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He and Sherlock had been together for almost four months, and John was beyond happy.
It had taken him some time to work up the courage to ask the detective out, between his anxiety and Sherlock’s apparent indifference to relationships. However, after an over-tired, light-headed Sherlock had let slip that he and Victor had been more than friends, his understanding of his best friend and object of affection rapidly adjusted.
Knowing of the possibility had been enough of a boost that he’d finally been able to ask Sherlock out, over breakfast the following morning.
Sherlock had been hesitant, but not for the reasons John had feared.
“Whilst Victor and I were in a relationship, it didn’t last. And the reason was purely down to me, I’m afraid.” Sherlock’s attention had been focused firmly on the kitchen sink, behind John’s left shoulder. “And it’s that same reason that I believe we’d be incompatible.”
“What do you mean?” John had asked, heart aching at how quietly sad Sherlock had looked.
The detective had remained quiet for a long moment, eyes flickering around in the way they usually did when he was struggling to put something in words. John waited patiently, allowing him time to explain.
“When Victor asked me out, I’d been uncertain as to my exact feelings. At the time, nobody had previously shown me any interest, and I hadn’t thought much about dating and relationships – I’d had far too many other interests to worry about who was interested in who. I knew that I cared about Victor, far more than anyone else, and so I accepted and we became a pair. But whilst I enjoyed aspects of our partnership, there were things that I found left me feeling uneasy, and things that I could not go through with, no matter how happy I knew they would make him. We broke up a few months later.”
Sherlock had taken a steadying breath, before meeting John’s eyes directly. “Some time later, I worked out that I was asexual – sex-repulsed ace, specifically – and also somewhere on the aromantic spectrum. Aroace for short.”
The terms had sounded vaguely familiar, but not enough for him to know what they meant. “Asexual?”
He nodded, clearing his throat before explaining. “Asexuals feel little to no sexual attraction, and aromantics feel little to no romantic attraction. Both are spectrums, with some people feeling none at all, and others only developing those attractions in certain scenarios. Being sex-repulsed means that I have a severe negative reaction to the concept of being involved sexually with someone else. I’m on the former side of the spectrum in asexuality, and whilst I’m unsure where exactly I fall on the aromantic one, I suspect it may be demiromantic.” he’d stated, before clarifying, “Demiromantic meaning that I can only form romantic attraction after a close emotional bond has been formed.”
John had nodded, considering it all. He supposed it made sense, in a way – it was a sort of mirror to his bisexuality. But if Sherlock’s only hang-up on them being an item was around them being intimate...
“It’s safe to say your supposed ‘lucky condom’ would remain firmly unused. I’m afraid that whole aspect of relationships is not one I can provide, Watson. It would not change.” Sherlock had continued as John thought, tone nonchalant but expression anxious. “Whilst I was happy with some of the more romantically-prescribed actions, anything beyond it was deeply unsettling.”
“So, you don’t want to go out with me because you don’t want to, well -“
“Engage in sexual activity, yes.”
John had grinned. “Is that the only reason why?”
There was a long pause, before the detective had nodded.
“Well, that’s fine by me mate. Not a problem. So, will you go out with me?”
Sherlock had looked flummoxed. “Watson, did you not listen to me just now?”
“Yeah,” John replied, confidently, “I heard you explain that if we were to date, it’d be a relationship where we never had sex. Fine by me.”
After a few seconds of the detective’s mouth opening and closing, he’d blurted out “But you like sex!”
John had laughed, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, I also like salt and vinegar crisps, but I don’t need them to be happy.” he’d shrugged, before reaching one hand across the table, palm-up and offering.
“Honestly it’s always been something I can take or leave in a relationship. For me, being with someone is all about the domestic moments. Carrie,” he’d paused a second, taking a shaky breath as he thought back on his last serious relationship, “Carrie would always call me a softie, and a hopeless romantic.”
He shook off the memories, focusing back on the wide-eyed detective. “We could continue exactly as we are now, with the addition of me taking you out on dates to museums and cuddling up to you when we’re watching movies, and I’d be happy. Would you be happy holding hands with me?”
“We’ve done so before, and it was… nice. Comforting.”
“Leaning against me when we watch re-runs of Planet Earth?”
“I- yes.”
“Taking naps with me after a long case? Nothing else, just sleeping.”
A nod.
“Then that sounds perfect to me, Sherls. That’s all I need, I promise.”
Sherlock’s eyes had glimmered, before he’d reached out and placed his own hand in John’s own. John had squeezed it, comfortingly, running his thumb gently across Sherlock’s knuckles. They’d stayed there, together at the table with hands entwined, until their teas had gone cold.
That had been just over four months ago, and John was fairly certain he’d never been so happy in his life. Sherlock had proven to be very tactile once he’d accepted that John’s promise had been genuine. Things had carried on much as before, except now when they walked the busy London streets whilst out on cases they did so hand-in hand, or with Sherlock’s arm tucked into John’s. When they had movie marathons, they’d usually spend them with Sherlock leaning against John’s chest, or with his head in John’s lap.
Something else that they’d taken to doing, on a regular basis, was checking in on boundaries. Sherlock had explained that he and Victor had jumped quite quickly into their relationship, and as such there were some areas of affection that he was unsure whether or not he enjoyed.
One of those was kisses.
“I know, definitively, that I do not enjoy extended kisses, or ones that involve one party’s tongue ending up in the other party’s mouth. I believe it’s due to the more sexual connotations of it, but it leaves me feeling highly uncomfortable.” he explained as they were curled together on the sofa.
These types of conversations – ones where Sherlock felt emotionally vulnerable – were generally easier to handle if they were in contact but not facing each other. As such, Sherlock’s back was pressed against John’s chest, the doctor’s arms wrapped loosely around the other’s waist.
“I can understand that, Sherls. All good, french kissing firmly in the ‘never’ pile. To be honest, I only ever enjoyed it sometimes, myself, so no hard feelings there. What about other types of kisses? Are they all off the table? Fine if they are, love, I just need to know.”
John was a hopeless romantic, and part of that meant he adored kissing. There was something about it that always left him feeling fluttery in the best way, as opposed to the jittery feeling he got when anxious. Nothing quite beat wrapping his arms around his partner, pressing up against them and feeling their lips against his.
However, it was something he was willing to live without, if Sherlock didn’t enjoy it.
Sherlock hummed, absently taking one of John’s hands between his own and messing with his fingers, folding and extending each one in turn. Knowing this meant his partner was thinking things over, John remained quiet, giving Sherlock time.
“I’m… not sure. It’s been a rather long time, and I can’t recall if we ever attempted other forms of kissing.” he eventually replied, tone seeped in uncertainty. “Perhaps I enjoyed briefer kisses? I really don’t know.”
“OK, so maybe, maybe not.”
They sat in silence a while longer, before John had an idea. “I’m gonna start this off by saying you can shoot the thought down with no hard feelings whatsoever, Sherls, but… if you’re unsure, and you want to find out, we could run an… experiment?”
“Experiment?” Sherlock repeated, shuffling a little to glance back at John, “What kind of experiment?”
“Well,” he replied, “we could test out different types of kiss, and you can see how they make you feel. If you enjoy it, we can do it again, if you don’t, we add it to the ‘never’ pile.”
“I see. What if… Watson, what if they all end up in the pile?” he asked, turning away again. Whilst the use of ‘Watson’ had remained – it was practically an equivalent to ‘Sherls’ – the tone it came out with wasn’t nearly as common. It was an immediate tell that Sherlock was unsure, evident in the way he tried too hard to sound casual.
“Then they all end up in the pile, and I still get to enjoy holding your hand and cuddling as we already do, and we both know for certain where the line is.” he stated, meaning the words. Sure, he knew he’d be a little bit sad if he couldn’t kiss Sherlock at all, but that was a drop in a bucket compared to how happy everything else about their relationship made him already.
“Understood. I suppose – if this is an experiment, we need to plan it out. We know the objective – confirm whether any forms of kissing are positive experiences for me. What is the planned process? What variables are there? How do we manage them, so as to avoid contamination of results?”
John grinned, enamoured by Sherlock’s immediate leap to the scientific. “Alright, well – the variables would be ourselves, and how we’re feeling, right? For example, we wouldn’t want to test out a kiss on a day where you’re more touch-averse, as that would have a negative impact on possible results. You’re already really good at letting me know, so I’ll ensure not to try any on those days. Sound good?”
“Yes, that sounds reasonable.”
“Would you want me to tell you in advance what I’m going to try, or would you prefer not to be told?”
Sherlock thought for a moment, before twisting to face him again. “I believe prior knowledge may increase my anxiety about the kiss, therefore impacting it negatively. We may need to check again after we’re completed our first test, but for now I would prefer you not tell me.”
John nodded, squeezing one of Sherlock’s hands with his own. “OK. So long as you promise to tell me if that changes, as well as to be entirely honest in your reactions. I don’t want you trying to… I dunno, persevere with a type of kiss because you think it’ll make me happy.”
Sherlock nodded, returning the squeeze and offering a warm smile. “I trust you, John. You can trust me to be honest. They do state that good communication is a foundation for any and all relationships, after all.”
“That they do, love. Alright, any other questions? If not, how about we stick the telly on and see what rubbish we can watch until Mariana joins us for dinner?”
“That sounds wonderful. And no further questions at this moment, no.” Sherlock replied, settling back against John’s chest and grabbing the remote.
-
1 – Hair
John yawned, doing his best not to jostle Sherlock too much as he shifted on the sofa.
They’d had an exhausting case wrap up that afternoon – one that had seen them running all over central London hunting down clues in a criminal paper trail – and had made it in long after the sun had set. By silent agreement, they’d grabbed dinner from one of the takeaways that they both enjoyed, and settled into the sofa together to watch TV mindlessly as they ate.
As soon as the food was gone, Sherlock had shuffled around to lean against John’s shoulder, sitting sideways in John’s lap with his legs stretched over the rest of the sofa. As time had passed, he’d gradually slumped against John’s chest, head coming to rest against his collarbone. He’d taken hold of one of John’s hands in a loose grip as John’s other arm had wrapped across his back, pulling the detective closer to him.
He’d been dozing on and off since, his gentle breaths causing the collar of John’s shirt to flutter now and again. John could feel his own head dipping as he fought sleep, the only things keeping him awake being the knowledge that falling asleep in their current position would cause him endless back pain in the morning, and being worried that he’d start snoring and properly wake Sherlock up.
As tired as he was, he knew his partner had barely slept, and needed the rest more. So instead of letting himself fall asleep, he grabbed the remote and hopped between channels, settling on a re-run of a Liverpool vs Arsenal match and doing his best to follow the score.
He knew he’d need to move soon, get both himself and Sherlock into bed, but with how busy they’d been with the case, he hadn’t had a chance to enjoy cuddling with the other man in days and he wanted to make the most of it.
His heart melted as the detective shifted, half-awake again, rubbing his face against John’s clavicle like a cat. He was desperately in love with Sherlock, and still couldn’t believe this beautiful man was with him.
Drunk on exhaustion and affection, his head tilted and he brushed his lips, feather-light, against Sherlock’s curls, smoothing his thumb against his side slowly and smiling at the contented hum it caused.
It took him a few seconds to realise what he’d just done.
He’d just kissed Sherlock for the first time. He was fairly sure the detective had been awake enough to register it, but he wanted to make sure.
“Sherls, love?”
“Hmm?”
“Was that kiss OK?”
“Mhmm.” a nod. “Was nice. Quiet now.” Sherlock mumbled back, already being pulled under again.
Smiling, he pressed another light kiss into Sherlock’s hair, soft but lingering. He stayed still for a little longer, enjoying the warmth spreading through him at the new form of affection he was able to show. Regardless of how the rest went, there was a form of kiss Sherlock was happy to receive.
They couldn’t stay on the sofa forever, though – falling asleep sitting up would do neither of them any favours. So eventually, he had to rouse his sleeping partner.
“C’mon, love,” he murmured as Sherlock began to drift closer to full awareness, “time for bed.”
Sherlock grumbled, burying his face more firmly against John’s chest. The doctor chuckled, fond, before continuing to move them both. “I know, I know, but you need to sleep in an actual bed or you’re gonna feel rough in the morning. D’you want your bed or mine tonight?”
“Yours,” Sherlock mumbled, “you’re warm, and I missed you.”
Swallowing the rush of emotions he felt at the words, John hummed, standing up with a light groan and reaching for Sherlock’s hand. He helped the detective up, pulling him into a hug once they were both standing.
“Alright, sweetheart. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”
John woke up the next morning, on his back with Sherlock breathing against his chest as they often ended up on ‘John’s bed’ days. He smiled, moving his free hand up and into the detective’s hair, running his fingers through the curls gently.
Sherlock woke up, gradually, leaning into the touch with a happy rumble and tightening his own grip on John’s abdomen. He was never quick to wake up, but was often even more cuddly than usual when in the coming-to process in a way that John found beyond adorable.
Eventually, he woke up enough to stretch, pulling away from John and blinking down at him.
“Morning, mate. You sleep OK?” John asked, earning a tired nod. After a few seconds, however, Sherlock seemed to become more alert, his eyes widening as he stared at John.
“You kissed me last night.” he stated.
John felt a flutter of anxiety, suddenly concerned that Sherlock hadn’t truly enjoyed it, but it faded as he took in Sherlock’s grin. “Our first test is completed, and the results very positive. Wonderful!”
“Very positive, huh?” John asked, “Any particular notes on the details?”
Sherlock flopped back on top of him, causing him to wheeze. “A few. The contact was very light, especially with the barrier of my hair between your lips and my scalp. I noted no change in my breathing or heart-rate, aside from perhaps a minor increase in the latter. The physiological response was somewhat equivalent to the one seen in the initial seconds of you playing with my hair. All in all, a positive interaction, and not one that set off any discomfort.”
“Alright, then – so, add hair kisses to the ‘good’ pile?”
“Indeed.”
Hair kisses became a regular occurrence after that.
-
2 – Shoulder
A few weeks later, as they began to approach Halloween, John found the opportunity to test out another type of kiss.
He was up cooking breakfast, having sorted out Archie’s food first to avoid thievery and minimise begging. Sherlock had slept in his own room the night before, feeling a little too overstimulated to be comfortable with contact.
John was fine with it – even before they’d become a couple, there had been days where Sherlock would avoid him and Mariana as much as possible, and lean away from any chances of contact. There was nothing to worry about. Usually the bouts of being touch-averse lasted for a couple of days at most, only becoming worse if they’d been in a stressful environment for an extended period of time.
Thankfully, cooking food for his partner was a way he could show affection without putting any strain on him.
He’d just finished pouring the first batch of pancake batter into the frying pan when he heard the usual sounds of Sherlock starting his morning routine. Some shuffling, a door opening and closing, the bathroom light flicking on as the door squeaked closed. The running of a tap.
Knowing he had a few minutes, he flipped the pancake, before tugging out the chocolate spread Sherlock enjoyed and slicing up a couple of bananas. Both were set up on the kitchen table and the first pancake was plated by the time Sherlock made his way through.
“Good morning, love.” John called out, pouring the next lot of batter. Instead of a verbal response, he blinked as he felt the detective lean against his back, before two arms wrapped around his ribs and he felt the brush of lips against the top of his head.
The warmth he felt from the affectionate touch rivalled the heat from the stove.
“Woke up in a more touch-positive mood, yeah?” he asked, feeling a nod against the side of his head, and the arms tightening their grip. He smiled, leaning back against the other man slightly as he continued to sort the pancakes.
Soon enough, their breakfast was ready, and the pair settled down in their usual seats to eat. John watched, endeared, as Sherlock applied the spread just so on top of the pancakes, before carefully placing the banana slices to the side of the plate. He alternated, eating a slice of banana for every three bites of pancake.
Halfway through the meal, Sherlock began talking, recalling a series of TikTok videos he’d watched the evening before that had shown the reaction to various household items when placed under the duress of a crusher. John nodded along, chiming in now and again with some of the artwork some of the fans had released following their most recent case, and showing the ones he’d re-tweeted.
By the time both plates were cleared, both men were wide awake. They washed the dishes together, before going to get dressed and head out.
It was a weekday in term-time, which usually meant the museums were less crowded, and they’d agreed a few days before to have a date at the Natural History Museum to look at one of the guest exhibits that had come in, focused on the life of bees.
They wandered around the usual exhibits first, Sherlock occasionally letting go of John’s hand to gesture at different displays and share facts about them whilst the doctor listened and nodded along. John would also point out things in the exhibits, but his observations were usually more focused on how they looked, or things the items reminded him of.
Once they'd seen their fill of the usual displays, they made their way to the guest exhibit. Sherlock entirely let go of John as they entered the hall, shooting ahead to study the intricate replica of a beehive with wide eyes. John wasn’t in the slightest bit upset by the behaviour – in fact, he’d expected it. He was more than happy to follow along, taking the odd photo of his partner at moments where he looked particularly delighted. He sent one to Mariana, earning a heart emoji and a comment on how sweet both her boys were, and that she hoped they enjoyed the rest of their date.
They ended up spending a few hours in the exhibit, with Sherlock determined to take in every possible detail and John happy to go as slowly as his partner wanted between the stands.
Eventually, though, they reached the end, and together they wandered over towards the gift shop.
Sherlock’s attention was immediately caught by the collection of items linked to the guest exhibit, picking up and placing down the various souvenirs with great interest. He lingered on a poster that depicted the different family groups of bee and the Latin names of each species under them, clearly debating things before putting it back. As he turned away to look at something else, John swiped a copy of the poster and went to pay for it. Hiding it behind a calendar for the next year, he only revealed the purchase once they’d made it home again.
“Thought you might like this one up on the wall of your room – or the living room, maybe?” he offered, holding the tube out.
Sherlock figured out the print almost immediately, and the next second John found himself tugged into the detective’s arms. He laughed, wrapping his own arms around in response and pressing his chin against Sherlock’s collarbone.
“You’re happy with it, then?” he asked, jokingly.
“Unbelievably so.” Sherlock replied quietly, voice warm with affection.
“Good.” John replied. He felt the urge to kiss the detective, and decided to go with his instinct. Shifting his head, he pressed his lips quickly but firmly against Sherlock’s shoulder joint, where the seam of his hoodie connected the sleeve to the torso. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“You kissed me again. A new variant?” Sherlock asked, pulling slightly back to meet John’s eyes.
“I did. Thoughts?” he replied, feeling calm. He’d been pressed tightly enough against Sherlock’s chest that he would have felt the other man tense if uncomfortable, so knew at worst the response would be indifference.
Sherlock hummed, tilting his head in thought. “Also fine, no discomfort. Not quite as pleasing as a hair kiss, but enjoyable nonetheless. Plus,” he added as his expression turned mischievous, “by balance of probability, this would be a far easier type of kiss to repeat, given how much more accessible my shoulder is to you than my hair. With your… reduced height, and all.”
“Wha- hey!” John protested, fighting a grin and doing his best to sound offended. He pushed back, lightly smacking Sherlock’s arm and glaring at him in fond exasperation as the detective chuckled. “I see how it is. Well, see if I give you any more shoulder kisses then, you lanky git!”
Their eyes met, and John’s attempts soundly failed as he found himself starting to laugh alongside his partner.
“Apologies, my dear Watson. You are, as you often point out, well within the national average height for men of our age.”
“I’ll give you national height, not all of us have bloody giraffe DNA-”
“That’s not even remotely scientifically possible, Watson, are you sure you’re a medical professional?”
“You-!”
3 – Forehead
The day was a bad one, for Sherlock.
He’d woken up alright is a little touch-averse, but the London streets had been far more crowded than usual. He’d been knocked into multiple times on their way home that evening, even with John walking in front to serve as a form of barrier, and it left him stressed out and frustrated.
To top it all off, he’d developed a headache – likely a combination of overstimulation and the noise levels from the people outside. John watched, concerned, as his partner had all-but thrown himself down on the sofa, one hand clenching rhythmically at his side as the other tugged at his hair.
Knowing the pain wouldn’t help in the long term, John settled on the floor near Sherlock’s head. “Sweetheart, I know that was a lot but I need you to let go of your hair for me.”
Sherlock groaned, and the beginnings of frustrated tears appeared. John’s heart broke for him. He lowered his voice even further, almost whispering as he continued. “I know, lovely, but tugging will make things worse later. Want me to help?”
After a long moment, Sherlock deliberately loosened his grip and instead wrapped his hands together. Taking that as the sign, John reached up and very gently began to pet at Sherlock’s hair, fingertips barely touching him as they kept up a soothing pattern. Over the curls by the forehead and temple, back towards the crown of the head, lift away and start again.
He kept the rhythm steady, watching as Sherlock’s grip on his own hands went from crushing to firm, and his lower lip eased from where it had been trembling. The room was quiet apart from Sherlock’s slowly-calming breathing and the distant noise from outside.
Eventually, he felt Sherlock’s head tilt slightly into the touch, and he moved on from light sweeps to firmer presses. Keeping the movement slow, he allowed the side of his thumb to brush against his partner’s temple with each brush through, and fingertips keeping an even level of contact across his scalp. He continued to avoid contact anywhere else, knowing that there was a thin line for his partner between a comforting touch and an overwhelming one when he was in this state.
Sherlock’s breathing steadied even further, as the minutes passed, but his brow was still drawn with tension. John kept up the action, but eventually pushed back up to his knees.
“Want a drink, love?” he asked gently, monitoring Sherlock’s face for signs of any distress at his voice. Sherlock didn’t flinch or otherwise react to him speaking, aside from a slight nod after a few seconds.
“Ok, Sherls, hang on and I’ll grab you a tea. Be right back.” he promised. Without really thinking about it, he leaned over and pressed a fleeting kiss against Sherlock’s forehead, where the stress lines were most visible. With that, he clambered up, groaning only slightly at the ache in his knees, and went to put the kettle on.
It was just as he finished pouring hot water into the mugs that he realised what he’d done. He tensed, worried that he may have aggravated things accidentally, but after listening carefully he could only hear steady breathing from his partner in the next room. With a sigh of relief, he finished making their drinks and carried them through.
Sherlock’s eyes were open when he rounded the arm of the sofa. There were residual tears, but he seemed far less distressed. John smiled at him gently, placing both mugs onto the coffee table before settling on the cushion next to Sherlock’s as he slowly shifted to sit up.
He stayed quiet, keeping to himself as Sherlock picked up the mug with both hands, blowing on the drink before taking a careful sip. He drank his own tea, watching over his partner as they drank.
It took a few minutes after they’d finished their teas before Sherlock cleared his throat.
“Would you…” he trailed off, glancing down and away before trying again, quieter. “Would you do that again? Please?”
John blinked.
“Do that again? You mean the hair petting? Or…?”
Sherlock shook his head. “No, the hair petting is lovely and I won’t say no, but. I meant – I meant the kiss.” he tapped a nervous pattern against the ceramic in his hands, cheeks flushing, before he took a breath and explained.
“I’m uncertain as to why, but I felt… better after you kissed me. The contact was light enough not to feel overwhelming, but I still felt very comforted by it.”
John’s heart dissolved like the sugar in his tea.
“Of course, sweetheart. Any time you like.” he promised. He placed his mug down, standing up in front of Sherlock before brushing his hair back with his hand and pressing another kiss against his partner’s forehead. He added a kiss to the other’s hair for good measure, watching in relief as some of the lingering tension left Sherlock’s frame and he settled further back against the cushions.
“Better?” he asked gently, to be sure.
“Yes. Another, please?”
And how could he say no to that?
4 – Hand
“God, it’s absolutely freezing!” John complained, shivering as he and Sherlock made their way around Hyde Park, Archie puttering ahead off his leash.
It was early December, now, the trees of the park mostly bare of leaves and what seemed to be permanent frost dusting the ground and the bushes around them. Further across the park, he could see the outline of Winter Wonderland and hear the screams of people on the rides. Closer by, the geese and ducks were making a racket in the Serpentine as they splashed in and out of the chilled water.
Mariana hadn’t been able to take Archie for the walk that day thanks to plans she’d made with Imani and some of the others from Hudsons, so John had opted to picking up the job for the day, and chose to wander further afield than Regent’s Park for a change of scenery.
He was starting to regret the decision for the longer trip, though, as he slowly lost feeling in his feet. He was alright with colder climates, usually, but London was going through reportedly the coldest December they’d had in fifteen years and he felt it in every negative degree.
However bad it was for him, though, he knew Sherlock felt even worse.
The detective’s gloves had ended up damp earlier, when he’d slipped on a patch of ice and ended up with his hands sinking into a frost-covered bush. His gloves generally handled light amounts of moisture, but it appeared the seams were starting to go in two of the fingers as Sherlock had quickly tugged the gloves off with an expression of disgust.
“They’re damp!” he’d whined, “The water made it in and now they’re damp and cold and horrible.”
He’d thrown them into one of his coat pockets with a growl, wrapping one hand around the other and squeezing before letting go and repeating the action with the other hand.
They were about halfway through their walk, with no quick way home. John had offered up his own gloves to his partner, knowing he’d just about manage without them, but they hadn’t fit the detective’s hands so he’d resorted to shoving them in the pockets of his trousers.
Clearly, however, that wasn’t proving enough. John watched on three separate occasions as Sherlock pulled his hands out of their pockets to rub them together, before quickly burying them back, only to repeat the process. As he started the fourth time, John stepped in.
Pulling his own gloves off and tucking them in his pockets, he took Sherlock’s hands between his own, rubbing them together and cupping the fingers between his warmer palms. They felt like they were carved out of ice, and John winced in sympathy.
After a moment’s thinking, he lifted them closer to his mouth, carefully blowing warm air over them before rubbing at them again. As he did so, his mind went back to a memory of his childhood. He brought their conjoined hands closer again, but this time bent down and pressed his lips to the ends of each finger, warming them slightly with a gentle kiss.
Glancing up, he saw Sherlock staring at him wide-eyed. He grinned, repeating the action before explaining. “Mum used to do this for me all the time when I was a kid. I was one of those ones who was always adamant I didn’t need gloves, only to end up whining to her about being cold later on. It used to help me – is it helping you?”
Sherlock nodded, hesitantly, clearing his throat before speaking. “It feels odd, and my heart-rate certainly picked up with the action. But I… liked it.” cheeks burning, he grinned sheepishly down at their hands. “Whilst it’s not entirely effective, it is a nice way to regain some warmth in my hands.”
John chuckled, kissing Sherlock’s hands again and squeezing them before tugging at them. Instead of letting go, he pulled into his own jacket pockets alongside his own hands, leaning against Sherlock’s chest and pressing his face against his partner’s scarf.
“Glad to hear it, Sherls. However, I think we’re both going to end up freezing if we’re not careful. How about we head for that coffee kiosk and grab some cups of hot chocolate to wrap our hands around for a bit instead? Then I think we can head back, Archie’s had a good long walk already and I’m really feeling like settling in our living room under a million blankets and watching a Christmas movie.”
“Sounds like a suitable plan.” Sherlock agreed, pressing his face into John’s hair and nuzzling into him slightly. “Can we watch Muppet’s Christmas Carol?”
John hummed with pleasure, feeling warmed through despite the chill encroaching on them both. Here in his partner’s arms, with the man he loved safe against him and their beloved dog panting near their feet, his world was a midsummer day.
“You read my mind, mate. Let’s go.”
5 – Cheek
Christmas was fully upon them a couple of weeks later. Everywhere you went, there were decorations and lights up, and people wishing you well for the holidays. There were also a number of parties and festive events going on.
One of those, as it turned out, was Mike Stamford’s annual Christmas party.
They’d received the invitation from Mike and Nadia the week before, offering for them to join alongside Mariana, some of the couples’ work and uni friends, and a few members of Scotland Yard that the couple had gotten to know through Sherlock & Co's shenanigans. Sherlock had been a little uncertain given his dislike of parties generally, but when both John and Mariana had promised he wouldn’t be expected to talk to anyone he didn’t know, and Stamford’s reassurances that the house was big enough to get some space from people if needed, he’d agreed to attend.
One week later, and the three residents of 221 Baker Street pulled up outside the house in a cab.
“Look at this place,” Mariana gushed, “it’s so big!”
“Makes 221B feel like a shoebox, honestly.” John agreed, glancing over at Sherlock. “You doing OK, mate?”
Sherlock nodded, looking a little anxious but not severely so. “Yes, I think I’ll be alright. I see they have a balcony on the upper floor there – a good spot to retreat to if I become overwhelmed.”
“There we go, then, all set! Let’s head in then, shall we?”
The trio made their way to the door, which was answered by Nadia a few seconds after they rang the bell. “Mariana and the boys are here!” she called out behind her, before ushering them in. Almost immediately, she and Mariana were chatting away together – John overheard a mention of a new album by Elsie – and off down the hallway.
The building appeared to be rather open plan, with a staircase to their right, a doorway to the left leading into a living room area, and an arch at the end of the hall where they could hear music playing and see people standing around. John spotted Gregson and Lestrade immediately, leaning against a kitchen counter with drinks in hand, and he could hear Stamford laughing uproariously from somewhere else.
Taking hold of one of Sherlock’s hands, he led them through to the kitchen.
As they passed under the archway, he heard a clamour of cheers from the nearby partygoers.
“Heads-up, mate!” Gregson called out, smirking. He looked up, noticing a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway above them. To his side, he felt Sherlock do the same and tense up.
“Oh, uh, I’m not sure-”
A chorus of “Kiss!” and “Go on!” started up. John turned to face Sherlock, whose gaze was flickering between John, the gathered people, and the plant hanging above them.
Taking a breath, he came to a decision.
He reached out, squeezing Sherlock’s other hand to get his attention. When their eyes met, he tilted his head slightly. “Trust me?” he mouthed, studying his partner’s face as he swallowed before nodding.
This brave, beautiful man.
Leaning forwards, John entwined their fingers before pressing a light kiss against the detective’s cheek. The peanut gallery started cheering, and he felt Sherlock stiffen for a moment before relaxing, squeezing his hands in return.
He pulled back, offering his partner a reassuring grin, before turning back to the others. “There, you all happy? Can I have a pint now?” he asked, earning a laugh. He then pulled Sherlock through the room, over to the drinks table set up on one of the kitchen counters.
The kitchen was nice – open, with a row of counters separating it from the dining area on the other half of the room. There was a conservatory on the other side, which had been cleared and turned into a temporary dance floor.
Having taken in the room, John turned to take in his partner.
Sherlock was quiet, but didn’t seem as stressed as he had been before. One of his hands had raised to the spot where John had kissed him, fingers tracing the spot contemplatively.
“You alright, Sherlock?” he asked, pressing his shoulder against the other’s as he grabbed himself a can of beer and a Guinness for the detective.
“… Yes. I am.” Sherlock replied after a minute, leaning closer to him. “I’ll admit, I froze up a little at the sight of the mistletoe. One of Victor and I’s last kisses had been under one, and I had a brief moment where I’m afraid I panicked a little.” he huffed self-depreciatively, staring at his drink. “After all, it’s one of the most romantic cliches of the holiday season – couples engaging in passionate kisses under the mistletoe.”
John felt a pang of sympathy. “I can understand. I hope you know I wouldn’t do that to you, though?” he asked, a touch anxious despite himself.
Sherlock quickly assuaged the fears. “Yes, John – I know. I trust you.” he promised, making direct eye contact as he did so and looked more certain than he’d ever been.
John felt his eyes burning at the rush of emotion the look hit him with. He sniffled, blinking rapidly to fight off the threatening tears, and offered a wobbly grin. “Good. Glad to- I’m really glad to hear it, love.”
Sherlock tugged him into a hug, and John went willingly, smiling at the feeling of his partner’s hand rubbing soothingly up and down his spine. They stayed together for some time, listening to the Christmas music playing and the laughter of their friends and the acquaintances.
“On the subject of kisses, however, I’d like to note that cheek kisses are, in my eyes, a resounding success. Even with a romantically-charged situation, I didn’t feel any anxiety or unease at the gesture.” he heard Sherlock murmur a while later, as they watched a tipsy DI Gregson pulling DI Lestrade into a clumsy twirl.
The room echoed with laughter as Lestrade almost ended up over-balancing, catching herself at the last moment and shooting Gregson a look of amused exasperation even as she continued to dance with him. John barely processed it, though, instead focused on Sherlock.
“Yeah? Another for the ‘like’ pile? Is that an ‘in certain situations’ one, or a general one?” he asked.
Sherlock thought it over, before shrugging. “I feel like it can be a general one. The lack of concern even with the mistletoe as a variable leads me to think I’ll be very happy receiving cheek kisses whenever the urge strikes.”
“Perfect,” John murmured, “because that happens to be one of my favourite kinds.”
They stayed close a while longer, before John found himself being tugged over by Stamford to join in with the Cha Cha Slide. “Come on, John!” he laughed, heading over to where Nadia was already getting into the steps, “I know for a fact that this was a favourite of yours back at uni!”
John giggled, falling into the familiar steps with ease. “Yeah, and I killed it on the dance floor each time, mate. People were eating it up!” he called back.
Glancing back over to the drinks table, he spotted Sherlock filming on his phone and grinned, bright and carefree. “You don’t wanna join in, Sherls?” he called out, “Afraid I’ll show you up?”
“Hardly,” came the dry response, “Difficult to mess up a song that provides you with very clear instructions, but I’ll look forward to seeing you achieve it somehow.”
Nadia was crying with laughter, and Stamford was grinning at the pair of them. John, very maturely, stuck his tongue out, following the moves – only to smack into a bench at the edge of the dance area towards the end, falling back into it with a yelp.
Even as his cheeks burned in embarrassment, he couldn’t help but laugh as Sherlock, wide grin in place and phone still recording, came over to help him up. “No cameras, please, ta very much!” he wheezed, pushing the phone away as he stood. Seeing Sherlock opening his mouth – likely to make a know-it-all comment about him tripping – he leant forwards to press another kiss against the detective’s cheek.
Best Christmas party, ever.
+1 – Lips
It was ten minutes to midnight, New Year’s Eve.
Sherlock and John had been out earlier that day to walk Archie and to grab snacks, settling in after dinner to watch TV and relax together. Mariana, over with her parents, had called them a few hours ago, wishing them an early Happy New Years due to her already falling asleep after a busy day.
She’d fussed over Archie on the video call, cooing over the jumper that John had stuck on him to celebrate the day and calling him the ‘handsomest boy’, in turn spinning the camera around to show off her parents’ cats and their fancy bow ties.
Call over, they’d settled in with a re-run of Elsie’s latest concert on in the background, running at a low volume. John was sharing stories of New Years’ celebrations during university and him time in the Fusiliers, and Sherlock in turn had covered the tale of a strange case he’d worked on a few years before that had seen a priceless family heirloom hidden inside a firework that had been set to be included in the London New Year’s display.
Now, with just a few short minutes left of the year, John hopped up to grab them both a drink to toast with when midnight struck. A few minutes later, and they were set up with fancy hot chocolate, complete with cream, marshmallows, and a shot of Bailey’s, with just three minutes left on the clock.
“Can’t believe how close we are to the end of this year.” John said, coming to settle against Sherlock where he was watching the footage turn to the crowds in front of the London Eye.
“And what a year it has been, Watson.” Sherlock replied, taking his drink with a smile and enjoying a quick sip before placing it down. John hummed in agreement, taking a sip himself and wincing slightly at the heat.
“Any resolutions for the year ahead, then?”
“Hmm, a few possible ones, yes.”
He watched as Sherlock stood up suddenly, offering a hand to help him up too. He took it, trusting, and leaned into the detective as he straightened up again. Two minutes to go.
“John? Would you mind if I had a turn with testing a variant this evening?” Sherlock asked, looking down at him with a hopeful expression.
John blinked, confused. “I mean, of course love, I don’t have a monopoly on it. And for the record, you don’t have to ask me – I’ll be happy with any kind of kiss you want to give me, so long as you’re comfortable.”
“I know,” Sherlock’s smile was warm, “but it felt polite to ask, nonetheless.”
From the TV came the announcement that they were less than a minute away. Sherlock smiled, and John watched as he took the doctor’s hands between his own, toying with his fingers.
“I heard there was a tradition around New Year’s Eve, a theory in a sense.” he said, quietly.
“Oh yeah?” What’s that, then?” John asked.
“That you should start the New Year doing something that you hope to continue for the year ahead. Ah, and we’re almost there.”
Indeed, the crowds were already starting to cheer as the countdown was about to start.
“10!”
Sherlock leant up, pressing a kiss into John’s hair.
“9!”
“Sherlock?”
“8!”
John watched, perplexed, as his partner bent his head down to kiss the top of his shoulder.
“7!”
As he straightened up, he caught a glimpse of determination on Sherlock’s face.
“6!”
A third kiss, to his forehead – causing his confused frown to vanish as he registered what was happening.
“5!”
John swallowed, eyes misting up as his beloved lifted their joint hands.
“4!”
A series of fluttering kisses against his fingertips.
“3!”
Sherlock let go of his hands, and placed one of his own against John’s cheek. John leant into it immediately.
“2!”
A lingering kiss against his cheek, causing him to gasp shakily. All five of their test kisses, completed. “Love-”
“1!”
A thumb brushing against his cheekbone, before he felt his head being tilted back.
“Happy New Year!”
The noise of the crowd and the fireworks vanished into nothingness as John felt Sherlock’s lips softly meet his own.
It only lasted for a couple of seconds, but it felt endless. John’s eyes stayed closed for a long moment after Sherlock had pulled away, eventually fluttering open and taking in Sherlock’s nervous but pleased expression.
“Are…?” John tried to speak up, to check in with his partner, but words failed him for a long moment. Sherlock didn’t appear upset or tense, though, so he allowed himself to relax, knowing he was bright red and grinning dopily.
“I hadn’t been certain how I would feel with that kiss, and I will admit it’s left me perhaps a little more unsettled than I’d usually appreciate.” Sherlock told him, pressing their foreheads together and meeting his eyes, “However, I found myself still enjoying that type of kiss, if for no other reason than by how much it’s flustered you. It’s one I’m willing to try again.”
John hummed, but he felt a little concerned. It was enough to bring his words back at last.
“Only if you’re comfortable, sweetheart. If you want that to be the only time, that’s fine too.” he insisted, raising a hand to brush through Sherlock’s curls. “I don’t need kisses like that to be happy. Same as I don’t need sex.”
“I know, John. I trust you. I believe that’s why I’d be happy with that variant of kiss again in the future: I trust you enough to know you’ll never escalate past that, past what I am relatively comfortable with.” Sherlock pulled back, pressing a kiss into his temple before meeting his eyes directly again.
“I trust you.” he repeated, gently but firmly. “And I love you.”
That was it. John’s gaze went blurry as the tears he’d been trying to keep at bay escaped. “Christ, I love you too Sherlock,” he breathed, voice wobbling, “I love you to pieces. Last year, this year, and all the years to come. You’re perfect, and I love you. Exactly as you are.”
Sherlock’s eyes shone in response, before John felt himself being pulled into a tight embrace, his partner’s face burying itself in his hair.
“Happy New Year, John.” he heard, Sherlock’s voice just the slightest bit shaky.
He rocked them gently side to side, cheeks aching with how hard he was grinning.
“Happy New Year, love.”