate myself.”
I was crushed because this is not what I wanted to hear. I had expected Sherlocks animalistic desires to take over. However, I surprised myself when, through all cocooned by shock, I managed to exclaim,
“Why”
The word came out strangled and desperate.
“John, have you noticed how I haven’t been, well entirely on ‘the game’, well unfortunately John, your presence has created something inside of me, where I just can’t focus because almost every time I’ve wanted to solve or complete something, I’m well distracted by you, John because I’ve only ever thought for the past few year, is kissing you, and quite an embarrassing amount more”
“Then do something about it.”
It seemed at that point that I was just crying in desperation, over something I had only recently began to desire, and my voice certainly emphasized this.
“John, I know what your suggesting, as do I know the majority of things in that go in this world, and I would more than love to, I feel a lust every time I think of you, but what if I begin to crave it and want it more and then I’ll be nothing more than someone who, once was, a consulting detective.”
Throughout this I failed even to pick up one word, the deepest emotions within me had become more than restless and finally I was no more than a walking breathing hormone. Walking towards Sherlock Holmes.
I saw immediately his head slowly spin around so he was facing me. The look in his eyes was that of hopeless desire, yet my actions were inevitable. I planted my lips firmly on his and an explosion of pent up emotions screaming at me for the past three years maybe were released all at once. I could not help but let a moan escape me. It was equalized by Sherlock who had, ostensibly, forgotten about his previous fears. Forgotten about everything. All past cares and worries, entirely and completely forgotten.
"Sherlock I couldn't be prouder than I am right now at the fact you can state a date but" and I knew when I said this I would most likely be the one to pay for it "what is the point in your telling me that"
It was the second I said that, the look one would normally spare for a pig destined for a slaughterhouse or a sheep stuck between barbed wire instantly revealed itself behind that ostensibly emotionless face. Ostensibly is what I thought at the time, at least.
"John, I'm telling you the exact amount of time that has passed since you moved in here"
It was that out of all the things Sherlock had ever said to me that struck me the as the oddest. Sherlock could tell you if a man was the father of a child by the turn-ups on his jeans. Could solve a murder case in mere minutes that could take New Scotland Yard perhaps months. But from the (what Sherlock said to be) three years four months and nine days he had known him he never expressed any sense of an eidetic memory. He would remember relevant things, of course, that was how he functioned, but this, it seemed to me, was completely irrelevant in the mind "palace" that is Sherlocks brain.
"Um" I said while, to my surprise, it seemed to me I was choking back something I needed to say "now, errr, why do, why do you care."
"Well it's obvious, is it not?"
"You're going to expand?"
After exhaling perhaps a little bit too much he told me.
"Three years four months nine days and nine minutes since you moved in here. Three years four months nine days and nine minutes since I fell in love with you"
He said this all so fast and naturally he could have been telling me the milk had gone off!
"Sherlock what are you saying"
"Well I thought I'd save you the awkwardness of thinking does he love me does he not!"
I replied in what I thought was my opinion but as always Sherlock my closest friend was right.
“Sherlock, I" I began to stutter at that point. "I um I don't love you"
It was to my surprise that, although living with Sherlock one gets used to anything but the norm, he began to laugh.
"Sherlock, what, what's so funny?"
"As always I'm laughing at your incompetence. John, face it of course you love me the signs are all there, I didn't think it true either when first I noticed it but once you've removed the impossible whatever remains, however improbable, must be true"
"Hold on, hold on when did you notice this" I exclaimed, focusing on certainly what a normal person in this situation would not focus on.
"John that is entirely beside the point, but if you must know 22 months ago, anyway and continuing from before the signs are irrefutable the awkward way you turn your head when I realize you're looking at me. Many times I've heard you say voices in your sleep all with a different tone nonetheless when you say my name it with a certain moan that even I can deduce to be sexual.
"Of course there are many more, but by the pensive expression in your face I believe I have convinced you of the blatant fact you, John Hamish Watson, are in love me.”
Comprehendible white noise. Sherlock did what he always did he made comprehendible white noise. And always I took this point to translate everything he just said. Sherlock at that point was right about the one aspect of life he seemed to fail at. Human nature. Yet, as he had identified many times before, human nature was human error.
All these thoughts running through my mind distracting me from the foghorn in my ear telling me, screaming at me what perhaps what I had always known. I loved Sherlock Holmes. Everything about him. I knew he was beautiful, intelligent, no a genius, what was there not to love. Every inch of his pale and, divine skin. I tried hard at that point to do what I had done with none of my other relationships successfully, and try and picture my life without him. Unfortunately, I could.
I had never had a bland or simple adult life. I had spent many years in Afghanistan where I was shot in the leg. At the point I met Sherlock I knew he was attractive, but I had no sexual thoughts and no thoughts of love as Sherlock seemed to have when he first met me, all I thought deep down, the intrusive thought that had not been destroyed by the bullet in my leg, was, this life I am so willingly about to step into best be exciting and put the simple word of interesting to shame.
My conscience obviously had been satisfied when the Study In Pink began. Sherlock nonetheless at this point had intrigued me to a point where I wanted to grab him by his frightfully huge shoulder muscles and kiss him passionately on the lips. But it was not my morals that stopped me at that point, because without what Sherlock did next I would have more than certainly kissed him till my lips were numb.
“John” he said positively unaware of the hormonal rush I was going through.
“John, I love you and I have for years, and somehow it makes me hate myself.”
I was crushed because this is not what I wanted to hear. I had expected Sherlocks animalistic desires to take over. However, I surprised myself when, through all cocooned by shock, I managed to exclaim,
“Why”
The word came out strangled and desperate.
“John, have you noticed how I haven’t been, well entirely on ‘the game’, well unfortunately John, your presence has created something inside of me, where I just can’t focus because almost every time I’ve wanted to solve or complete something, I’m well distracted by you, John because I’ve only ever thought for the past few year, is kissing you, and quite an embarrassing amount more”
“Then do something about it.”
It seemed at that point that I was just crying in desperation, over something I had only recently began to desire, and my voice certainly emphasized this.
“John, I know what your suggesting, as do I know the majority of things in that go in this world, and I would more than love to, I feel a lust every time I think of you, but what if I begin to crave it and want it more and then I’ll be nothing more than someone who, once was, a consulting detective.”
Throughout this I failed even to pick up one word, the deepest emotions within me had become more than restless and finally I was no more than a walking breathing hormone. Walking towards Sherlock Holmes.
I saw immediately his head slowly spin around so he was facing me. The look in his eyes was that of hopeless desire, yet my actions were inevitable. I planted my lips firmly on his and an explosion of pent up emotions screaming at me for the past three years maybe were released all at once. I could not help but let a moan escape me. It was equalized by Sherlock who had, ostensibly, forgotten about his previous fears. Forgotten about everything. All past cares and worries, entirely and completely forgotten.