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emmagrant01Title: Nothing to Make a Song About (3/9)
Author: Emma Grant
Fandom/pairing: Sherlock (BBC), John/Sherlock
Rating: Explicit
Summary: When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.
Warnings: None
Length: 2400 words this part, 8200 words total
Notes:
• Written for Alectoperdita, who won a fic from me in a Tumblr giveaway months ago. Sorry I'm just getting to this now, but I hope you enjoy it!
• Beta'd by the ever fantastic![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drinkingcocoa, whose cheerleading and honest critique are invaluable to me.
• Title is taken from the poem Reconciliation by William Butler Yeats.
Links: Start with Chapter 1: On AO3 | On LJ ~*~ This chapter: On AO3 | On LJ
*****
Chapter 3
The barrage of texts continued after the dinner meeting, though the frequency had subsided somewhat. John replied when it seemed necessary, but generally just read the texts and said nothing in response. He spent all of Sunday morning sitting in a chair in his flat, drinking coffee, reading the news on his sheet tablet, and receiving random texts from Sherlock every ten minutes.
New café around the corner is suspiciously busy. Might investigate. –SH
Possible money-laundering scheme. –SH
Coffee isn't good enough to warrant queues out the front door on a Sunday morning. –SH
May keep one-cup coffee maker from Philip after all. –SH
John considered texting back to ask who Philip was, but decided against it.
Am out of clean slides. Trying to decide if easier to wash or purchase new ones. –SH
To which John replied: Are any shops that sell slides open on Sunday mornings?
Thirty minutes later: Apparently not. Few shops open Sunday mornings, as it turns out. –SH
John could only shake his head in bewilderment. How Sherlock had survived into his early forties was beyond John's comprehension.
What type of dog would you prefer for a pet? –SH
John's eyebrows rose considerably, but he resisted replying.
Asking entirely hypothetically, of course. –SH
Could possibly train dog for crime scene use. –SH
It was almost as if he was back in the flat on Baker Street, tuning out while Sherlock ranted on about some case or another. Just as it was back then, it seemed irrelevant whether or not John was actually listening. Sherlock seemed pleased simply to know he was there.
*****
"You did, seriously?" Greg gaped at John as he handed him a pint. "I knew you wouldn't tell him to fuck off, but I didn't expect you'd agree to spend any time with him."
John took a sip from his glass and shrugged. "It was fine. It was even fun, as strange as that may seem."
Greg settled onto a bar stool next to John. "I'm not sure I've ever described anything I've done with Sherlock as fun."
John couldn't help but laugh at that. "It was, though. We had dinner, and he even ate, to my amazement. I have to admit you were right about him. He really has changed."
"I still want to punch him every now and then, but yeah, he has."
"I suppose it's seemed more gradual to you than it does to me."
"Yeah." Greg took a long drink, and then pursed his lips, his expression suddenly serious. "I never told you, but that year after you left was pretty fucking miserable. He went off the deep end for a while there. Everyone who knew him was worried. I think he never expected you would really leave him, you know?"
John clenched his jaw. He'd spent rather a lot of time thinking about this topic in the past week. He was reluctant to feel any guilt over having cut Sherlock out of his life, considering what Sherlock had put him through. But he'd never considered that others might have to pick up the pieces after he'd left. Sherlock had done just fine on his own during the two years he'd pretended to be dead, after all. John had assumed he would just continue on without John in his life.
"He texted me constantly, at all hours of the day and night, desperate for interesting cases. I think he even broke down and worked for his brother for a few months. I was worried he'd get himself back into trouble. I don't think he did, but… you know."
"Yeah," was all John managed to say.
"There was a group of us who took it in turns to keep an eye on him, make sure we knew what he was up to. I thought about calling you a lot that year, hoping you'd… I don't know. Whatever happened between the two of you was none of my business."
"Sounds like Sherlock made it your business." John sighed. "I'm sorry you felt like you had to take care of him."
"Someone had to." Greg's words were slightly clipped, and John wondered if Greg had been angry with him, if he resented John for leaving.
John took a good long drink from his pint glass. He wasn't going to feel guilty about this. Sherlock had abandoned him first, in the cruelest possible way. Greg had made his own choices, as had John, and John was not going to feel responsible for anything Sherlock had done. Not anymore.
"He did move on, eventually. More than I ever expected him to." Greg's glass was nearly empty now, as was John's. "Still, I'm glad you two have called a truce. It'd be nice not to have to wrangle him at crime scenes anymore."
John turned to look at him. "Oh, no. No, no, it's not like that. I'm not planning to start helping him with cases again. At best we'll be casual… friends." He accentuated the last word with a wave of his hand.
Greg shot him a skeptical look. "Really?"
"Yes."
"All right."
"I'm serious. Down that path lies nothing but trouble. I'm far too old to start running down dark alleys after Sherlock Holmes again."
"I've no doubt."
"It's been ten years. More than, really. It's not as if we can just pick up where we left off."
"Of course."
"We'll just be friends. Perhaps not even that. Just friendly sorts of acquaintances."
"Uh-huh." Greg nodded, but looked utterly unconvinced.
"Definitely not mates. Nothing like that."
Greg brought his pint glass to his lips, but it didn't quite cover his smirk. "So when are you meeting him again?"
John frowned into his beer. "Tomorrow night."
"Right." Greg grinned. "You do know that tomorrow is—"
John rolled his eyes and cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I'll get another round, shall I?"
*****
The restaurant was lovely, a small contemporary Italian spot in an Edwardian building on the edge of Notting Hill. It had a half dozen tables and the waitstaff seemed comprised of actual Italians, which always gave John hope for a good meal.
A young woman with closely cropped hair and a heart-shaped face showed them to their table and handed them menus. She gave them a sweet smile before walking away.
John had been nervous during the taxi ride over; the realization that he'd been looking forward to the evening, to seeing Sherlock again, was unsettling. No matter how many times he'd told himself that this was just a casual meeting of old friends, that it meant nothing, he knew that it wasn't. He honestly wasn't sure what he wanted. Was he trying to recapture the friendship they'd shared a decade ago, as one sometimes did with old school friends rediscovered online, or was he hoping they'd carve out a new way to be friends now, after everything that had gone wrong between them? What Sherlock wanted was anyone's guess.
"Hmmm," Sherlock said, frowning at the menu.
John picked his up and looked over it: a list of dishes, most of it printed in Italian, with English translations where necessary. It appeared to be a set menu, so there was little to do other than to choose between the meat and vegetarian options.
A set menu on a week night? John looked up from his contemplation of the menu to glance around the restaurant. All of the tables were set for two, and each was occupied by a pair of people John would have called a couple, if he didn't know better than to make such assumptions.
The server reappeared with two glasses of champagne and asked them if they had any questions about the menu. John was slightly surprised to learn that they both had to choose the exact same courses, though it wasn't a problem; neither of them had become vegetarians in the last decade. John handed the server their menus and she nodded and walked away, hips swaying under a short black skirt. He smiled: once upon a time, he would've asked for her number along with the check.
And once upon a time, Sherlock would have rolled his eyes and then explained to John that she obviously had a large Italian boyfriend, and that John shouldn't bother. He smiled and looked over at Sherlock, and was startled to see that Sherlock's expression was one of embarrassment. John frowned and picked up his glass of champagne. He couldn't recall ever seeing Sherlock embarrassed before. What could possibly have caused him to -- oh.
Restaurant full of couples, special set menu. How had John not realized it sooner?
"John, I…" Sherlock began.
"It's Valentine's Day." John pressed his lips together to keep himself from laughing. "You had no idea?"
Sherlock downed half of his champagne. "I didn't."
"I forgot as well." John looked around the restaurant, only now seeing the obvious overly romantic décor. "Well, I had no idea I was going on a date tonight. I'd have worn a nicer tie."
Sherlock looked mortified. "I didn't mean to imply anything."
"I'm joking, Sherlock." John couldn't help grinning now. "It's fine. I suppose it's fitting, in a way."
Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "How so?"
"Everyone always thought we were shagging anyway. It's like old times." He took a sip of champagne. "I'm sure it will be a lovely dinner. We might as well enjoy it."
Sherlock stared back at him. "It doesn't bother you?"
"No. Why should it?"
"It always bothered you before."
John shrugged. "I'm almost fifty years old, Sherlock. I doubt anyone here is all that concerned with speculation about my love life, or lack thereof."
Sherlock looked as if he wanted to say something more, but the server returned just then with a plate on which there was poised a tiny tower of terrines. And two forks.
"Apparently we're meant to share," John said, picking up one of the forks and winking at Sherlock. "How romantic."
Sherlock's embarrassment had abated somewhat, but he still seemed rather uncomfortable. "I suppose the assumption is that since we're planning on exchanging bodily fluids later, we won't mind any cross-contamination with saliva at this point in the evening."
John had, unfortunately, just put a bite of the terrine into his mouth. He managed to swallow it before erupting into quiet laughter. The situation was ridiculous, and it ought to have unsettled him, but for some reason, it didn't. It amused him to no end that after all these years, it was now Sherlock who seemed uncomfortable with the assumption that they were a couple, rather than John.
There were wines paired with each course, and the theme of sharing single plates of food continued. Sherlock had seemed squeamish about this at first, but when John showed no signs of being uncomfortable, he seemed to relax. An hour later, they'd finished half the courses and consumed rather a lot of wine, and John realized he was having more fun than he'd had in quite a while. Sherlock with several drinks in him was a far better conversationalist than he was otherwise, and John was enjoying it all immensely.
"And he thought, he honestly thought I'd—" Sherlock's phone trilled and he plucked it from his pocket. His eyes narrowed immediately when he glanced at the screen. "It's Lestrade."
"Case?" John's phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to take a look.
Sorry to interrupt. Unless you were looking for a way out, in which case, you're welcome.
John shoved his phone back in his pocket.
"Yes," Sherlock replied, the expression on his face indicating he was already thinking about whatever Greg had in store for him. "He's got a lead on something I worked on a few months ago. We thought the trail had gone cold, but he's found the flat the killer was hiding out in."
"Full of evidence, I suppose."
"Yes."
"Lots of intriguing clues for you to think about and put together."
"Yes." Sherlock nodded, his eyes almost sparkling now.
John lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. "And just possibly, you'll find the killer's trail again."
Sherlock turned to look at him and nodded.
"What are you waiting for, then? Go. I'll get the check."
Sherlock pushed his seat back immediately, then paused, as if torn. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, of course."
"You're not angry?"
John smiled. "Why would I be? This is far more important than dinner. If it makes you feel any better, I'll stay here and eat your share. I'm paying for it either way." Sherlock still looked hesitant, and John grinned at him. "Go, you tosser. Ring me up once you've caught the killer and we'll go get a drink to celebrate."
Sherlock exhaled and then smiled. "I will." He stood and straightened his jacket, and left.
Everyone in the small dining room looked up as he left, and the server rushed over to their table. "Is everything all right?"
John smiled at her. "He's on call tonight."
"Ah, of course." She looked relieved. "Well, sorry you must spend your Valentine's evening alone in this way."
"Not to worry. He'll make it up to me later." John gave her a conspiratorial wink, and she laughed.
"Shall I bring the next course or would you prefer to take it home with you?"
"No reason to ruin an otherwise fantastic meal," John replied. "Bring it on and I'll do my best. And I'll have a bit more of that Chablis, while you're at it."
It was the best not-a-date he'd been on in years. Within half an hour, Sherlock began texting him all the details of what he'd found, and John enjoyed each and every one of them.
Classic serial killer behavior. He wants to be caught. –SH
He kept immaculate records. –SH
Early 30s, well-educated, definitely disturbed. –SH To which John couldn't help replying, No shit.
Classic serial killer clipping wall. He's watched too many films. –SH Accompanied by a photo of a wall papered with newspaper clippings.
You'd love this one. –SH
And a single text from Greg: Is Sherlock drunk?
John laughed as he tapped out a reply. A bit. Go easy on him, yeah?
He had the braised beef main course all to himself, and he didn't mind one bit. The chocolate dessert was a bit over the top, but the server took good care of him and kept his wine glass full, and it was by far the best Valentine's Day he'd had in, well, ever. And he'd spent half of it with Sherlock. Fancy that.
*****
Go to the next part
Feedback/comments/encouragement always appreciated!
Author: Emma Grant
Fandom/pairing: Sherlock (BBC), John/Sherlock
Rating: Explicit
Summary: When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.
Warnings: None
Length: 2400 words this part, 8200 words total
Notes:
• Written for Alectoperdita, who won a fic from me in a Tumblr giveaway months ago. Sorry I'm just getting to this now, but I hope you enjoy it!
• Beta'd by the ever fantastic
drinkingcocoa, whose cheerleading and honest critique are invaluable to me.• Title is taken from the poem Reconciliation by William Butler Yeats.
Links: Start with Chapter 1: On AO3 | On LJ ~*~ This chapter: On AO3 | On LJ
*****
Chapter 3
The barrage of texts continued after the dinner meeting, though the frequency had subsided somewhat. John replied when it seemed necessary, but generally just read the texts and said nothing in response. He spent all of Sunday morning sitting in a chair in his flat, drinking coffee, reading the news on his sheet tablet, and receiving random texts from Sherlock every ten minutes.
New café around the corner is suspiciously busy. Might investigate. –SH
Possible money-laundering scheme. –SH
Coffee isn't good enough to warrant queues out the front door on a Sunday morning. –SH
May keep one-cup coffee maker from Philip after all. –SH
John considered texting back to ask who Philip was, but decided against it.
Am out of clean slides. Trying to decide if easier to wash or purchase new ones. –SH
To which John replied: Are any shops that sell slides open on Sunday mornings?
Thirty minutes later: Apparently not. Few shops open Sunday mornings, as it turns out. –SH
John could only shake his head in bewilderment. How Sherlock had survived into his early forties was beyond John's comprehension.
What type of dog would you prefer for a pet? –SH
John's eyebrows rose considerably, but he resisted replying.
Asking entirely hypothetically, of course. –SH
Could possibly train dog for crime scene use. –SH
It was almost as if he was back in the flat on Baker Street, tuning out while Sherlock ranted on about some case or another. Just as it was back then, it seemed irrelevant whether or not John was actually listening. Sherlock seemed pleased simply to know he was there.
*****
"You did, seriously?" Greg gaped at John as he handed him a pint. "I knew you wouldn't tell him to fuck off, but I didn't expect you'd agree to spend any time with him."
John took a sip from his glass and shrugged. "It was fine. It was even fun, as strange as that may seem."
Greg settled onto a bar stool next to John. "I'm not sure I've ever described anything I've done with Sherlock as fun."
John couldn't help but laugh at that. "It was, though. We had dinner, and he even ate, to my amazement. I have to admit you were right about him. He really has changed."
"I still want to punch him every now and then, but yeah, he has."
"I suppose it's seemed more gradual to you than it does to me."
"Yeah." Greg took a long drink, and then pursed his lips, his expression suddenly serious. "I never told you, but that year after you left was pretty fucking miserable. He went off the deep end for a while there. Everyone who knew him was worried. I think he never expected you would really leave him, you know?"
John clenched his jaw. He'd spent rather a lot of time thinking about this topic in the past week. He was reluctant to feel any guilt over having cut Sherlock out of his life, considering what Sherlock had put him through. But he'd never considered that others might have to pick up the pieces after he'd left. Sherlock had done just fine on his own during the two years he'd pretended to be dead, after all. John had assumed he would just continue on without John in his life.
"He texted me constantly, at all hours of the day and night, desperate for interesting cases. I think he even broke down and worked for his brother for a few months. I was worried he'd get himself back into trouble. I don't think he did, but… you know."
"Yeah," was all John managed to say.
"There was a group of us who took it in turns to keep an eye on him, make sure we knew what he was up to. I thought about calling you a lot that year, hoping you'd… I don't know. Whatever happened between the two of you was none of my business."
"Sounds like Sherlock made it your business." John sighed. "I'm sorry you felt like you had to take care of him."
"Someone had to." Greg's words were slightly clipped, and John wondered if Greg had been angry with him, if he resented John for leaving.
John took a good long drink from his pint glass. He wasn't going to feel guilty about this. Sherlock had abandoned him first, in the cruelest possible way. Greg had made his own choices, as had John, and John was not going to feel responsible for anything Sherlock had done. Not anymore.
"He did move on, eventually. More than I ever expected him to." Greg's glass was nearly empty now, as was John's. "Still, I'm glad you two have called a truce. It'd be nice not to have to wrangle him at crime scenes anymore."
John turned to look at him. "Oh, no. No, no, it's not like that. I'm not planning to start helping him with cases again. At best we'll be casual… friends." He accentuated the last word with a wave of his hand.
Greg shot him a skeptical look. "Really?"
"Yes."
"All right."
"I'm serious. Down that path lies nothing but trouble. I'm far too old to start running down dark alleys after Sherlock Holmes again."
"I've no doubt."
"It's been ten years. More than, really. It's not as if we can just pick up where we left off."
"Of course."
"We'll just be friends. Perhaps not even that. Just friendly sorts of acquaintances."
"Uh-huh." Greg nodded, but looked utterly unconvinced.
"Definitely not mates. Nothing like that."
Greg brought his pint glass to his lips, but it didn't quite cover his smirk. "So when are you meeting him again?"
John frowned into his beer. "Tomorrow night."
"Right." Greg grinned. "You do know that tomorrow is—"
John rolled his eyes and cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I'll get another round, shall I?"
*****
The restaurant was lovely, a small contemporary Italian spot in an Edwardian building on the edge of Notting Hill. It had a half dozen tables and the waitstaff seemed comprised of actual Italians, which always gave John hope for a good meal.
A young woman with closely cropped hair and a heart-shaped face showed them to their table and handed them menus. She gave them a sweet smile before walking away.
John had been nervous during the taxi ride over; the realization that he'd been looking forward to the evening, to seeing Sherlock again, was unsettling. No matter how many times he'd told himself that this was just a casual meeting of old friends, that it meant nothing, he knew that it wasn't. He honestly wasn't sure what he wanted. Was he trying to recapture the friendship they'd shared a decade ago, as one sometimes did with old school friends rediscovered online, or was he hoping they'd carve out a new way to be friends now, after everything that had gone wrong between them? What Sherlock wanted was anyone's guess.
"Hmmm," Sherlock said, frowning at the menu.
John picked his up and looked over it: a list of dishes, most of it printed in Italian, with English translations where necessary. It appeared to be a set menu, so there was little to do other than to choose between the meat and vegetarian options.
A set menu on a week night? John looked up from his contemplation of the menu to glance around the restaurant. All of the tables were set for two, and each was occupied by a pair of people John would have called a couple, if he didn't know better than to make such assumptions.
The server reappeared with two glasses of champagne and asked them if they had any questions about the menu. John was slightly surprised to learn that they both had to choose the exact same courses, though it wasn't a problem; neither of them had become vegetarians in the last decade. John handed the server their menus and she nodded and walked away, hips swaying under a short black skirt. He smiled: once upon a time, he would've asked for her number along with the check.
And once upon a time, Sherlock would have rolled his eyes and then explained to John that she obviously had a large Italian boyfriend, and that John shouldn't bother. He smiled and looked over at Sherlock, and was startled to see that Sherlock's expression was one of embarrassment. John frowned and picked up his glass of champagne. He couldn't recall ever seeing Sherlock embarrassed before. What could possibly have caused him to -- oh.
Restaurant full of couples, special set menu. How had John not realized it sooner?
"John, I…" Sherlock began.
"It's Valentine's Day." John pressed his lips together to keep himself from laughing. "You had no idea?"
Sherlock downed half of his champagne. "I didn't."
"I forgot as well." John looked around the restaurant, only now seeing the obvious overly romantic décor. "Well, I had no idea I was going on a date tonight. I'd have worn a nicer tie."
Sherlock looked mortified. "I didn't mean to imply anything."
"I'm joking, Sherlock." John couldn't help grinning now. "It's fine. I suppose it's fitting, in a way."
Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "How so?"
"Everyone always thought we were shagging anyway. It's like old times." He took a sip of champagne. "I'm sure it will be a lovely dinner. We might as well enjoy it."
Sherlock stared back at him. "It doesn't bother you?"
"No. Why should it?"
"It always bothered you before."
John shrugged. "I'm almost fifty years old, Sherlock. I doubt anyone here is all that concerned with speculation about my love life, or lack thereof."
Sherlock looked as if he wanted to say something more, but the server returned just then with a plate on which there was poised a tiny tower of terrines. And two forks.
"Apparently we're meant to share," John said, picking up one of the forks and winking at Sherlock. "How romantic."
Sherlock's embarrassment had abated somewhat, but he still seemed rather uncomfortable. "I suppose the assumption is that since we're planning on exchanging bodily fluids later, we won't mind any cross-contamination with saliva at this point in the evening."
John had, unfortunately, just put a bite of the terrine into his mouth. He managed to swallow it before erupting into quiet laughter. The situation was ridiculous, and it ought to have unsettled him, but for some reason, it didn't. It amused him to no end that after all these years, it was now Sherlock who seemed uncomfortable with the assumption that they were a couple, rather than John.
There were wines paired with each course, and the theme of sharing single plates of food continued. Sherlock had seemed squeamish about this at first, but when John showed no signs of being uncomfortable, he seemed to relax. An hour later, they'd finished half the courses and consumed rather a lot of wine, and John realized he was having more fun than he'd had in quite a while. Sherlock with several drinks in him was a far better conversationalist than he was otherwise, and John was enjoying it all immensely.
"And he thought, he honestly thought I'd—" Sherlock's phone trilled and he plucked it from his pocket. His eyes narrowed immediately when he glanced at the screen. "It's Lestrade."
"Case?" John's phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to take a look.
Sorry to interrupt. Unless you were looking for a way out, in which case, you're welcome.
John shoved his phone back in his pocket.
"Yes," Sherlock replied, the expression on his face indicating he was already thinking about whatever Greg had in store for him. "He's got a lead on something I worked on a few months ago. We thought the trail had gone cold, but he's found the flat the killer was hiding out in."
"Full of evidence, I suppose."
"Yes."
"Lots of intriguing clues for you to think about and put together."
"Yes." Sherlock nodded, his eyes almost sparkling now.
John lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. "And just possibly, you'll find the killer's trail again."
Sherlock turned to look at him and nodded.
"What are you waiting for, then? Go. I'll get the check."
Sherlock pushed his seat back immediately, then paused, as if torn. "Are you certain?"
"Yes, of course."
"You're not angry?"
John smiled. "Why would I be? This is far more important than dinner. If it makes you feel any better, I'll stay here and eat your share. I'm paying for it either way." Sherlock still looked hesitant, and John grinned at him. "Go, you tosser. Ring me up once you've caught the killer and we'll go get a drink to celebrate."
Sherlock exhaled and then smiled. "I will." He stood and straightened his jacket, and left.
Everyone in the small dining room looked up as he left, and the server rushed over to their table. "Is everything all right?"
John smiled at her. "He's on call tonight."
"Ah, of course." She looked relieved. "Well, sorry you must spend your Valentine's evening alone in this way."
"Not to worry. He'll make it up to me later." John gave her a conspiratorial wink, and she laughed.
"Shall I bring the next course or would you prefer to take it home with you?"
"No reason to ruin an otherwise fantastic meal," John replied. "Bring it on and I'll do my best. And I'll have a bit more of that Chablis, while you're at it."
It was the best not-a-date he'd been on in years. Within half an hour, Sherlock began texting him all the details of what he'd found, and John enjoyed each and every one of them.
Classic serial killer behavior. He wants to be caught. –SH
He kept immaculate records. –SH
Early 30s, well-educated, definitely disturbed. –SH To which John couldn't help replying, No shit.
Classic serial killer clipping wall. He's watched too many films. –SH Accompanied by a photo of a wall papered with newspaper clippings.
You'd love this one. –SH
And a single text from Greg: Is Sherlock drunk?
John laughed as he tapped out a reply. A bit. Go easy on him, yeah?
He had the braised beef main course all to himself, and he didn't mind one bit. The chocolate dessert was a bit over the top, but the server took good care of him and kept his wine glass full, and it was by far the best Valentine's Day he'd had in, well, ever. And he'd spent half of it with Sherlock. Fancy that.
*****
Go to the next part
Feedback/comments/encouragement always appreciated!
