I imagine this shot as a random pic that John managed to get with his phone after Sherlock is happy from having just solved a case. It’s the only good pic of Sherlock that he has. And after Sherlock’s suicide, it hurts him too much to look at it, but he can’t bear to delete it either.
i’m full crying
he’s so soft
fuck
Angst is good, I love it, but I wanna try for something more positive.
*
So, apparently, nothing has changed, because John likes Sherlock the way he is (otherwise he wouldn’t fall in love with him), and because nobody knows about them.
If by “nobody” you exclude Mycroft, who deduced it with a superficial glance, and Mrs. Hudson because… well… she heard them.
More than once.
But anyway, for the world they are still only two flatmates, the consulting detective and his blogger, who solve crimes and save the Queen and the Country. So no PDA for them.
Not that John is afraid, or ashamed about it, no.
The fact is that in the last year his life has been a roller coaster of emotions and feelings: he got married, discovered that his wife wasn’t the woman he thought she was, he told himself that he didn’t care and pretended that everything was fine, he failed, crashed down, divorced, he opened his eyes and realized that his best friend was pining for him for a long time, and he found himself that the deep feeling he felt for Sherlock wasn’t simply fondness, but love. He stammered out a goofy confession and Sherlock rewarded him with an equally clumsy kiss and a whispered “I love you, I always did”.
What a year.
And now John doesn’t want that their fledgling romance ends on tabloids (no needs for that shit in their life), or reporters lurking under their house ready to capture and dirtying every gesture of affection, he don’t want to explain anything to friends and colleagues, he just wants to enjoy Sherlock and the new-found stability in his life, without external interference.
Sherlock agrees with him, especially for the tabloids parts, and also because he believes their relationship is only their business, and no one else.
Of course, there’s something different now: they bicker less, Sherlock is considerate (he never left him behind on a crime scene), when they walk down the street their fingers touch, and when they are in the same room, they immediately search each other with the eyes.
But these gestures are so subtle that they think no one will notice.
Well, no: obviously they aren’t the great actors they think they are, because someone noticed their change.
They are on the roof of a building, whose concrete was covered with strange symbols (bad business, there may be satanists involved) and Sherlock is intent on doing research on his cell phone, while John is leaning against a chimney and is watching him.
“Do you need me?”
“Thanks, but not now John, in a minute.”
“Okay, I’m here.”
John doesn’t mind, because watching Sherlock’s mind working hard and deducing things is always a fascinating spectacle.
Greg comes close to John and clears his throat.
“I know that Sherlock thinks I’m an idiot,” he says in a conversational tone of voice, “but I thought you gave me more credit. Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thank you,” John said automatically, then “Wait a minute… how do you know?”
“As I said, I’m not a complete idiot: something has changed between the two of you.”
“We thought we were being careful. We just want to enjoy a period of peace and keep this just to ourselves.”
“Understandable. I’m not really angry, you know.”
“Thank you again. May I ask what has betrayed us?”
“Eyes and smile. They are no longer those of two flatmates. You haven’t looked at your wife on your wedding day the way you look at Sherlock, it’s as if he were something otherworldly in your eyes. As for Sherlock, well… if I weren’t 100% certain that it’s him, I would think that it was replaced with a clone.”
“What do you mean?”
Lestrade takes his cell phone and shows it to John.
“I took this picture before, while you were talking.”
John looks, and understand: Sherlock looks at him with a soft smile, spontaneous, sweet and so full of love that the feeling radiates up to him through the small mobile phone screen, and John has no doubt that if someone took a picture of him, his smile would look exactly the same. They hunted and chased each other for years, have risked losing and wasting this love, and now they feel such a great happiness that it is impossible to contain or hide it.
“I love him” John whispers, nodding slowly. God, he is so in love that he could cry right now.
“And I’m happy for you,” Lestrade whispers back, pointedly ignoring the embarrassment of his friend, as a good Brit.
“Do you want a copy of the photo?”
John has the true Sherlock for himself, he can see the same smile and those eyes, so bright and beautiful, whenever he wants, but he doesn’t mind at all to have a reminder for the times when they are separated.
“Yes, please.”
Greg sends the message.
“Well, now you’re even.”
“Waht do you mean?”
“Last week I have given Sherlock a similar photo of you, lovebird.”