An Affair to Remember-Sherlock Fanfic

Sherlock and the Case of John Watson

“John, how’s the research going?” Sherlock asked as he leaned over John’s shoulder to look at the computer screen.

John shook his head in frustration, at not being able to obtain the information Sherlock wanted as well as the closeness of his proximity for he could feel Sherlock’s body heat and John became so overwhelmed by the stimulus that the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, as he self-consciously rubbed the base of his skull.

“John, are you alright?” Sherlock asked in concern when he noticed John rubbing, and then scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m fine,” John snapped wondering when it was time to take another pain pill.

Unconvinced, Sherlock gently moved John’s hand away as his long fingers explored the red marks on the back of John’s neck. John sat stock still, willing his body not to respond to Sherlock’s touch. “John, what shampoo are you using?” Sherlock asked as he moved John’s neck to the light where he could examine the little red welts that were starting to crop up on his skin.

When Sherlock began to part John’s hair for further examination, John wheeled out of his grasp. “Sherlock, I’m fine let’s get back to the case.”

Sherlock looked bewildered as he walked across the room to where John sat, “John, I think you are having a reaction to the shampoo you’re using. Next time we wash your hair, I should use something with a tea tree base. Yes, yes that should do it.” Sherlock said in triumph as he smiled at John.

John suddenly felt as if he couldn’t breathe when Sherlock smiled at him. “Sherlock, let’s change the subject okay?”

Sherlock looked a little confused, shrugged and then his face lit up, “John, that’s it. What kind of wood are cuckoo clocks made of?” Without waiting for an answer, Sherlock rambled on, “Linden wood-Linden-Linden, why does that name sound so familiar? Linden-Linden, oh yes that must be it the Linden Case. John, do an internet search for the Linden Case, check November 2013.”

John wheeled over and angrily tapped out the internet search on the computer keyboard, at one point he hit one of the keys so hard that it popped up and wobbled to the side of its usual position. “Here it is, the Linden Case,” John said flatly as Sherlock began to read over his shoulder.

John couldn’t take any more, “Sherlock, I’m tired I’m going to take a nap.” He said and then without another word wheeled out of the room, all the while swallowing down the lump that formed in his throat, for Sherlock hadn’t even noticed his departure. The room was cold and John shivered as he wheeled over towards the adjustable bed that Sherlock had bought so that John could maneuver himself in and out of it if he needed to. Every bone in John’s body ached as he slid out a side panel from his wheelchair, and then a few herculean movements later he was in bed lying down. “Damn,” John thought as he stuck a pill in his mouth, “there’s no water in my glass.” Not wanting to go through the process of getting in and out of bed again, John bit down and just chewed the pill up, grimacing at its sour taste as it burned its way down his throat.

Waiting for the nausea to pass John finally began to feel the effects of the pill and smiled as he gave in to the relief he felt when it took the edge off. Hours later Sherlock slipped in beside him but John kept his eyes squeezed shut for he didn’t want to face him.

“John, I know you’re not asleep and we’re narrowing down the suspects. So …so are you up to doing some sleuthing with me tomorrow?” Sherlock asked as he leaned his head over John’s shoulder.

John rolled over to look at Sherlock and thought that Sherlock must either be the cruelest or the most naïve person not to realize the passion he aroused in John with just one glance. Sherlock furrowed his brows together, “John, your pajama top it’s…misshapen…the buttons are all wrong,” Sherlock said as he reached out unbuttoned John’s pajama top, lined up the buttons with their respecting button holes and proceeded to button them one by one. At one point Sherlock hesitantly reached a finger in through an opening and lightly touched John’s chest rubbing his finger over John’s sternum until he gasped and rolled out of the bed, hitting the floor with a loud thump. Like a frightened animal Sherlock scrambled up off the floor and fled the room.