BBC Sherlock: Something to talk about

Six o'clock in the morning, Saturday. A call from Lestrade. Yes, a case, come to Scotland Yard at once.

Sherlock hung up with excitement, John just groaned plaintively. Friday was hellish at the hospital and he definitely could use some rest. Watson was determined to sleep through the whole morning, no matter what. Sherlock didn't waste any time, though. He sprang out of the bed, already wide awake, and delved into his wardrobe, preparing clothes for today.

"Come on, John! Don't dawdle! The adventure awaits!" Sherlock urged him in an upbeat tone.

John covered his head with a duvet, mumbling something incoherently about the place where Sherlock could put this adventure right now and how deep. The detective rolled his eyes.

"John, you are perfectly aware that I won't back off. You're coming with me whether you like it or not," he said adamantly, folding his arms across his chest. "After all, I'm completely lost without my blogger..."  He added in a kinder voice, shamelessly buttering John up.

Another long and incoherent moan came from the general direction of the bed, but this time it ended with a hoarse: "Five minutes."

Sherlock sighed in annoyance, but knew that he had won. He might as well cut John some slack. So he left his friend alone and went to the bathroom to take a quick shower.  

Getting up was far down on John's list of priorities right now, sleep occupying the first position, but he had no choice. Even though pouches under his eyes had pouches of their own, Sherlock would never let him laze about when a new case was just around the corner. Ever since they started to share a bedroom, and consequently a bed, they were spending so much time together, it became impossible for John to simply ignore Sherlock and pursue his own needs. But apart from situations like today, Watson honestly didn't mind. Their relationship was evolving, which made him happy. His only gripe was that they still didn't go the whole way. Every time he mentioned sex, Sherlock was freaking out, so besides some cuddles and kisses, nothing really happened between them. It was a pity, but John was nothing if not patient. He believed Sherlock just needed some time to acquaint himself with the thought of being intimate with another person.  

When John finally crawled out of the bed, Sherlock had already returned from the shower, looking fresh, energetic and handsome as ever. He was wearing his finest clothes – he only had the finest – as if his aim was to dress to kill. It affected people who met him infallibly, John included. Every single time.

"John, we don't have a whole day!" He grumbled inexorably. All his gestures betrayed impatience. He simply couldn't wait to dive into another case.

"Yeah, yeah..." John suppressed a yawn and tottered to Sherlock, giving him a sweet good morning kiss on the lips. That didn't make Sherlock stop rushing his lover, but at least his expression softened and he was a bit more sympathetic towards the exhausted doctor. He even allowed John to drink a cup of coffee before they left and his magnanimity was rewarded with yet another kiss.




When they arrived at the police station, Sherlock was nearly jumping from joy, whereas John was trying his best to appear relatively awake, which proved to be quite a challenge. Lestrade greeted them in the hallway and lead them to his office.

Sherlock was aware of the surreptitious glances that policemen were shooting at him and John. Probably a bunch of new juicy gossips about them was circulating among the staff during the periods of boredom. Most of the stories were brazenly made-up, but the truth was never really the point. The more shocking and disgusting the calumny, the better. Just like in the lowest of tabloids. The fact that nobody here had a liking for Sherlock, didn't help.

Frankly speaking, Sherlock couldn't care less what people were saying, even though occasionally some rumours were really slanderous and nasty, but he was aware that it upset John. The doctor always repeated that people should mind their own business and stop prying. Sherlock surmised that John still didn't fully accept his recently discovered sexual orientation (Sherlocksexual) and resisted being branded as gay with might and main. Sherlock didn't quite understand his attitude, but it was John's choice, so he didn't interfere.

Lestrade sat at his desk and picked up a file, handing it to John. Sherlock claimed that his first impressions about the case were the most accurate when his friend did the reading. If the case was worth it, Holmes later had a look at it himself. John sighed and began to recite as Sherlock leaned against the wall, pressing all his fingertips together in front of his face.

"Victim: Thomas Murray. Age: 34. Occupation: fisherman. The victim was found dead laying on his stomach with a massive head trauma..."

The more Sherlock heard, the less he was interested in the case. When John was in the middle of the report, Sherlock became convinced that it wasn't even a case. Why the police had to be so stupid? The guy obviously wasn't murdered, it was an accident involving a rusted crane, that was evident even without looking at the crime scene. Sherlock wanted to huff with anger at his wasted time, but it would mean interrupting John and he liked his voice far too much for that. So Sherlock stopped listening to the content of the message and focused only on John's timbre. He moved next to the opened door because in that way he could completely remove Lestrade from the picture and concentrate solely on his beautiful lover. Unfortunately, that position also had some disadvantages - Sherlock couldn't hear John anymore over the hum of gossips.

Sherlock involuntarily caught some of them. One policeman claimed to had witnessed Sherlock kissing some random man two days ago in a restaurant. Rubbish, obviously. The other person could have sworn that she had seen Watson on a date with one of his ex-girlfriends. That was also ridiculous, John's clothes didn't have the scent of a woman about them, Sherlock would certainly notice. The third interlocutor was convinced that Holmes and Watson were in fact an item and got at least to the third base. Absolutely false, though John probably wouldn't mind if it was correct. The fourth person suggested that they couldn't possibly be together, because Sherlock had to have some “performance issues” which made the rest of the group laugh. Once again, not true. At least to Sherlock's best knowledge.  

Finally, he rolled his eyes, getting tired of this bullshit. People talk, that's what they do. But what if instead of inventing lies, Sherlock for a change gave them something real to gossip about? A daring plan formed instantly in his head.  

Sherlock strode out of the room which caused John to stop the reading and stare at him in confusion. Lestrade also had no idea what was going on. Yet.

"May I have your attention, please?" Sherlock raised his voice and waited till all the conversations died out.

"John, could you come here for a moment?" Sherlock shouted from the hall full of police officers, who stopped whatever they were doing and peered at the detective uncomprehendingly. There was a chance that the freak would do something entertaining, so they were observing him in anticipation.

John furrowed his eyebrows, equally curious about what Sherlock was up to. Thinking it might have something to do with the new case, John came to him without any doubts. Little did he know what Sherlock really wanted to do.

When John approached him, Sherlock smirked, cupping the man's face with his hands and before Watson could protest, he pressed his lips against his lover's. And not only pressed, oh no. He made the kiss deep, fiery and so sensuous, that John moaned despite himself and went weak at the knees. He never expected Sherlock to kiss quite like that.

Neither did everyone else. A perfect silence enveloped the room for a few heartbeats. Police officers were nearly paralysed, gawking at the kissing pair with bated breaths and the look of a total shock on their faces. Paradoxically, Lestrade, who had his suspicions for a long time, looked the most dumbstruck. The scene seemed so surreal, he just waited to be woken up from this delusion by the buzz of an alarm clock.

When Sherlock finally let John go, the doctor was in a worse mental shape than Lestrade. He was dazed, obviously, but also perplexed, breathless and very embarrassed, with his face turning an alarming shade of red. John stared at Sherlock just like a sad puppy who was kicked by his beloved master and couldn't understand why. Sherlock, however, didn't pay any attention to him. Instead, he addressed the crowd.

"That's all for now, thank you for your attention." He inclined his head in parody of a bow. "John, you may recommence the reading now."

That was it. The straw that broke the camel's back. John was a kind, patient and very understanding man, but he also had his limits. Sherlock had treated him like his own private lab rat one time too often, completely disregarding John's feelings. He just didn't care. Not one bit.

John was glaring daggers at Sherlock, his eyes filled with shame and reproach, as he hurled the file right under Holmes's feet. He didn't utter a single word, but rage was rolling off him in waves, when he went pass Sherlock and stormed out of the building.

Sherlock was stupefied. He shot a puzzled glance at Lestrade, demanding some kind of explanation, but the inspector only spread his arms helplessly as if he wanted to say “you screwed up, now go and fix it.” Sherlock ran after John without delay.

He caught up with his lover on the street, just metres away from the Yard. John was walking incessantly, not casting even a brief glance at the detective, who was currently in the doctor's bad books. Sherlock had to grab his elbow to stop him and force him to acknowledge his presence.

"What's wrong, John?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

John stared at him incredulously. It was amazing how dumb this incredibly brilliant and perceptive man could occasionally be.

"You've humiliated me!" He blurted out so furiously that it almost drove Holmes back a step.

"How so?" Sherlock inquired.

John had to fight the urge to punch him in the face. Again.

"You've kissed me in front of the whole department!" He was smouldering with anger. Now everybody knew they were together. And they found out in the worst possible way.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"They were telling malicious and made-up gossips about us. Now they have something true to talk about for a change."

John scoffed with irritation. Sherlock didn't understand anything. Relying only on pure logic, he had no idea how people's emotions worked. Not everything could be explained by scientific deductions and that was the only language Sherlock understood. John didn't even try. There was no point, Sherlock was too clueless. The doctor said nothing, only eyed him with hostility.

Sherlock finally broke the silence when it became unbearable.

"What's so shameful about love?" His voice was calm and even.

That question caught John off guard. He blinked a few times in surprise, not knowing what to reply.

"I am not ashamed to show how important you are to me." Sherlock went on. "And people can point the finger at me, call me gay, faggot, queer, whatever they want. It won't change how I feel about you."

John couldn't utter a word. The lump in his throat was too big and his eyes began to sting. He hung his head, lowering his gaze in embarrassment. Maybe Sherlock understood more than John had realised.

The detective smiled warmly, locking John in his embrace. The doctor hugged him back hesitantly, nuzzling his face against Sherlock's neck.  

"You know I love you. And I'm not ashamed to admit that." John whispered defensively. "It's just... It was far too ostentatious for my taste."

"I know. Maybe in retrospect the whole plan was... a bit not good." Sherlock confessed, feeling a well-deserved pang of guilt.

"Yeah, you prat. Quite a bit." John upbraided him, but the corners of his mouth edged up slightly. "Next time you're about to pull a stunt like this at least let me know beforehand, okay?"

"I will." Sherlock smiled and sealed the promise with a snog. They let the kiss envelop them completely, dragging the lovers from the reality into a warm world of their own. The people in the street were staring and the police officers were looking at them out of the windows but neither Sherlock nor John cared anymore. At least they gave the onlookers something to talk about for weeks to come.