((Warning: long post is long. I have taken the liberty of passing the time. If you don't agree with it, ignore it and I'll delete it later))
Sherlock thought rapidly about what John said. Sherlock knew alcohol could do that to one. That’s one of the reasons why it wasn’t his drug of choice. It slowed your mind down and made you act irrational and impulsive. Two things he disgusted over everything. He remembered the only time he was drunk. He hadn’t been as… wise and experienced as he was now. He had wanted to test all types of drugs/recreational resources. He hadn’t forced himself on someone, nor did someone on him. He had become very thorough in deducing the shit out of the people at the party, who then had still enough sense to even not want to force themselves on him. Not the best experiment ever.
The information John revealed about his past wasn’t surprising, Sherlock had expected a story alike, though it was nice to have his theories confirmed. He was shocked though, when he heard John had wanted to kill himself by alcohol poisoning. No no no no, I am so glad he didn’t. His jaw dropped in awe of the dreadful thought.
“But why, it is a sound and logical reasoning, you don’t have to be ashamed of that.” He huffed a genuine laugh and smiled downwards to John. “Sex doesn’t alarm me, John, so you can talk freely.” He said nonchalant. He had never understood why sex was a taboo subject. “It is a perfect primal need of apes and mankind, an instinct I prefer not to act through.”
“You didn’t force yourself on an unwillingly me, or how you say: rape me yesterday. Not that you can do that to me, anyway. That’s a silly thought.” He laughed out loud at imagining John groping him without his permission. He’d like to see him try.
He was aware of the ambiguous meaning. Of course he could defend himself perfectly… but did he want to defend himself against John? Could John do something physical to Sherlock without his permission? He did not necessarily want to be groped by John, what a ridiculous thought. But would he resist, if he did? Sherlock liked danger. He liked exciting situations. He liked experimenting.
Sherlock freed his gaze on John and switched the subject to a mobile phone business chief, who had been missing since the day before. He irregularly looked at John, who was lying on the couch, still recovering from their ‘uncomfortable’ conversation. John played subconsciously with his blue robe. The next time he wore that robe, would it smell of John? Sherlock thought. He’d have to test it. As being an experiment.
John went upstairs that afternoon, with the meanings to catch some sleep. Sherlock was very happy about this because he really needed to think and now he had the time, finally.
In the John Room was chaos. Piles of thoughts, heaps of rumours and solid boxes of facts were all stocked up and over another. He decided to put everything in types and cupboards. Sherlock sighed.
Let’s get John sorted out.
First: The Army. John was an Army Doctor, had a rough past in Afghanistan, but missed it. Sherlock put the things he had told him today in the middle-heighted closet, how he tried to poison himself in the first few weeks of duty. He stocked the remaining bits of soldier in it, his steady hand, his good feeling of justice, his captain voice...
Second: Friends and Family. Harry Watson was an alcoholic, which caused John’s careful behaviour with alcoholic beverages. She was gay and couldn’t take care of herself, which made John feel responsible for her. They don’t have a very tight bond. Then: Sarah Sawyer, ex-girlfriend and colleague. They had get on with each other very well, to Sherlock’s vexation. It didn’t work out eventually, but they have been on good terms ever since. Mike Stamford was a peer he met in University and who had introduced them to each other. They were on very friendly with each other, often went out for a drink, though Mike was quite boring.
Third and most important: His Character. Dr John Hamish Watson was a soldier, strong and brave. He had a good sense of humour, though he was not always on the same line as Sherlock. He was friendly, helpful and praising. He was a very human being, often lead by his emotions, which Sherlock despised, but which surprisingly caused a good ending of events. He was the best assistant Sherlock could have wished for. He complained, but eventually, the irritations were worth the adventures. He was his blogger, loyal and honest. He thought he was ordinary, but Sherlock thought he honestly wasn’t. He felt protective over Sherlock and cared for him. He was his friend. His best and only friend. Sherlock didn’t want to miss him for the world. He didn’t want to lose John.
This closet had a drawer, which was called Sexuality. Here, everything went wrong. John dated stupid, ordinary women, who were utter idiots. He said he craved for intimacy, physical intimacy. Apparently, he thought that that was more important than a woman’s intellect. But when it came to choosing between an adventure with Sherlock and an ordinary date, he ran off with Sherlock. Speaking of which: John didn’t regard himself as gay. He had always been the one to emphasize that he wasn’t. Though, he thought it was ‘all fine’, maybe because his sister loved women. He was OK with it, but was very, very emphatically about making clear he wasn’t gay.
But... John had talked in his dream about him and Sherlock (only clothed by a sheet), being in Buckingham Palace, having to hide somewhere. He had been glad he didn’t wear pants. That had to mean something.
Alright, one could dream about such things and not wanting them to become reality... but when he screamed Sherlock’s name it was not only a warning, but he also sounded pleased, moaning even. Sherlock couldn’t deny this. He also couldn’t deny that John had looked ashamed and reluctant to tell about his thoughts about last night. Apparently, John had thought he had forced himself on Sherlock and that he had ... raped him. Sexually. Which made him feel uncomfortable and ashamed.
Sherlock felt frustration rise up in his gut. He grunted as he got up from his armchair and started pacing through the room.
The first night. The first night they had solved a case together, John had asked him questions. Questions about his private life, about his sexuality. Sherlock still thought John had showed his interest in him, but he was very, very clear about that to everyone. It was like a defence mechanism.
A defence mechanism. Sherlock’s eyes opened wide. That’s it! It was a defence mechanism, like Freud's theory. Sherlock thought for a while, standing still in the middle of the room. John projected his... feelings towards society. The feeling of denial!
Satisfied, Sherlock flopped on the couch, but his peace didn’t last long. Was John in love with him? Oh please, no. Wait... no, that couldn’t be. He knew how people acted when they were in love and the symptoms didn’t correspond with how John reacted towards him.
Frustration raised again. Sherlock grunted even louder and pushed all the cupboards he just made in the John Room to the floor. He turned himself, face down on the pillow and grunted again. Oh God! What a mess. Why doesn’t this work, this always works! Why must this, John, me, everything be so complicated!?
With his left arm, he searched for his violin and bow and found them. Angrily, he placed the violin on his shoulder and stroke the bow over the strings like a rasor.
Eventually he calmed down and when John came downstairs again, the day went by like any other and they both acted like nothing happened.
“John! Quickly!” Sherlock shouted at John, gun in hand. They had traced the murderer of the businessman of Vodafone, who had killed another businessmen recently. He and two of his henchmen had cornered their third victim, when they heard a shot directed at the wall. They had turned their heads, but saw nothing. They only heard a shout and footsteps of two men, running over the pavement. They all quickly followed, leaving their victim behind.
Sherlock had dragged John by his sleeve away, left around a corner and right around another corner. He turned his back sometimes to see that the three criminals were following them, but they were far ahead. One of the henchmen had an injury in his left knee and suffered from diabetes. The other had back problems, because he worked in the havens.
“Spread, now!” The ‘boss’ shouted at the others. Good Sherlock thought. He grabbed John’s hand and pulled him into a dark, narrow alleyway.
While looking over his shoulder, Sherlock pushed John against the wall. “Shhhhh” he hushed quietly, in order to shut John’s complains up in advance. This was not the time for complaining.