An Affair to Remember-Sherlock Fanfic

Why You?

John’s mouth stood open as Sherlock breezed in through the open door, “God he’s magnificent, so full of life,” John thought as Sherlock nervously paced the perimeters of the room, his long, black coat trailing behind him.

“Well, I was surfing the web for information on a case I was working on and I happened to run across your Blog, and so I violated a few privacy laws and thought, hhmm I wonder what my old friend John Watson is up to, after all I was supposed to meet him somewhere and I never showed up, so I must apologize.” Sherlock said as he snapped out the words, making sure that John could not mistake the hardness in his tone.

John looked confused for a moment and then looked out into the distance, “So, you weren’t there?”

“Nope,” Sherlock answered not letting up on the pressure, as his steely green eyes bored into John’s sad, dark blue eyes. “So, John, what did you do?”

John cleared his throat and said, “Well, first I was worried and then the longer I waited I got mad. Finally, I told myself to just go home and get drunk because I waited there until…”

“Midnight,” Sherlock answered flatly.

“Oh…” John whispered.

“Midnight, where were you?” Sherlock hissed and then stepped back as he felt his control slipping.

John could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as he turned away from Sherlock, “No, more questions, please, for we said that if one of us wasn’t there, that there would have to be a damn good reason.”

Sherlock stamped back and forth in frustration, “So, I’m not allowed to ask a question?”

John shook his head, the tears openly spilling down his face by this time, “Please, let’s change the subject,” he begged. “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stared back; frustrated for there was something about the situation he was missing, “Merry Christmas, John. Oh, I almost forgot I have something for you,” Sherlock said as he handed John a brown wrapped package.

John took the package and looked down, “I don’t have anything for you.” He said as he carefully un-wrapped the package.

Sherlock shrugged and replied, “Well, it’s not really a Christmas present.”

John held the white cardigan up that had been Sherlock’s Grandmother’s, “Oh, so that’ why my letters came back. I’m so sorry Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded curtly and then drew in a deep breath as he looked at John with the cardigan draped around his shoulders. “You know I painted you like that once, the Gallery owner said it was my best work. I thought I would never part with it, but a young man came in and wanted to buy it, he had no money, so I told the owner to give it to him. Besides he was he was…in a …in a …oh Jesus no,” Sherlock whispered as he made his way to John’s bedroom and threw open the door. There on the wall the painting hung, the angelic face of John wearing the cardigan as an ethereal light shone in his eyes-the eyes of an angel-his angel-John.

As Sherlock quietly left the room, he noticed the wheelchair backed in a corner, overwhelmed by the situation Sherlock tried to compose himself, after a few attempts he strode over to the couch where John lay. Sherlock didn’t bother to wipe the tear that slid down his cheek as he took John’s ice cold hands in his own, “Oh God, John, why did it have to be you?”

John gripped Sherlock’s hands tightly, and in the nasal tone that Sherlock loved so much he replied, “No, No, Sherlock, just---ddon’t blame yourself, for I was looking up when I should have been looking down. After all if you can paint, I should bloody well be able to walk, shouldn’t I?”

Sherlock had still not moved as shivers of shock made his hands tremble. “John, I love you, I thought I would never utter those words-ever. John…marry me please.”

John looked at Sherlock in dismay for how could he expect Sherlock to tote a cripple around town.

Sherlock looked back at John again, his eyes pleading, his integrity shattered, “John, will you marry me?”

The question hung heavily in the room, answered only by the hiss of gas from the pipes hidden behind the imitation logs in the fireplace.