How Could You? (A Johnlock Fanfic)

Back to 221B

John's POV

We finally made it back to the flat and Sherlock immediately entered his mind palace. Sitting in his chair , with his hands steepled under his chin, he looked at peace, completely nonchalant. I walked into the kitchen, intent on making a cup of tea, when I noticed a note taped to the fridge. 

"Dear John

Based on the affection shown at the hospital, I'm am now 100% certain that Sherlock would do anything for you, and that you would do anything for him. So, I want you to keep hold of each other, for you'll never know how perfect you truly are together until you go your separate ways. I've left a few 'James Bond' movies and some popcorn in the cupboard, and some white wine in the fridge. Have fun with Sherlock, and don't worry about Mary."

Never before have I appreciated Mycroft so much. I grabbed the wine, popcorn and a movie and popped them on the coffee table. Next, I took two fluffy blankets and threw them onto the sofa. Popping the movie into the DVD player, I finally noticed a pair of eyes watching me from the armchairs. 

"Fancy a Bond night?" I said to Sherlock, as the menu for "Skyfall" appeared on the screen. 

"Of course, Bumblebee." He slid under the blankets with me as I hit play on the remote, and I snuggled closer to my partner.

Sherlock's POV

Skyfall had finally finished and to be fair, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Daniel Craig was an ok actor and while I appreciated the movie I didn't want to see him kissing every five minutes. Still, it was enjoyable. My thoughts were interrupted by the light snoring from my Bumblebee; he was just waking up, so I lifted him bridal style to my room and laid him down. He started muttering something incomprehensible. I turned to leave, but John grabbed my hand and looked at me with pleading eyes. 

"Stay with me, please."

Slipping under the covers I turned too take in my partner. The myth surrounding the whole "Prettier when your sleeping" seemed to be true when looking at John. His hair was beginning to show a few strands of grey, but I had a feeling that he'd be a damn hot silver. I moved my eyes down to his face. A few wrinkles from smiling and putting up with my never-ending nonsense, but aside from that he had a youthful complexion. The deepest, most beautiful coffee-bean eyes I had ever seen, pink kissable lips that looked very inviting as John slept, and cheeks that turned rosy when I complimented him. It is the best feeling in the world knowing that I cause such a beauty to blush like a schoolgirl. I let my eyes roam to his chest; even through his t-shirt you can see the layers of muscle he's developed, first from the army, but then through the endless chases through the streets of London, chasing criminals. Yawning, I leant forward and pressed my lips to his forehead, and drifted into a light, yet peaceful sleep.

John's POV

I felt Sherlock lift me into his bed, yet I stayed perfectly still and hoped he wouldn't know I'm awake. Thankfully, he either didn't notice or didn't care. A minute later, I could feel eyes staring at me, looking me up and down, surveying me. I  would have been uncomfortable, but this is Sherlock and for all I know he's deducing me again. Twenty minutes later and I hear quiet sleep talking coming from my left. I opened my eyes so I could finally look at him, and I was taken aback at his beauty and innocence. His curls were falling around his face like a cascade of chocolate, his cupid bow lips parted slightly as he slept, and of course, those cheekbones. Sharp and angular, all they did was add to the grace of the chiselled model that was, Sherlock Holmes. I wished his eyes were open, so I could get lost in the swirling galaxies that seemed to replace them; I knew what my favourite colour was, however it is hard to describe said colour. Green? Blue? Both? I don't think I'll ever know. 

Sherlock may look as though he's all skin and bones, but that man is ten times stronger than Lestrade and 100 times more agile than me and Lestrade combined. He could run miles and not even break a sweat, whilst in dress shoes, slacks and those damn fitting shirts. Honestly Sherl, no need to flounce your perfect self to the world and his wife. But I knew deep down that I didn't mind, it's not his fault that he's stunning. Letting my mind swim in thoughts of Sherlock, I slowly drifted of into a dream-filled sleep.

One Week Later

Sherlock's POV

John has been gone for 3 hours and I'm really beginning to get worried. What if he's been kidnapped again? I couldn't take it. Suddenly the front door bangs open and I'm out of that chair faster than you can say 'Moriarty's back'.