Undiscovered

Chapter 6

John shrugged off his shirt just as Sherlock entered the room. Sherlock swallowed loudly, his stomach tingling. John glanced at him then continued changing his shirt. Sherlock also changed his clothes. It was 7 pm. They had been out the whole day. After breakfast and the park, they had driven around the city. Neither had spoken at all. John walked to the living room and lay down on the long sofa. He'd put the stereo on and soft classical music played in the background, calming his nerves. He preferred it when Sherlock played violin, but his instrument was back in London.
John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The room was lit only by the ceiling light as the day had gone from sunny and warm to dark and cloudy. It looked as if it was going to storm tonight. John hated the thunder. It was too loud. The sudden flashes of lightning frightened him, too. He hoped he'd be sleeping by the time the storm broke out.

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John woke up at 1 am. The windows shook with the wind and thunder. He started with every bang and flash. It felt as if the building were about to collapse. John was mostly quiet through the storm, though he whimpered when a loud snapping noise sounded as if it was right by his head.
"Are you okay?" Sherlock whispered to his friend.
John merely shook his head, afraid to talk. He was shaking. It was odd that he was afraid of something as simple as a storm. The man was a soldier, for goodness sake.
"What's wrong?" His friend asked him again.
"Uh..Storm," he said simply. Sherlock would understand.

Sherlock shuffled out from under his duvet. His chest was bare and he wore long, grey pants. His feet softly padded on the elegant wooden floor towards John. He went around the other side of John's bed and climbed in. Neither said a word. John's stomach fluttered and Sherlock's tightened. He slid over to John and put his arm around his friend. John snuggled up to him, enjoying the comfort. Their hostility towards one another completely dissipated as they lay together in the darkness.
Another bang echoed through the room and John stiffened.
"It's okay...Relax. I'm here," Sherlock whispered. John focused on the rise and fall of Sherlock's chest and soon after, fell asleep.

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Sherlock woke to find John's head on his bare chest. His hand was on John's head, playing with his soft hair. Sleeping John made Sherlock smile. His face was softened and the frown lines on his forehead disappeared, making him look younger. John's arm was wrapped around Sherlock's waist, so he couldn't move.
It wasn't like Sherlock to cuddle. Or make any type of physical contact. After seeing John scared like that last night, he was overcome with the feeling of longing, and he wanted to protective his friend. He just wanted him to be happy.
A nose tickled Sherlock's chest as John stirred awake. He carefully removed his arm from Sherlock's waist.
"Good morning, John," Sherlock said as casually as ever.
John sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Morning," he mumbled. He seemed embarrassed about the fact that he'd woken up clinging onto his best friend. Sherlock laughed at the idea.
"What?" John looked at his friend who was still laying down, arms tucked under his head.
"You look adorable when you sleep," he said, only half-joking. He stopped smiling and his stomach lurched after he realised what he said. John's ears were turning red. He got up and left the room. Stopping at the doorway, he looked at Sherlock and said, "Thanks. You know. For uh..last night."
Sherlock nodded.

Sherlock stepped out of the shower, droplets dripping from his hair down his back. He ruffled his hair, and smoothed it away from his face. He leaned on the marble counter staring at himself in the mirror. A pale, strong face stared back. He looked at his eyes. They were blue-grey now, but often changed colour.
What's the matter with you? Sherlock asked himself. He was always fine. He was always free, without a care in the world. Then John Watson hobbled into his life. He hadn't known what had gotten into him the past few weeks. John and him had lived together for a almost a year, but now things were different. Everytime he was around John, his pulse increased, he felt his face warm up and, although he couldn't see it, he was sure his pupils were dilated. He was very clearly in love with John Watson.
Sherlock knew for a fact that it would be the destruction of him.

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While John took a shower, Sherlock did something he thought he would never do - ordered room service.
"Hello. Yes, I'd like to order breakfast. Um.. fruit pancakes. Two. Yes. And two coffees please." He put the phone down. He was thankful that the person who answered spoke English because he had no idea how to order pancakes in French.
John came out of the bathroom drying his hair with a white towel.
"Who was that?" John asked, sitting himself down in an armchair.
"Who was what?" Sherlock replied innocently. This was meant to be a surprise.
"You were just speaking to someone," he eyed the man suspiciously.
"Oh, I was just phoning in to let the offic know that we'll be leaving in a few hours," he said calmly. Sherlock walked over to the chair across John and took a seat, crossing one leg over the other and placing his closed hands in front of his mouth.
"Oh, mm. Hey, any idea what we'll be doing today in Paris?"
There was a knock on the door that stopped Sherlock from answering. He jumped up and skipped to the door, opening it with a smile. He thanked the woman and retrieved the trolley bearing two silver-domed lids. He kicked the door shut in surprise.
"Who was it..." John started to ask. He trailed off once he saw his friend with the trolley.
Sherlock set the trays down on the glass table in the centre of the rooms. He placed the coffees down, burning his fingers in the process. John remained seated, gaping at his tall friend. Sherlock put the stereo on - classical - then gestured for John to sit down. He made his way to one of the two chairs placed by the table and sat down.
Sherlock dramatically lived the dome lids, revealing golden rolls filled with a variety of red and black berries, sprinkled with powdered sugar and syrup.
A cup of hot coffee was steaming next to John's plate. Sherlock took a seat.
"I ordered fruit pancakes. I know you like them," he said without looking at John.
"Sherlock, you hate room service..." He asked quizically.
"Yes but you like it," he said and both men started eating.
Sherlock and John caught eyes and John gave him a grateful smile.
After the meal, they packed their bags and set out for Paris.