“Do you know what he calls you? The Ice Man… And the Virgin!”
- Irene Adler, A Scandal in Belgravia (BBC Sherlock)
I couldn’t resist this one!
Fill for the Wholock Party Extravaganza’s first prompt!
John eyed curiously the detective, who was currently fumbling with a heap of papers that had been laying on the living room’s table for God knows how much.
Last time he tried to help Sherlock find something, the man had chased him away rudely, so this time he might as well just look at him, sipping his tea and not caring if he couldn’t find what John hoped wasn’t another severed finger that had been lying around for a week. And if it was, he hoped Mrs. Hudson had found it and either throw it away or put it back in the fridge.
Probable, since after some minutes of rustling through the papers Sherlock groaned in frustration, clearly not finding anything, and started almost pulling at his hair in distress. Quite a pitiful sight, if you wanted John’s opinion.
Eventually the good doctor stood up and approached Sherlock, finally asking him: “Did you lost something important?”
Sherlock glared at him as if he should have known the answer, but this only increased John’s confusion and made him raise an eyebrow inquiredly. The detective sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration.
“I’ve lost something important.” he started.
“That much I could tell.” John retorted, gaining another glare.
“Something really important, that I wasn’t supposed to lose.”
John said nothing, deciding to just nod. After another moment of awkward silence, he asked again: “And what did you lose, if I may know…? I might help you find it.” he offered.
The detective seemed uncertain for a moment, but then he gave in. Still, his answer was mumbled out and John couldn’t quite grasp it.
“What was that?” he asked, leaning his ear closer to the other.
“I’ve lost your dog tags!” Sherlock almost yelled at him, and John looked surprised at him, both eyebrows raised first, and furrowed then.
“You… What have you been doing with them?” he asked, puzzled.
Again, Sherlock mumbled a confused answer, and he repeated it more clearly only after seeing the other’s doubtful expression.
“Nothing important. I just… Wanted something yours to wear. That’s all.” Sherlock admitted, standing more upright, as if to show there was nothing strange or questionable about that information.
And to John, there wasn’t. He smiled at him, refraining a small laugh the other would classify as “mockery”, proceeding then to sulk for the rest of the evening. No, John moved a hand and caressed Sherlock’s cheek gently, almost reassuringly.
“If you wanted such thing you could have asked, you know? I could have bought you something, like a ring… That might have been more appropriated, too, don’t you think?” John said smiling at him, but Sherlock didn’t look happy at all. Instead he pouted and shook his head.
“No, I wanted a necklace, but nothing too feminine nor that you bought, because with your pension you could not afford one. And to be honest, I wanted something that was dear to you.” Sherlock paused and looked away, sighing. “You had those on there, in Afghanistan, when you risked your life every day. Where you could have died. And I was thinking to return them, because even if I don’t want to even fathom such thing, you are back at war here, and you still risk your life. So you still need them.” Sherlock explained.
John smile sweetened and he leaned up to kiss Sherlock’s cheek.
“I won’t die, don’t worry. I couldn’t leave you. And anyways, I’ve got my dog tags right here.” he said, pulling a thin chain around his neck and reveling the medals with his own name.
Sherlock looked surprised at him for a moment, opening his mouth to question him, but John preceded him: “I found them on the bed and put it on. Maybe it slipped off you, you are so slim I’m sure you could use them as a belt.” he joked as Sherlock touched the pendants, tracing the letters gently.
“But why do you want a necklace, anyways?” he added, admiring Sherlock’s concentrated gaze until he snapped out of it, eyes finding John’s.
“Mh? Oh. It’s rather simple. Is something I read in a book, once.” Sherlock waved it off with a gesture of his hand, moving away from John and sitting in his armchair.
“Which book?” the doctor asked curiously, plopping down in his own chair.
Sherlock pointed at a volume on the bookshelf behind John’s head, causing him to turn around.
“Slaughter-house five, by Kurt Vonnegut.” he revealed, and the doctor turned back to him, raising an eyebrow at the title of the book.
“There is a quote that impressed me quite a bit. It was about the symbol of nothingness, the zero, and the sign of infinity, the horizontal eight.”
John nodded, to signal he was following. Sherlock held out a hand, asking for the dog tags, and John handed him the chain.
Sherlock took it between his fingers and spread the necklace, drawing a circle in the air with it.
“It said: Everything is nothing, with a twist.” Sherlock recited, and twisted the necklace in the middle, changing the immediate symbolism.
John opened his mouth in a small “oh” of understandment, and he nodded.
“So, you’re trying to say that you don’t want a ring because it would symbolize nothingness?” he asked, and Sherlock smiled at him.
“I’ve always said you were clever, John.” he said.
John smiled, and shook his head. “It’s a nice quote, anyways. I didn’t think other’s thoughts could influence you so much.”
Sherlock looked at him, eyebrows knitted together. “This is not someone else’s thought, this is a truth someone noticed about maths. It’s just symbolism, and it’s kind of silly since it’s probably not a case, but I like the quote and it’s really true. We could have been nothing with a tiny twist of our past.” he mumbled, looking significantly at the dog tags.
Oh, right. The whole “you could have died and still could” thing he said before.
“You don’t have to worry about that. It won’t happen. We will always be everything. Or, at least, you will always be my everything.” John said sweetly, looking over at Sherlock.
The detective raised his eyes and slipped the dog tags around his neck, smiling right back at him with a light John loved to see in his eyes.
“Yes. Yes, I know. And the same goes for you, I believe you are aware of that.” he said.
As an answer, John smiled and stood up, leaning over to kiss Sherlock’s lips.
someone: oh well, I suppose we can wait a bit ‘till ‘Sherlock’ next season
me: I’VE WAITED ENOUGH! THIRTEEN MONTHS! ON TUMBLR!