Interruptions (John/Sherlock)

"If I couldn't share this with my fiamcé, with who could I then?"

Sherlock smiles again, now genuinely. He presses a longer kiss on John's lips at the word fiancé. He felt completely at ease with John, like he could tell him everything. It was a very liberating feeling.

"It's art, John. I made art of your hair so don't touch it! Respect the art!"

Sherlock laughed lowly and pressed kisses on John's face to distract him from running his fingers through his hair. Sherlock had to admit: John' hair looked worse than before, but it was perfect to joke about.

Sherlock grins at John's confession. " I really like you in a shirt that I can unbutton or that tight black V-neck you have. I most love you out of them of course. I like you least in your jumlers. It's such hard work getting you out of them. However, they smell of you. I love you in any or no clothing."

"Tell me then, what's the story behind the woolen jumpers?"

John laughs. He wraps his arms around Sherlock's neck and plays with the curls at the back of Sherlock's neck as he speaks.

"No real story, just what I've always worn. My mum always had me wear them as a kid. As soon as I could walk, I loved wandering off on my own to go exploring. This normally meant wandering through the local park, climbing trees, splashing in streams, following postmen- stuff like that. All stuff that brought me home dirty, wet, with scrapes and bruises. Very happy though- I would jabber on for hours to my mum about the cat I had found or the nest of bird's eggs, or whatever. I apparently got into quite a bit of trouble when I was younger."

"Anyways, my mum always made me wear jumpers because they would keep me warm and somewhat dry, so I didn't get sick. Also, they were easy to wash, which was also good for her. I kept wearing them as I got older because I was used to them. They're comfortable and warm, and always remind me of home. I bought even more of them after Afghanistan because of the climate change- I was always freezing."

"I also love them now because you cuddle with me more when I wear them. You're more likely to curl up with your head on my chest than when I'm wearing a shirt with buttons. Though the button shirts make you stare at me more- I'm guessing that it's because you like to imagine popping them open."

John presses a kiss to Sherlock's cheek.

"Now disassemble your work of art. You can recreate it again tonight if you want, though we may need to go through the whole process of messing it up again to get the proper effect."

"You are quite an observer yourself, as turns out now. Now you say it, I do do that." Sherlock grinned. He stole a light kiss on John's lips and beamed down at him. He was quite proud of his John and what he had learned so far.

"That sounds like the perfect childhood to me. I'd like to have explored with you if we had known each other then. Guess we are catching up with that now."

Sherlock kissed John back on his cheek and sighed. The thought of a promised 'tonight' sounded very amiable. Sherlock wetted his hands again

"All right then."

Sherlock fixed John's hair in his normal neat, flat coupe. To finish it, Sherlock pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"Done."

Sherlock couldn't help but steal another kiss that ended up in a snog. Then, they both flopped back on the seats together. Sherlock sighed and grinned.

"My train ride has been amusing so far. Oh you should have seen your face when the refreshment lady interrupted us. You looked so ready."

Sherlock huffed a laugh.

"What are we going to do now?"

"Pretty much just with you, I don't notice as much with other people."

John smiles, briefly imagining himself and a young Sherlock getting into all sorts of trouble together. He gives a happy laugh.

"Oh dear, I can't imagine how my poor mum would have managed us! I got in enough scrapes on my own, and having you there to encourage me would have probably done her in. She would have adored you though, I can just imagine her ending up with a soft spot for you, same way Mrs. Hudson has one. She'd scold you, but give you biscuits and milk at the same time."

John smiled as Sherlock kept getting distracted from neatening him up by sneaking kisses, finally just wrapping his arms around John and snogging him playfully.

They flopped onto the seat and John wrapped hims arms around Sherlock and leans his head against Sherlock's chest.

"Yeah, I had to stop myself from yelling out to tell her exactly what she was interrupting. I don't ever think I've been more frustrated."

John hummed thoughtfully.

"Why don't you tell me a bit about your childhood. I don't think I know any real details about it. What was your family like?"

((If you want to write this out, feel free. If not we can skip over the rest of the train ride.))

((Oh I'd love to write it out! I am going to, but I don't know how far I'll come. Mum and I are going to watch Love Actually together in 20 minutes (: ))

Sherlock wrapped his arm around John's shoulder and absent-mindedly began playing with John's hear, meaning: messing it all up again. Ah well.

"Prepare yourself for a sad story."

John looked up, looking... what was it? Not concerned but more... compassionate. Yes, that was the word.

Sherlock heaved a sigh.

"Well, you know Mycroft, he resembles most of my family. One could summarise my childhood in the word 'lonely'. Mycroft was twelve when I was born, so not a very interesting partner to play with. Though what I remember of him, he wasn't a that bad person when I was young. Not until he went to Uni, of course. Then he changed."

"Anyway, I was alone often. No, I rather felt alone. I was a bright kid, more intellectual than everage. My parents didn't want to test my IQ, because they didn't deem it as important. I was quite sad about it, I really wanted to know at the time."

"My parents were like that. My parents were an arranged marriage. Yes that did happen in the 20th century. My father was a successful politician and later businessman. My mother was housewife. I was the one who discovered that my father had a string of lovers, which made me the black sheep of the family. Mycroft was mummy's favourite. He was the successful son with a glorious career ahead. I was just a bug in sight."

"My parents sent me to a boys-only boarding school until I was 12, then I went to a mixed secondary school. I had no friends throughout my whole educational career. I thought they were dull and didn't understand me at all. I was not the first person to answer a question the teacher asked us. But I always knew the answer if it was an important subject. I got laughed at for that, I've been called names. 'know-it-all' and 'doofus' they'd say in primary school; 'fag' and 'ugly horse-face' and other things I deleted from my mind they'd say. They'd say fag because they didn't understand me at all. But the worst thing they'd do was ignore me. I never paired with anyone in class. I didn't want to. They were all idiots."

Sherlock swallowed and bit his lip. He hated his childhood and it was hard to talk about it. But he felt he could tell John, as being his fiancé. He had felt so alone and not appreciated. He had not felt love before John and he was so thankful he felt it right now. Sherlock took John's hand and played with his ring.

"I did entertain myself, though. My parent's house was big and had a great library. I read any book that I deemed interesting. So I read adult books when I was 11. There's where I gained my knowledge, which I tested in the back yard and later in town."


((I want to proceed but I really have to go now ))

((That's one of my favorite movies!!! <3 ))
((This is fantastic so far. Poor little Sherlock, I really want to give him a hug))

Hearing the story of Sherlock's childhood was painful for John. It was about what he had expected, but that didn't make it any less difficult to listen to. There had been a part of him that was still hoping to head that someone had existed in Sherlock's past who had seen how amazing he was and cared for him. Apparently not. John wished he had been there for Sherlock back then, irrational a wish as that was.

John knew this must be just as hard for Sherlock to tell him as it was for him to listen. It would be so much easier for them both to just pretend the past didn't exist, but that would be wrong. This was part of what shaped Sherlock into how he was now, so it was important to John that he understood it.

He sat silently listening, reaching out to squeeze Sherlock's hand when there was a pause in his narrative. He let Sherlock play with his hair and his ring, still able to feel a bit warm at the fact that Sherlock used this- used him- for comfort.

((Mine too! I'll have 'Christmas is all around' stuck in my head the following few days.))
((and Martin Freeman in this movie! AH he's called John there too. I am so proud of him that he is the hobbit. adsfjajdf))
((long post is long, with my own headcanon woven into it. Felt I needed to write this))

It wasn't like Sherlock didn't want to tell it. It was just hard to recall buried memories, especially now John had learnt him how to feel again. Sherlock appreciated John's silent support more than he could express. He was so grateful John just stayed here, accepted him as he was and loved him for it.

"When I went to university, everything got better. My parents didn't bother me, Mycroft was out of my life for four years and I was in an intellectual environment, though I didn't get along with my peers. Then the flatmate thing started. Apparently some boys and girls thought I was attractive and wanted to share a flat with me. I've already told you that story. I wasn't often in my flat, so that didn't really bother me. The university library was far greater than the one at home and there was a lab I could use freely. I actually liked life there. Well.. until..."
"You see, I had a lot of teachers. Almost all old professors who had graduated to doctor five times, who are grumpy and have such a thick brow that they can't see through their beady eyes. Those were very intellectual, but very stubborn when I proved they were wrong.
"But there was that one teacher. Dr Victor Trevor. He was young, I think only five years older than me, and he was smart. No, he was a genius. He didn't fight me when I tried to contradict his theories. He was interested and discussed with me on the point for hours on end. We often ended up in the lab in a competition to prove each other wrong, but ended up laughing about our attempts in the end. I saw him as an equal and as a friend I never had before."
"But he saw more in me than just a friend. One day in the lab, we had just finished our experiment and noted the results down, I saw him looking at my arse when I bent over to inspect my experiment. That had happened often and I had not put my mind to it then. But I remember that time, because when we were cleaning up our experiment and putting the test-tubes in the washer, he lay his hand on my shoulder, turned me and kissed me."

Sherlock remembered. He remembered very well, as if it was yesterday. His first kiss.

"I didn't know what to do, of course. I didn't kiss back, I was just startled. When he retreated, he just smiled and asked if we could proceed this research the next day. In my dizzy head, I agreed."
"I couldn't rest that night. I heard my heart beat in my ears when I lay in bed and replayed the scenario over in my head. I doubted my feelings, which I had never done before. These physical reactions I had to that contact.. they were weird and unpleasant. They confused me, made me nervous. Nonetheless, I met Trevor in the lab the same time the day after."
"We did our experiment, he unashamedly groping my ass now. I didn't mind. I didn't mind at all, I felt extra weird when he did so. I had a hard time concentrating on the experiment, because my body was reacting very strangely. We finished it anyway, though slower than normally. We were both nervous, though he seemed calm. The same happened as the day before. We finished our experiment and tidied it up. And when I wanted to get back to the lab, I felt the hand on my shoulder. I thought I was prepared for what would come, but he lead me back to the lab, which was empty. There he crowded me against the left wall near the window and kissed me again. I was curious, you see, so I kissed him back, or at least did my best to do so. I was clueless how to get around it, of course."
"He groped at me, which had a stimulating effect. I was utterly confused that my arms felt numb against my sides. Eventually, he pulled back and invited me to dinner right after. I was excited, curious and to be honest, scared, by these new feelings, so I said yes. He grabbed my hand and tugged me to the exit of the lab.

Sherlock sighed deeply, his heart feeling heavy. It was strange to tell John this intimate moment that he was not part of. He hoped this story would not harm their relationship too much. There was no going back now.

"We didn't come further than the lab exit. Apparently, a fellow student had seen us through the window and had reported us to a member of the school board. Well, you can guess what happened."

Sherlock swallowed again.

"Of course it's illegal for professors to be romantically involved with a student under any circumstances. Even if the student had given consent, it was against the school rules. Even against the law. The student had seen that I was so stunned I couldn't resist and I was so confused I couldn't deny this. To my grievance, this meant Trevor's suspension and, in the end: dismissal. It also meant the end of our friendship, or whatever he wanted it to be. I don't know what I wanted it to be. I was a complete novice and it ended before I understood what I wanted."
"I never saw him again. Mycroft told me he is a professor in America now, with a bad reputation attached to his name. Apparently he is groping his students still."

Sherlock was silent for a moment, absent-mindedly recalling the memory, the pain of a broken heart fresh in his mind. He had lost a friend and a hint of love and hope on the same day.

"Caring is not an advantage." Sherlock murmured for himself, before he shook his head and continued.

"That was when my drug use started... And you know how that ended."

Sherlock sighed one last time and tried to lighten up his voice.

"Well, that's my story."

((I know!!! He's a perfect hobbit, he'll be so adorable))
((Oh, interesting way of interpreting Victor Trevor. I've always seen him written as another student with Sherlock. Making him a professor is a really neat twist. Changes a lot, I like it))

"Well, think about how sex felt the first time we had it, how that shifted things. You know how many powerful emotions it brings up. Now imagine how that would feel if you did it with someone you didn't feel comfortable with, if you had it and weren't sure you liked the person romantically."

"For most people, myself included, having sex with the wrong person makes me feel polluted, used, ashamed. You end up disgusted with yourself afterwards. Victor would have also had all the power in the relationship. Most likely he would have forced you to keep it a secret because of the law. He could have been affectionate or cold as he wanted. He could have threatened to fail you if you didn't have sex with him. He could also have sex with you, but still have a public relationship with someone else. I think you could have cut things off with him, but you would still have conflicted emotions from it."

John stays quiet for a little while, thinking over the information Sherlock's told him. He turns so he's facing Sherlock.

"Thank you for telling me all of this. It means a lot to me."

"I'm not quite sure what to make of Victor. On the one hand, I'm so happy to hear that you had someone to talk to like that, someone who recognized how intelligent and amazing you are. On the other hand, the way he went about making sexual advances on you seems to me to be taking advantage and violating his role as a mentor to you. Even if you saw him as an equal, he was your professor and had authority he could hold over you. Not only that, but there's no doubt he could tell you were inexperienced and didn't know how to react. The fact that he kept pressing you further doesn't really please me."

"I'm sorry you lost him as a friend, but...well I think it was for the best you didn't get the chance to do anything more sexual with him. It could have ended much worse than it did, with you in a much worse position."

John reaches up and strokes Sherlock's cheek.

"Do you understand what I mean?"

After Sherlock answers, John realizes he wants to give something back to Sherlock. Sherlock just told him some of the most difficult stories of his life, John wants to share with Sherlock in the same way, give Sherlock an equal knowledge of him.

"Sherlock, I know that you can probably deduce half of my life story, but...would you like to hear it? If so, well I would like to share it with you. I feel like you just entrusted me with a lot of yourself, I want to do the same in return."

((I will warn you in advance that whenever I try to write John's childhood, it normally comes out very angsty. I think I'm going to try and not make it as bad in this one, because I want to make it a bit different, but some of it will still be really sad))

((Ah I'm glad you like it. I haven't read much college!lock, really. I have read the ACD story with Victor Trevor though. I quote: "You never heard me talk of Victor Trevor? He was the only friend I made during the two years I was at college." so it doesn't specify if they were students or teacher/student. (: I might write this headcanon in a fic....))
((Oh go ahead. Angst is good. Sometimes. I love headanons!))

"Yes I understand, though I didn't at the time. But how could it have ended worse? I was not going to be his slave or so. If it would have gone too far, I would have broken the contact, wouldn't I?"

"Wouldn't I?" Sherlock whispered to himself. He wasn't sure. His emotional detached-self had just talked, but he wasn't sure if he would have been able to break contact with Victor if he would have felt uncomfortable. Having a friend meant a lot to him then and now. So... would he have abandoned Victor if Sherlock began feeling uncomfortable?

They would never know.

Sherlock cupped John's cheek too and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Thank you for listening."

Sherlock's heart warmed at the warm gaze John gave him. He had deduced that John hadn't had a great childhood. Why would anyone join the army if they didn't want to get away?

"Yes, I'd like to hear about it."

John sits a little straighter in the seat and takes a deep breath.

"Ok, I'll warn you now that not all of the story is particularly pleasant, though you may have already predicted that."

"The house I lived in as a young child was located in a suburb in Surrey. Very boring, normal home with a green yard, some flowerbeds, and a white fence in the backyard. There were some parts of it I loved- riding my bike on the sidewalk, the closet under the stairs where we kept our coats that was my favorite hiding place, the kitchen walls- they were painted butter yellow, so that even in the winter the room looked sunny."

"The neighborhood was nice enough, a mix of old people and families with kids. We would all play together, though I had a tough time. I was always the smallest kid in the group and got babied. I couldn't really keep up with the older kids, and Harry hated having me tag along with her. She was only 5 years older than me, but it meant that she was just old enough to not want to have to entertain her stupid baby brother. All of the other kids were either her age, or even younger than me, so I ended up giving up on those kids and just play on my own most of the time. I also loved to stay home with my mum when the weather was bad for exploring, which got me teased a lot. I didn't understand why it was apparently wrong that I liked cooking, and reading, and helping her in the garden. Mum was nice and I had fun doing it, why would that be wrong?"

"All-in-all, that part of my life wasn't bad. I was a quiet kid who maybe spent more time that was thought normal on his own or with his mum, but I was happy. The problem was dad. Dad worked in a factory during the day, but when he came home at night, things sort of turned to hell. Dad had alcohol issues, that's where Harry got it from. When he was drunk he would normally get loud and aggressive. He would yell, say horrible things to all of us, throw things. That part terrified me. If he was in one of his quiet drunk moods though, that was even worse, because you never knew what to expect. He would just sit in the livingroom, staring. You never knew what might set him of, or what he would then do. Would he shout? Would he go and disappear for a day?"

"Anyways, things with dad were hard. He was very judgmental and very open about telling you his judgments. Harry was always butting heads with him, getting in screaming matches with him. I hated hearing those, would hide somewhere out of the way and cover my ears. He mainly just ignored me. I think he saw me as some sort of disappointment. He either ignored me or criticized me. My interests were wrong, too much book reading, not enough football. I liked to cook like some sort of nancy boy. I didn't know how to stand up to people. My head was always off in the clouds, dreaming about stupid things like travelling to other countries."

"Finally, one night, we found out Dad had lost his job. He got more drunk than usual, and he hit my mum. She packed up her things that night, and took Harry and I to her parents house. This was about when I was 9. That then started the cycle. The cycle of going back and forth between living at my grandparent's house and with Dad. Dad would get work, sober up for a bit, and we would live with him. That was horrible, because the whole time we would just be waiting for things to go bad, and they always would. Mum hated it, felt horrible, but always took us back to him."

"The time with my grandparents was good. I always loved their house. It was more out in the country, with big fields and woods to go wandering in. I had space, freedom. There was a farm that I could visit, it was about an hour walk away. I would spend my Saturdays there a lot, helping out. That was also where Old Ben lived. Old Ben was completely mad, he lived in what used to be an old grain mill, complete with a waterwheel he still ran. He was about 80 years old, had worked in countless jobs in his past- including an ambassador, the leader of archaeological digs, and the British Minister of a colony in Africa. He had trained himself in tons of sciences and philosophy, and had the largest personal library I had ever seen. He had books on everything. Every time I came over, he would bring out books on some new topic and teach me about it. Eventually we discovered that I had a particular gift and interest in biology. He was the one who encouraged me to pursue a career in medicine. My favorite times with him, however, was when he would tell me stories of his time abroad in the war and in Africa."

John laughs, "My favorite story was one about him getting caught in an elephant stampede. He supposedly survived by climbing a tree and jumping on the backs of one of the elephants. Rode it until the stampede stopped. Looking back now, I realize it probably wasn't true, but as a kid, I thought it was the best story ever."

((Ok, this post is already super long, and I really have to stop avoiding my homework, so I'm going to take a break there.))

Sherlock had his hands wrapped around John's chest. Unconsciously, he held John a bit tighter when he talked about his dad. It was horrible to hear, but weirdly enough.. Sherlock was glad. He was glad that John told him this out of free will. Normally people confessed under pressure to Sherlock. But this was completely different. Good different.

Sherlock smiled in John's hair about his happy stories. That sounded like perfect moments between the domestic mess. Sherlock stroked the sides of John's face lightly with the back of his fingers. John's head lay on his chest, bobbing up and down on Sherlock's breathing pattern. They were lying calm, being lulled by the rhythm of the train.

((Whoa good God. Now I feel like I've could have written it out more. But I'll hide myself behind the excuse that Sherlock isn't really the emotional talker ;)))
((By the way: John didn't really answer Sherlock's question and I'm quite curious what he would say.))
((Success with your homework! It's nearly midnight here, so I'll pop into bed :)))

((Oh, I wasn't sure if the question was to John or to himself. I can add in a line of him answering!))
((I thought the amount Sherlock answered with was right for his character. I always think that if John is sharing details, he's going to tell the whole story, so it gets long. I was also avoiding homework, so I wrote more than I might have otherwise.))
((Answer to Sherlock's question will be added in to earlier post))

((it's half past one am and I'm still awake lalalalala))
((how's the homework going?))
((ah I read it it's great! I think Sherlock knows about abuse and manipulation and how that works, but Sherlock wouldn't undestand what it meansand how it feels.))

((Haha, me too!!! Which means it's probably like 6 something for you right now))
((Homework is...coming along? Sort of? I have a whole bunch of final papers to write for the semester, but no motivation, which is bad))
((Yay! Glad it worked!))

"Things got messy around when I was in secondary school. Summer Harry came back from university, she also came out to us. Dad was absolutely furious, said all sorts of horrible things."

"My mum had always been very open-minded about this, taught Harry and me to be the same, so this was a shock. We had heard Dad make some prejudiced comments in the past, but never would have thought he would be so cruel to his own daughter. He tried to kick her out at first, but Mum put her foot down in that case, refused. She told him that if he kicked Harry out, she would file for a divorce. He let Harry stay, but the house got extremely unpleasant."

"Dad wouldn't even look at Harry if she was in a room, but he would make sure to say as many cruel things about her as possible. Harry started drinking herself, going out to bars all night and not coming home until the next afternoon. Mum was worried, but when she tried talking to Harry about it, Harry would just yell. I just stayed out of the house as much as I could."

"Things got a bit better when Harry was away at university, but then I also came more under Dad's focus. He didn't approve of me being a doctor, though he never explained why. He made it clear that he wasn't going to give me any money for med school. I worked various odd jobs to save up money, but I had to find places to keep it. I couldn't get a bank account because of my age, and if Dad found my money in the house, he would take it. I had to hide it in places he couldn't find until I could go to my grandparent's and give it to them. They kept my money for me."

"It wasn't near enough money though. Dad made things as difficult as possible for me to keep a job. He had plenty of ways- work I had to do at home and such, nothing that could be seen as particularly wrong. Then there was the guilt, of leaving mum alone with dad every day. When weeks came up when I could tell the drinking would be bad, I would cut my hours, lost a few of my jobs because of it. I kept telling mum she should leave, but she couldn't."

"School was my favorite part of those years, because it was the only chance I got to really relax and just act my age. I was still pretty quiet, but I had friends, though I never really spent time with them outside of school, couldn't exactly bring them over to my place, and didn't have time to go to theirs. Had girls I liked and wanted to date, but found it impossible to do more than a date or two because of the way my life was."

"Finally, senior year came, and the event happened that made me snap. I was already looking at the military to pay for my tuition, but I wasn't decided. I loved the idea of travelling, helping people, being in a place where I could have control over my own life. I had started coping with all the shit at home by just tuning it out, going numb. I could sit with my father screaming at me and insulting me, and not even listen to his words. Just sit there and nod. I wanted to remember how to feel. The problem was that I still felt like leaving would be wrong, that I needed to be home."

"Then, one night, Harry brought a girl home. My dad went into a rage, he stormed over to the girl, and I could tell he was about to hit her. I stepped between them, told him to back off, told him how much I hated him- all of the things I had kept bottled up for years. I felt so alive, like I was on fire or something, it was amazing."

"Then he hit me. Punched me in the gut and then slapped me across the face. Harry had left with her girlfriend at the point, it was just Dad, Mum, and me. Mum tried to stop him, but he kept hitting me. He didn't even hear her. When he finally stopped, I turned around and walked out. Never went back. Managed to find a payphone and call Harry, spent the night with her and her girlfriend. The next day she went to the house and got all my stuff, then took me to the local recruiting office to sign up."

"I finished school staying in Harry's flat, which was miserable, but better than home. I met with my mum for dinner a few times. She had left dad, swore she would never go back to him. She offered to take me back in, but I couldn't do it."

"Army training gave me back my sense of control over my life. It healed some of the pain of those past 4 years. I learned I wasn't the only one with a messed up past, that I could move on from it. I was able to put that life behind me."

"I went to med school. It was probably the best thing that ever happened to me. For the first time in years, I was actually able to act my age again. I could have friends, date, play on the rugby team. It was bliss for me. I relearned how to have fun."

"In the first month I was in Afghanistan I got the news that mum had cancer. She had been hiding it, keeping the news to herself, but couldn't anymore. Harry asked me to come home. I would have been given leave. I asked if she had moved in with Dad. She had. I stayed in Afghanistan. She died within the year. They say that physically she could have lasted longer, but she didn't seem to try and fight the illness. No will to live."

"Harry has always blamed me for this. She said I joined the army to run away from our family, and I was too selfish to come back. She's probably true, but...I couldn't do it. I wanted to go back to Mum, be there with her, but I couldn't."

"Dad's still alive. Called me at one point, when the blog started getting really popular and we began to get some write-ups in newspapers. I ignored it, but was terrified for a few weeks that he would just show up at the flat one day. Luckily he never did, and I'm assuming he never will. The fact that I'm engaged to a man means he's probably legally disowned me at this point- it was really the only remaining point on his list of things I could to to be a horrible son, and now I've done that too."

John smiles, but it's a very bitter smile.

((Ok, so attempt to avoid angst failed miserably in this half of the story))

((Oh it was beatiful!))

Sherlock held John closer, arms wrapped around waist when John, after a short pause, told about the blows his father gave him. He tucked cheek on John's crown and grimaced. It was horrible to hear and to know he could do nothing to change what had happened. He was glad John had actually felt happy later on, but couldn't help noticing the 'It was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.' Sherlock knew John said that about his time before Sherlock and that this was a silly thought of himself. He knew John now was happier than he had ever been, because John had told him himself.

Comforting people had never been one of Sherlock's qualities. He didn't know how to do it, so he copied John in squeezing John's hand in-between pieces of narrative. He mostly held John close and safe.

Sherlock didn't realise his tight grip until John was done talking. He loosened his grip after a few moments. He gave John a kiss on his crown and took John's hand in his own. Sherlock couldn't say it meant a lot to him, though it did. He hoped John would understand.

"Thank you." Sounded muffled in John's hair. "For telling me. Sad it went like that. But glad some things made you happy."

Sherlock stroked John's hair dreamily.

"I don't think you need to feel guilty about your mother." Sherlock said quietly. "But I'm not really the person to judge. I'm still not good at emotional... stuff. One question though: Do you still feel guilty? I mean, does the past still bother you day to day?"

Sherlock would feel bad if that was the case. He would do anything to make John feel better if he was still bothered, though he didn't know exactly how.

((Thank you))

John thinks over Sherlock's question. He realizes that other than the few weeks after being contacted by his father, he has hardly thought of his childhood since returning from Afghanistan.

"No, actually. This is really the first time I've thought so much about my past since moving in with you. I think now I feel like I've...gotten a new life. My past in just that, my past, its done its job in shaping who I am, but I'm no longer that person. I had my brush with death, and then I came back and started over. I don't really feel any ties to that life anymore. The people who I cared for are all dead, or in the case of Harry, not speaking to me. I've seen death now, I know I can't change it and that feeling guilty won't bring the person back. My mum wouldn't have wanted me to feel guilty, she would have wanted me to be happy. The best thing I could do for her was to move on."

"I left home to escape that life, letting it follow me would ruin all the work I did to get out," John turns to look at Sherlock and puts a hand on his cheek, "I have a new life now, one where I am happy, loved, and cared for. I have a new family, with you and Mrs. Hudson, and new friends. All of you just accept me and appreciate me for who I am, I don't have to pretend or hide myself. I know you would all do your best to protect me from anyone who would wish me harm. My life, as it is now, is perfect. I never again want anything different from it."

A proud smile breaks through on Sherlock's features. He is so damn happy he has John and that John loves him and will protect him and that Sherlock has meaning to John. He would never change this situation for the world. Only the wedding had to checked off his bucket list.

"Me neither."

Sherlock leans forward and kisses John unintentionally emotionally. Sherlock brings a hand to the nape of John's neck and the other is guided to John's waist. He seizes him as if John was a lifebuoy, but less urgent and more loving. Sherlock realised he was so lucky with John as his life partner. He understood him on serious matters, was there and did not respond overly dramatic to his tale. He appreciated Sherlock in the most genuine way, which mattered so much to him.

"I love you."


((Oh every time I write this fluffy stuff, I remember we are going to throw them into Reichenbach.))
((I'm very looking forward to that, though))
((Can I request something? Next week is my testweek again and it's really stressful and just awful to get through so, please don't mind me not posting until Friday. Last time, the break had worked well, so might as well do it again. Not that I don't want to update, it's just not very healthy for me (: ))

((That's totally fine, I really need to do the same thing. My last paper is due on that Monday, the 17th, so I'll probably cut myself off until then. Good luck on your tests.))

John kisses back, reading, understanding, and sharing all of the emotions in Sherlock's kiss. He loves how little moments like this between them- just sharing a ride on a train- can turn into something so meaningful.

"I love you too."

The rest of the ride is spent curled up in each other's arms, simply relishing the feeling of being together. John drifts off for a short nap, waking when they come into the station. He smiles and kisses Sherlock softly before they leave their compartment.

((Ok, so cut scene there and pick it up in about a week?))

((Yes! Good luck on your paper! Speak to you in a week!))

((Research paper is done!!!! Rewarding myself with writing :) ))

They step off the train, to find that this town is small enough it doesn't have a cab service.

"You have our client's number, right?" John asks Sherlock, "Why don't you call him and ask him to pick us up. Be polite about it."

John then looks around the station, and sees a small boy crying nearby. He walks over and kneels down next to her.

"Hey, buddy, what's wrong?"

The boy just sniffles.

"My name is John. What's your name?"

"B-b-bertie," the boy stammers out between tears, "I don't know where my dad is. I was walking right behind him, but shoelace came untied. So I stopped to tie it, and when I looked up he was gone. I went running trying to find him, but I couldn't, and now I don't know what to do."

John smiles at the boy, and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it will alright. I'll help you find your dad."

"You will? How? You don't even know what he looks like."

"Ah, but you don't know me. I work with a detective, so I have a lot of experience finding missing people. If you help me, I know I'll be able to find him. What do you think, can you be my partner to solve this mystery?"

The boy nods, looking less sad.

"Excellent. Ok, first thing's first, you need to dry off your eyes so we don't miss any important clues," the boy wipes his eyes, listening closely to John, "Good. Now I want you to think about where you were when you stopped to tie your shoe. Can you remember what the place looked like? Were there pictures on the walls? Any shops? Ticket booths?"

The boy thinks very carefully for a while.

"There was a picture on the wall of three doctors with a blue writing. Then there was another picture next to if of a house with a dog in the yard and a family. It was right near the bathroom and the soda machine."

"Ok, so in the room to go to the platforms. You're in the main lobby now. Why don't we go walk back to that room and see if we can find your dad?"

The boy nods.

"Sherlock, I'm going to take him back to the platforms."

"I'll walk with you."

They start walking. The boy holds John's hand tightly.

"Who's the man in the funny coat?"

John laughs, "That's Sherlock, he's the detective I work with."

"Oh...are you here to solve another mystery?"

"Yes, we are. Do you live here?"

"Yes! I just moved here with my daddy. I'm going to start school in 3 days."

"Wow, that's exciting. Do you like school? Do you have a favorite subject?"

"I like science. In my old school we were learning about how plants grow. My teacher gave everyone a seed from an apple to take home in a cup with dirt. My apple seed is at my new house. We're going to plant it in the backyard, and then in a long, long time, I'll have a tree to pick apples from!"

"That will be wonderful. Maybe I'll come back and visit here after a long, long time and you can give me one of the apples from your tree."

The boy smiles, "I will! Do you think Sh--Sh--your detective friend will want an apple too? He doesn't talk a lot."

"I bet he would love one of your apples. You're right, he doesn't talk a lot, but that's just because he's thinking right now."

"Oh. Are you married? You have a ring. My daddy used to wear a ring, but now he doesn't anymore. He says it's because he's not married to my mommy anymore."

"I'm not married yet, but I'm going to get married soon, so I already have my ring."

"Are you getting married to a mommy? Will you have kids?"

John smiles, "No, I'm getting married to a boy, to my detective friend. We're not going to have any children. We live in a very small flat, and our detective work would mean that we were too busy to play with any kids we had."

"Oh, that would be sad. My daddy has a boy he likes to spend time with. He's going to be my new daddy and we're going to live with him."

"Really, that's exciting. Are you happy about this? Do you like your new daddy?"

"Yes, he's really nice, he takes me for trips to the library and makes pancakes with chocolate chips in them. Mummy wasn't very nice. She didn't play with me, and was always out with her friends or sleeping. On weekends when daddy was away she brought strange men to the house and told me I had to stay in my room all day."

"I'm sorry, it sounds like you'll be happier here."

John looks up, a man is running towards them.

"Bertie!!! Oh Thank God!!!"

"Looks like we found your dad," John says, smiling.

Bertie's father grabs Bertie in a tight hug. He thanks John repeatedly, saying how worried he was. After a few seconds, they are joined by the man's partner, who also hugs Bertie, looking just as worried as the father had been. Bertie says thank you to John and gives him a tight hug. He also walks over to Sherlock and shakes his hand, wishing him good luck on solving the mystery and promising him apples if he came back to visit once his apple tree had grown.

John smiles after Bertie, waving as he walked away.

((Ok, so random fluffiness with a cute kid))

((I didn't forget about you yesterday! I wanted to post something but I was completely uninspired. Glad your research paper is done :) Yeees writing is a very good reward :)))
((I added some dialogue to the kid, sorry :}))

Sherlock rolled with his eyes, but smirked. John knew him too well, but it was adorable. He phoned the client and asked the servant politely to send a car. While talking on the phone, Sherlock searched for John with his eyes. He had disappeared from his side and was now kneeling next to a kid, sitting on the bench.

"Thanks." Sherlock mumbled into the phone and broke the connection. Sherlock watched John and the boy with great interest.

Sherlock observed mesmerised how the little boy was entirely captivated by John. He hung at John's lips and stopped crying. Then, he took John's hand and walked over to Sherlock, looking more confident now. Sherlock took John's other hand.

Sherlock expected himself to get irritated of the kid. Kids are loud, illogical and just outright stupid. They can't think for themselves and believe the weirdest stuff adults tell them. They are clingy and cry a lot. Not to speak of the adults around them. They reduced their moderate intelligence to silly high-pitched nonsense, reducing the kid's intelligence even more. Sherlock hated kids, that was given.

But John made him doubt. Sherlock stared at John interacting with the boy. It was fascinating how John interacted with him. He obviously made the kid feel equal. John was his kind and patient self like usual, but it was even more evident now. It reminded Sherlock of how much he liked that in John.

"Are you getting married to a mommy? Will you have kids?"

John smiles, "No, I'm getting married to a boy, to my detective friend."

"Ah, I see. He stares a lot at you. He must care a lot about you."

Sherlock didn't stop staring, he just smiled a little. He shouldn't underestimate this kid, he was an observant one.

John smiled back. "Yes, he does. That's why he asked me to marry him." John squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"But no kids?"

"We're not going to have any children. We live in a very small flat, and our detective work would mean that we were too busy to play with any kids we had."

Eventually, the fathers saw them and thanked them. Then, the boy pulled at Sherlock's coat. Sherlock dropped on his knees to face the boy.

"Detective friend, would you like an apple when I've grown them?"

"Yes, I would. Keep an eye on the newspapers, maybe there'll be some news about us."

"Yes, mister!"

Now Sherlock smiled at him. He gave the boy one of his scarce winks and stroked his hand over the boy's crown and got up. They waved goodbye to the fathers and the boy and walked back to the main lobby.

John looked up with a massive grin that said 'I told you so.' The thing was, John never told Sherlock anything about kids, but Sherlock felt the need to explain anyway.

"All right. I thought about kids just after I proposed to you. I thought about what being married implicates, as I proposed to you rather impulsively. But I never considered it as a real option, I mean...I hate children and you bloody well know how I am around kids..."

John gave him the glance again.

"Oh shut up."

((It's fine! I didn't think you forgot, just had to write something. I actually saw a really cute kid walking around with their dad on campus, and it made me think of this.))

John smiles and laughs gently, reaching out with his other hand and squeezing Sherlock's shoulder.

"It's fine, Sherlock. I knew what I was getting into accepting your proposal. I don't really want kids. I like them well enough, and in the past I've thought about having some, but at this point in my life I don't think it feels right anymore. Any kid we adopted or had in some way would end up living their whole life in danger of being kidnapped to use against us. I would never do that to a child."

"For the record though, I think that if you had a kid of your own, you would be a wonderful father. The kid would grow up to be just as smart as you, and you would probably spoil it horribly."

"I don't think it will happen though, and I'm ok with that. I like the way our life is now, I'm not ready to even consider the idea of changing it with a kid any time soon, and I'm not sure if I ever will want that again."

John then leans forward to whisper in John's ear.

"Also, a kid would mean we would have to be much more subtle with our lovemaking, and I plan to stay in the honeymoon stage with you for as long as possible."

((Note: 'honeymoon stage' is the term used for the first few months after a couple gets married when they are completely obsessed with each other and want to have sex as often as possible, as well as acting extra sweet and romantic. I have no idea if this is a term you know or not, but that's what John means.))

((Oh we don't have that here. Sounds ideal though ))

Sherlock pulled John closer by draping his arm around John's middle and pulling him in.

"Honeymoon stage? I thought our sex is quite frequent already. But fine, if you can top that." Sherlock whispered in John's ear with a grin. He winked, letting John know the pun was intended.

Without a kiss, Sherlock let go of John and walked to the exit of the station. The expected car had still not showed up, so the client must live a dozen or more miles away. Sherlock looked around when they stopped at the road. Golf fields everywhere. Or horse stables. Oh this town was as dull as it could get.

"I hope the client won't bother me with a stolen jewel or something stupid. This village is so boring, what could happen here for God's sake!?"

Sherlock was bored again, so he turned to John.

"I'm glad you're with me."

But in Sherlock's head, it meant: John, John, John, I'm bored, entertain me, this is just the polite way to say it, I don't want to give you the feeling I use you and there are greater reasons I've taken you with me but I am so boooreeeed.

((Short one, got a lot to do still ugh, sorry!))

((It's that point of the year, makes sense. I still technically have some work to do as well.))

"Oh, I can definitely top it," John whispers back, slipping his hand under the detective's long coat to squeeze his ass for a quick moment before Sherlock slipped away.

John just stands for a moment, watching Sherlock walk away with a smile. He really did love that coat, it was so good for hiding flirty touches in public.

John joins Sherlock outside. Sherlock is already bored, and John could see why- this place was quiet enough that even he was feeling a bit put off.

"Lets play a game then. I'll pick traits about people- a profession, their marital status, etc, and you need to see if you can find someone who fits that description. For each trait you can find, you can either claim a kiss off of me- just a kiss, not a snog- or pick one thing you get to do to me later. For every one you miss, I get to do the same thing."

John had actually planned out this game before, thinking about using it on the train, but they had found a different way to pass the time. Sherlock looks slightly doubtful, but nods.

"If you get bored with the game, we can always take a short walk or something. Ok, first,someone who teaches primary school."

"Simple, the partner of the lost child's father taught first years. He had washable marker stains on his fingers and a sheet of alphabet tracings in his back pocket."

"Ok then..." John tries to think of something harder, but is interrupted by Sherlock.

"Don't I get a prize?"

John smiles," Of course, claim what you want, then find me someone who is having a long-term affair- over six months."

((It's like "I Spy With My Little Eye" for Sherlock))

Sherlock had to admit John's flirting promiss flushed his cheeks of excitement. And again, his coat proved to be very useful. He loved it when John did that, when he played innocent to the outer world, but cheekily grabbed his ass.

The game seemed interesting enough to play.

"I'll choose to do somerhing to you later. I'll undress you, to start with. OK. Long-term affair of over 6 months was the conductor. He mocked about his wife too much to be happily married. He didn't wear his wedding ring, yet he spoke of having a wife. Must be a mistress he met at work then. Those kind of relationships bloom slowly, especially when you're so blunt as that idiot was."

"Now, as to claim my prize... I'll play patient again and choose to kiss your neck later. I'm not sure when precicely." Sherlock stroked his fingers over the back of John's neck. The little hairs felt soft under his fingertips.

"Ehm. OK. Next then: an alchoholist."

Sherlock chuckled. Apparently his fingertips alone reduced John to stupidity.

"Too easy. The drunk man interruptimg us of courae. Evidence is clear as day, I don't even have to explain it, I hope. You seem rather affected."

"Sherlock. Stop it. I knew you were going to cheat. What you're doing now counts. You didn't say you'd stroke my neck. So maybe I'll have to punish you."

Sherlock didn't pull his hand back. Goosebumps appeared in John's neck.

"Punish me? How then?"