pipmer1

Title: Stock'Holmes' Syndrome, Chapter 2 of 3
Author: PipMer
Word Count: 3239 this part
Characters: Sherlock, John, Billie
Pairing: Sherlock/John friendship or romance (to be revealed)
Rating: PG
Genre: Friendship, angst/fluff, bromance/romance (voted on by readers)

Summary: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes had known each other for seven years, five months and 26 days. Captain Watson decided it was high time for him to let his friend know exactly what he meant to him. Dr. Watson, on the other hand, was less than enthusiastic about the whole thing.

Chapter 1

A/N: Tremendous thanks to all you wonderful readers who left input and suggestions for me. If you’ve read the previous chapter’s comments then you’ll know in what direction this story is headed. That being said, I've put the rest of the notes at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers.

Special mention goes here to drinkingcocoa and treelight for their contributions to the storyline. I took their suggestions and ran with it, and I had loads of fun in the process. Thank you so much, guys! I hope that this satisfies.

Here is a mini-challenge to test for how eagle-eyed my readers are. In the previous chapter, I made a subtle, one-line reference to a comment thread on John’s blog. If you’re not familiar with John’s blog, you can find it here. The first person to identify it correctly, both on AO3 and on LJ, will receive a wee 221b ficlet from a prompt of their choosing.

John took a breath; it was now or never. He leaned forward and whispered in Sherlock’s ear…..

…. “Epic bromance, mate,” before sitting back down again.

Sherlock leaned back and looked at John with an unreadable expression. He nodded. “Good,” he said, without inflection, and stood back up to make his way to the cash register.

John followed Sherlock with a sense of unease. He thought he had seen something flicker across Sherlock’s face – relief? – but it had only been there for a split second before Sherlock had closed off with his classic shuttered look. No sense in trying to read him when that happened, it was simply impossible.

Sherlock was uncharacteristically quiet during the walk home. John supposed he was in his mind palace, sorting out the events of the day, absorbing everything that John had told him in his letter. But no, knowing Sherlock he was more likely interpreting the data he had collected on his experiment at Bart’s. One of the things that had changed after Sherlock had come back was that all of the more hazardous experiments had to be done in an actual lab rather than at Baker Street. Sherlock had readily agreed, had in fact been willing to do anything to regain John’s friendship. As if he had needed to regain anything; there had never been anything lost in the first place.

“Alright?” John asked quietly as Sherlock let them into the flat.

Sherlock blinked. “What? Oh yes, fine. Just thinking.”

John smiled. “Really? Not much of a surprise there, I have to say.”

“Shut it,” Sherlock said with a smile. He took off his coat and scarf, draping them on the coat stand. He stood for a moment with his hands in his pockets, regarding John with his “Sherlock Stare”, the one that always made John slightly uncomfortable.

John fidgeted. “Sherlock?”

“Yes. I’m just… observing. Good night, John.” Sherlock turned and walked towards his bedroom.

“Wait a minute,” John called out to Sherlock’s retreating back. “I thought you were going to tell me about the bees.”

There was no response as Sherlock went into his room and softly closed the door behind him.

“Well, that was abrupt. And a bit odd,” John thought. Then again, what in their life wasn’t just a bit odd?

Shrugging to himself, John let out a yawn as he made his way to his own room. The day had ended up on a better note than he had anticipated ever since setting the letter on the mantel. The two of them were okay. John was as essential to Sherlock as Sherlock was to him; they felt the same way about each other. John was not just convenient to have around; he meant something to Sherlock. That’s all John had wanted.

Well, if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t really all that John wanted. He had been so grateful at the confirmation of the depth of Sherlock’s regard for him that he hadn’t dared to push for more. Especially after Sherlock had expressed such indifference regarding the progression of their relationship. He wasn’t about to risk the deepest friendship he had ever had, a friendship that had against all odds endured the test of time and all manner of tribulations, by jumping into something that they both weren’t equally invested in. The likelihood would be all too high that after a couple of months, Sherlock would grow bored with the direction their relationship had taken and lose interest, like he did with everything shiny and new. If that happened, it would break John’s heart, and he wouldn’t put himself through that. Best to keep things as they were, since it was working so far.

The look Sherlock had given John after he had made his choice seemed to confirm things. But if Sherlock had only ever wanted their relationship to be platonic, why hadn’t he made that clear? Why had he left it up to John? What would he have done if John had chosen differently?

John huffed in laughter. Really, attempting to decipher Sherlock Holmes was like trying to find the end of the rainbow. It simply wasn’t going to happen. He slid under the covers, and let the worries of what had turned into a wonderful day slide off his shoulders as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Sherlock lay on his bed, wide awake and thinking. His brain whirled over the events of the day since he had arrived home and found John’s note. Things were not adding up in his mind. It shouldn’t have been surprising. Ever since meeting John, the man had been constantly throwing him off track, never abiding by normal rules of behaviour and eluding the most straightforward of deductions. John had never behaved in a predictable fashion, and was the hardest person to read that Sherlock had ever met. He didn’t follow any sort of logical pattern, which made it very hard to understand and deduce him. It annoyed Sherlock to no end. It also, if he was being honest, fascinated him as well.

Sherlock knew how John felt about him; he had always known. He hadn’t needed John to spell it out in a letter for him. It was obvious to anyone who watched the two of them together. The connexion between them went bone deep. It had been strong enough to survive Sherlock’s deception after his Fall; he had no doubt that it was strong enough to last a lifetime. It hadgiven Sherlock pause, however, to realise that John hadn’t known that Sherlock felt that bond just as strongly.

Sherlock was also aware that John had been wanting to move beyond the boundaries of their friendship for some time now. John’s desires mirrored Sherlock’s own in this regard. In point of fact, Sherlock couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t desired John Watson. But this was one area where Sherlock refused to take the initiative.

Throughout their entire acquaintance, John had followed where Sherlock led, sometimes to his own detriment and in exact opposition to his own wishes. A psychiatrist would probably say that John suffered from a form of Stockholm Syndrome. Sherlock, of course, played the role of captor, keeping John near with the force of his will and personality. John played the willing victim, constantly sacrificing his own well-being and giving up autonomy in order to cater to Sherlock’s ever-demanding needs. Sherlock should have put a stop to that behaviour a long time ago, but he was too selfish of a person to not take advantage of a good thing when he found it.

The point was, that John would always go where Sherlock led, in every area of their lives. This was a situation where Sherlock wanted to relinquish control to John, and give him a chance to lead for once, to choose something for himself, with no prompting or encouragement from Sherlock. He wanted John to act on what he wanted, without being influenced by what Sherlock wanted. He wanted John to want him, full stop.

Besides, this really wasn’t his area; John had more expertise in dealing with relationships.

After Sherlock had read John’s letter, he had felt his chest swell with joy and anticipation. He had to restrain himself from rushing out the door without his coat and wallet in his eagerness to find John. Not that he needed to find him, per se, he knew exactly where John had gone. Back to where it all began. To the place where John had gently prodded and questioned, trying to get to know his new friend. Where, for the first time in his life, Sherlock had been told that it was all fine. Where the foundation of their friendship had been laid.

Dinner had been very pleasant, a shroud of intimacy shielding them from prying eyes. For that brief duration of time, only the two of them existed, their focus only on each other. Sherlock had given John the reassurances he had needed, and had given him leave to choose which direction their relationship took. He had noticed the disappointment flashing across John’s face when he had refrained from making his own preference known, which only served to confirm what Sherlock already knew. That John wanted a romantic relationship, and he wanted it with Sherlock. And Sherlock had counted on John being truthful and honest about his feelings.

Then John had blindsided Sherlock by doing what he did best – something totally and completely unexpected. He told Sherlock that he wanted to keep things platonic.

It had taken every ounce of Sherlockian will to keep the utter astonishment from his face. The sheer incongruity of the situation set his mind reeling. Why would John have chosen one thing while wanting another? It didn’t make any sense. Could all the data Sherlock had collected on John concerning this point have been wrong? He couldn’t have been sparing Sherlock’s feelings, choosing what he thought his friend wanted, because Sherlock had made it clear where he stood, hadn’t he?

It would have been fascinating but for the little bubble of hope and elation collapsing into a soggy mess of frustration and disappointment. Stifling a groan, Sherlock shifted onto his side and curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his torso in a classic defensive position. He squeezed his eyes shut; maybe he could escape his turbulent emotions at least temporarily. He waited futilely for sleep to claim him.

The next few weeks passed in a pleasant enough manner, or at least what passed for pleasant for them. Lestrade called two days after the ‘Relationship’ talk with a locked door double murder of two circus performers that kept them occupied for two weeks with adrenaline-fueled chases across rooftops and dizzying pursuits across the Thames on motor boats. After that, a relative of Sherlock’s in Cardiff asked for help tracking down a large sapphire that had been taken from a necklace supposedly securely ensconced in a safe hidden away in a panic room. Even though the Cardiff case was tamer and more low-key, it still provided enough of a distraction and excitement to satisfy Sherlock’s endless need for stimulation for another fortnight.

It was after the conclusion of that case, ending with a grateful cousin offering to put Sherlock and John up for an extra three days at their hotel, that things came to a head and forced another re-evaluation of their friendship.

I don‘t know why I do this to myself, John thought bitterly as he made his way to their room with two coffees and a large bag of takeaway. God, I’m pathetic, the way I eagerly obey his every command and jump to satisfy his every whim. Why he chooses now to be all honourable and save his cousin extra expense by sharing a room and ordering takeaway instead of room service… as if we couldn’t afford to pay for it all on our own anyway. Servant, I’m his bloody servant.

Sighing, John swiped his key card and nudged the door open. He let out a soft laugh as he glanced at the room number – 221. How utterly serendipitous. Or not. He could almost believe that Sherlock had reserved this specific room on purpose, believing he was making some kind of joke. He wouldn’t put it past the man, he could be utterly ridiculous and childlike when the mood took him. It was one of his more endearing traits. It was one of the reasons John loved him so much…..

John closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. It did no good to let his thoughts go in that direction. Not anymore. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it.

He stepped into the room, eyes quickly scanning the area and noticing the lack of one consulting detective. It figured; the git couldn’t even be arsed to wait twenty minutes for his dinner. Who knew where he had hared off to, or how long he was going to be gone. And he had insisted that he needed food now, he hadn’t eaten in two days, didn’t John want to make sure he wasn’t starving himself?

God, he was exhausted. He set the food and coffee down on the table and flopped wearily on his bed. At least there was that – two double-beds, not one queen or king. Wouldn’t that have been awkward? Although it really shouldn’t have been. They’d shared a bed in the past. But that was before “The Conversation”.

A whirring sound and the click of a door opening broke the silence, and John whipped his head up as Sherlock strode in.

John let his head fall back. He waved a hand towards the food and coffee, commenting, “Your dinner, Highness.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes indulgently, setting a plastic bag down on his own bed. “It’s for you as well, you know. You could have started without me.”

John sat up, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. “Eating alone is never fun. Everything’s still warm, I just got back ten minutes ago.”

“Yes, I know,” Sherlock smirked as he walked over to the table and started taking the cartons out of the bag. He carefully arranged two place settings – John’s General Kung Pao Chicken with wooden chopsticks, his own Mongolian Beef with plastic fork – situated side by side instead of their usual position, which would have had them sitting across from each other. Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at John when he was finished. He signalled with a flourish and asked, “Shall we?”

John’s chest flooded with warmth, and he grinned. “It’s a date,” he said as he pushed himself off the bed and strode over to sit at the table with his friend. Side by side. An arrangement that suggested trust and intimacy. They rarely sat like this. In fact, John couldn’t remember a time when they had.

“So,” John said as they began to eat, “what were you doing while I was out getting food? And more to the point, if you were going out anyway, why couldn’t you have picked up the food yourself? I only did it because you were glued to your laptop, swearing that you were occupied with something you absolutely couldn’t be torn away from.”

“Yes, I found what I was looking for, so I went to get it.”

John’s chopsticks stilled. “You went to get it.”

“That’s what I just said, yes.”

John continued chewing as he ruthlessly quashed his irritation. He swallowed before asking, “And what was this elusive ‘it’”?

Sherlock grinned, all teeth. “You’ll see.”

Bitterness settled like a lead weight in the pit of John’s stomach. Suddenly, his appetite was non-existent. He swallowed hard as he leaned back in his chair and pushed his carton of food away from him. “Really, Sherlock? You’re going to play this game now? When we’re supposed to be enjoying a well-deserved holiday during which we’re meant to just relax and enjoy each other’s company? You’re going to play one of your childish games now?”

Sherlock frowned. A look of – was that hurt? – flickered across his features for a brief second before the mask reasserted itself. “What are you talking about, John? What do you mean, games?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Holmes!” Sherlock flinched. John had only ever called him that once, when a boiling hot rage had threatened to overtake him. “Don’t tell me you can’t go three days without finding a puzzle to solve, a distraction to save you from actually having to interact with another human being. I realise I’m not the most stimulating of conversationalists, or the most engaging companion, but I thought we were friends. I thought that you actually enjoyed my company, and might welcome a chance to – hell, I don’t know – kick back? Relax? Bond? Oh, wait a minute, we’re talking about Sherlock Holmes, the man who coined the phrase ‘Alone is what I have. Alone protects me’. “

The words rang harshly in the sudden silence of the room. John snapped his mouth shut, appalled at what he had just said. He should never have been the one to throw those words back in Sherlock’s face, words from a lifetime ago, words that had been said to serve a certain purpose, a purpose that had been accepted and forgiven and tacitly agreed would never be held against him. An agreement that John had just broken.

Sherlock blinked. The betrayal was evident on his face as his cold, slate-grey eyes fixed themselves on John’s warm, chocolate-brown ones.

“Not anymore,” Sherlock softly replied.

He slowly rose from his chair and walked over to his bed. He reached inside the bag that was sitting there, and turned towards John with a plain brown package held out in his hands as if in offering or penance.

“Happy anniversary, John,” he said calmly as he placed the parcel in John’s lap. Without another word, Sherlock strode towards the door and disappeared through it into the hallway. The sound of the door closing seemed harsher than it had any right to be.

John sat still, parcel in his hand, mind whirling with Sherlock’s parting words. Anniversary? What anniversary? The only date he could think of that would meet that criteria was the day they met, January 29. But it was September….oh. Oh.

September 1 was when Sherlock and John had moved into Baker Street together for the second time. The day they had started over with a clean slate, and had begun a brand new life together. Four years ago today.

John, flushed with shame, carefully prodded and examined the package in his hands. It had obviously been wrapped in a hasty and haphazard manner, but none of that was important. What was important was that Sherlock had thought to recognise the importance of this day with a tangible token of his regard for John. And John had repaid that consideration with harsh and hurtful words that Sherlock had never deserved. Christ, he felt like the scum clinging to the bottom of a shoe.

Sighing, John carefully unwrapped his gift. He gently folded the protective tissue aside to reveal the treasure underneath. His breath caught.

He held in his hands a rectangular shaped bronze plaque with the following engraving:

Sherlock Holmes

and

Dr. John H. Watson

Partners in Crime

Partners for Life

John blinked back the moisture in his eyes. He pressed the back of his fist to his lips as he choked back a sob. He traced a shaky finger along the grooved letters making up their names.

Well, this said it all, didn’t it? John may have been an idiot, but even he could deduce the truth when it was lying right there in front of him. Everything came crashing down on him all at once: all the facts, the clues, the hints that all pointed to the irrevocable conclusion.

A man giving his platonic friend an anniversary present.

The reservation of one hotel room instead of their usual two.

The unusually intimate arrangement of their dinner settings.

"Whatever direction you want our relationship to go, I want that as well."

The indecipherable look Sherlock had thrown John’s way at Angelo's hadn’t been one of relief. It had been one of disappointment.

Oh, bloody hell!

They had both been idiots of the monumental kind.

Where are you?

In the bar. –SH

Come to bed.

Is that what you want? -SH

Not only that, it’s what you want as well.

Knew you’d get there eventually. -SH

On my way. –SH

==============================================================================

More A/N:

That ended up being a comedy-of-errors with a hefty side order of angst.

This chapter ended up being quite a bit angstier than I had originally intended. I sort of had to go that route in order to do justice to the prompts. It also was the chapter that just wouldn’t quit. It just went on and on, and still never arrived at the actual romance. It also demanded to be edited multiple times within an inch of its life. I finally decided I just needed to post it, even though it’s still not as polished as I’d like. So instead of the two chapters I had originally planned on, this story will have at least one more.

I haven’t decided yet, but the rating may be bumped up in the next chapter. However, it won’t be explicit or overly smutty. I just don’t know how to do that without embarrassing myself. Besides, I prefer a subtle approach to romance ;)