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Language:
English
Series:
Part 2 of What if...
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Published:
2016-06-29
Completed:
2018-10-06
Words:
1,742
Chapters:
4/4
Comments:
109
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331
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No Charge

Summary:

What if John is a street artist who offers to draw Sherlock...

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

It had been a bad week, no cases, even the cold files were beyond dull. Sherlock walked through the park for once, hoping to see something, anything...diff-

"Please, stop," A voice called out. Sherlock turned, even though he knew the voice couldn't be speaking to him.

"Yeah, you, long, tall beauty in the coat and curls."

Now Sherlock knew the voice was taking the piss, but, at least it had possibilities.

He was blond, turning silver, though he had barely turned, what...hmmm..

"Forty, just yesterday."

Military -

"Former, was a -"

"Surgeon, good one -"

"Invalided out, yeah, I was good."

"Brilliant, in fact."

"Sit, please?" John pushed forward his stool.

Sherlock looked at the easel and the man's blackened fingertips.

"No charge, you just have the most intriguing face I've seen in a long time."

"And?"

"And you look like you need something, or someone..."

"How would you know? How -"

"Been there, know what it's like to be bored. You hate being bored...more than anything."

At some point, Sherlock sat and the artist started to sketch. For once Sherlock just did nothing, thought nothing, just sat as the man at easel told him his life story.

"You - you are Uni trained, I'd say Oxford, but I'm thinking you went against family tradition and went to Cambridge...you went early, started at fifteen...look up a bit, eyes up...perfect, right there...two degrees, Chemistry and Poetry...interesting...and you can pick up languages as easily as most people pick up a hot blonde at a pub, you're up to seven...no eight...plus the dead ones -nope, don't move. Oh man, the light...your eyes, they just...fuck, they weren't blue a minute ago...you like, no - love puzzles, have very little use for people, dogs...now dogs are a different story...shit, it was one dog - sorry, and you'd love to tell me to piss off right now, but you don't want, no, you can't move, not because I told you not to, but because I'm the most interesting thing you've seen in weeks. And you're afraid -"

"Of?"

"This."

The artist put down his charcoal, stood up from his bench and moved to block the sun from Sherlock's blown eyes. He placed his soft, smudged hand in Sherlock's curls, and tugged him into a kiss.

"I don't want anything from you, all I really wanted was to draw you, see what all that energy would look like if stilled."

"And?" Sherlock finally found his misplaced voice.

"Beautiful, unique, and astonished, why astonished?"

"No one has ever -"

"Shit, I'm the first to kiss those lips? I should have at least asked you out for a coffee first. At least asked your name."

Sherlock removed his glove and put out his hand, "Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective."

The artist grinned and looked at his hand, grabbed a cleanish rag from his box and wiped it before taking Sherlock's hand in his. "John, John Watson...formerly many things."

"Let me buy you a coffee? I was going to suggest something stronger, but it is only 9 am, so how about a Full English instead? My landlady, though she claims to be 'not my housekeeper' makes a decent one, I don't usually eat, so she would love to cook for someone."

John's eyes met Sherlock's and they grinned at each other. "That sounds amazing, let me grab my gear, yeah?"

"May I see -?"

"Oh, yeah, course."

Sherlock walked to the other side of the easel to see a face older than he ever thought he'd be, all sharp lines except for his mess of curls and his mouth, his mouth was...he turned to look at John and the artist nodded, "yes, exquisite. You have- " his words were lost to history as Sherlock used those exquisite lips as an invitation to the man who from that day forward kept him from being bored.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

John laid down his fork and leaned back into his chair. "How can you stay so thin - hell."

Sherlock looked down at the faded scars on the inside of his wrist, and shrugged. No one had ever been close enough to truly see him, he hadn't allowed anyone to get this close until now. He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. "You seem to know everything else about me, or were you just guessing?"

John took Sherlock's hand in his, and shook his head. "I never guess. It's a question of probabilities, observations, really. Some of it, I saw in your eyes, and your hands. Though I missed that you are a musician. Violin. The calluses. The scars are faded, it's been..."

"One hundred and twenty-three days."

John nodded, and pressed his lips against Sherlock's wrist, stopping as he heard Sherlock take a shuddering breath. "Sorry?"

Sherlock whispered, "what for?"

"I don't do this. Haven't for a long time. When I came back, after... I disappeared from what was left of my old life. It was easier. I didn't have to talk to anyone, I didn't want to talk, eventually I took up my place where you walked past me and for the first time in a very long time, I wanted to talk to someone, I wanted to know who you were."

"Why me?"

John held Sherlock's hand in both of his smaller ones and was silent for a moment. "Honestly?"

"Please."

"I'd never seen anyone like you before, but I also felt, I don't know, that I knew you. And I knew I'd regret it if I let you pass by without at least trying to talk to you."

"Thank you."

"You don't say that very often, do you?"

Sherlock bit his lip and shook his head. "No, I don't. I don't have many reasons to - listen, I haven't slept in a few days, would you mind, it might sound odd, but, will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

"I don't mind at all."

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Sherlock woke up to the sounds of rain of pounding against the windows and soft snoring against his chest. A strong arm was draped over his hip, not holding on tightly, just there, and he tried to go back to sleep, to preserve the moment, but then John yawned and pulled away.

"Sorry. It's been a long time since I've slept through the night. I was going to go after you fell asleep, but -"

"No. It's fine. I don't mind."

"Look. I should go."

"It's pouring. What do you do on days when it's raining? You don't have an umbrella - I mean, stay for tea, at least." Sherlock closed his mouth tightly, before he said anything else, anything that could tell John how much he wanted him to stay. He'd spent most of his twenties on his own, and his thirties were starting out just as lonely. Stop. I'm not - why lonely? You've never thought about being lonely before.

"I usually go to a coffee shop. There's one that doesn't mind if I hang out when the weather is bad. I'm used to doing this on my own."

"But you don't have to." Sherlock covered his mouth with his hand and rolled away.

"You don't know anything about me."

"You trained to be a surgeon, but something happened, made you want to leave London, so you joined the military, you worked your way through the ranks, you made Captain, you loved it, but then you got shot trying to save one of your men, and you nearly died. More than once. Shoulder. Your dominant side, you couldn't hold a scalpel any longer. In rehab you found art therapy helped, you trained your right hand until you could draw- which demonstrates a certain strength, you don't see it that way, though. You think you are better alone, but, you don't have to be. You already know more about me than anyone else - no one else has ever bothered to look closely enough at me, or just stay with me, when I needed someone."

"Sometimes I have nightmares. Days when I don't talk -"

"I play the violin at all hours. As you've already noted, I don't eat or sleep much, especially if I'm working on a case."

John laid a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and whispered at his ear, "or when you're bored?"

"Or when I'm bored, yes." Sherlock turned over again and looked into John's eyes. "There is tea, and enough milk, or we could -"

"Stay in bed?" John raised an eyebrow and smiled gently at him.

"Hmmm. I don't have anything else to do today -"

"Shhhh..." John laid his fingers in Sherlock's curls and pulled him into a kiss, then drew back and searched his eyes for an answer to a question he was afraid to ask.

"Stay. Please?"

"Something else you don't say very often."

"I never -" Sherlock mumbled, then buried his face into John's strong shoulder. "Just please don't leave me."

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

The rain had stopped when Sherlock resurfaced again. Late morning. Possibly early afternoon.

"Don't move?"

He froze at the voice. John. Still here. He heard the sound of a pencil on paper, quick slashes of lines, no erasing, confident strokes.

"Okay. Done. Sorry. I just haven't ever seen anyone, or been with anyone, as beautiful as you. I hope you don't mind?"

Sherlock blinked at the man in front of him, then shook his head.

"You do know? How lovely you are? Seriously. Bloody hell. All the posh bespoke stuff - and you don't have a clue."

"No one - I don't normally - people -"

"Yeah, I get it. Most people I could do without."

"I was serious, earlier. If you wanted to stay, I didn't mean just for last night or this morning. I'm not offering charity. I don't do this - whatever this is, have never done it, I don't have relationships, like normal people do - I -"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

John nodded, then whispered, "wait- the light- damn. Just stay right there?" He flipped the page of his sketch pad and his hand flew over the paper again, then stopped, and he pushed everything off the bed with a flourish and moved closer to Sherlock. "May I, please -"

Sherlock reached out, pulling him close, close enough for John to gaze into the blue-green eyes again, and he knew, more than he knew anything else he had ever known anything in his life, that he was meant to be exactly where he was. "John?"

"Yeah."

"May I kiss you?"

"Oh, god, yes."

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