Chapter Text
John Watson didn't believe in love at first sight.
Attraction and lust, oh yes, but never actual love and he was absolutely right. However, while he'd never heard of love at first touch, he privately admitted that he was very much its victim. From the moment he'd handed his phone to Sherlock, John had belonged to him, Sherlock's conscience and cheerleading section.
The second he'd touched Sherlock's hand, John had understood that he was at the beginning of a significant relationship. Romantic, no matter how many times he said he wasn't gay, or how he felt and continued to feel about women. Sherlock was all consuming, a colossus that stood astride the world and for some reason had beckoned John to join him. John took trips away from London, time away from Sherlock in case he was forced to deal with what he might really want.
Actually thinking about it made John worry, because Sherlock was not the right sort of man to have those thoughts about. Sherlock was not looking for something more, or to initiate a friend's curiosity into the less straight side of life. They had a clearly defined relationship and John clung to it a little desperately, sometimes to protect himself but possibly to protect Sherlock too. Sex was disposable in the long run, John could find that anywhere, but someone he'd willingly trust was rare. Sherlock, mad as he was, fit the bill and John kept his libido firmly locked away.
Sometimes John was frightened that he wasn't the only one stealing glances and wanting more.
Sometimes lately, he was very much aware that there was something in the way Sherlock looked at him that didn't speak of casual indifference, or being married to his work. John had grown used to Sherlock touching him, the extraordinarily tactile detective had never recognised John's personal space and would often encroach when John wanted to sit down, when he wanted to work on his blog. Sherlock had always been there, close and watching and sometimes touching. John could handle that and live with it easily.
But there were other things John couldn't explain away at all.
Sherlock could never be bothered getting dressed unless he was prepared to go out or thought there might be someone attending who required the assurance of a well dressed detective. John had adapted the view of Sherlock in dressing gown and pajamas during the day into his concept of 'normal for Sherlock'. Sherlock wrapped in a sheet was a little more disturbing, but had happened more frequently over the past couple of months. Sherlock completely naked and reading the paper had only been the previous weekend. John had blinked rapidly, his brain refusing to come up with anything more than that it was cold, and far from not knowing where to look, John tried very hard to focus on Sherlock's ridiculously beautiful face.
Even then John could accept that his flatmate was an exhibitionist. He could accept naked and near naked and concentrate on football scores and treating Sherlock with patience and annoyance in equal measure. But Sherlock had started to sit closer when they actually used the sofa. He'd come into John's bedroom on several occasions, always to talk about one case or other, always semi dressed but sat on the edge of John's bed. He sat there while John was under the covers, sometimes naked, sometimes not, but vulnerable where Sherlock had woken him.
John could cope with trespasses on his personal space, with nudity and a complete lack of privacy. He'd lived with much of it before, though not from a single person. However, in the past six weeks he'd turned to find Sherlock close, his mouth slightly open, eye contact held and lingered over. John had started to suppress a shiver when Sherlock spoke from that distance, as though every last syllable spoke clearly to the base of his spine and his groin. He'd been kissing distance from Sherlock, been that close on three occasions in the last week and John was fighting having to address it.
Or one day, John was uncomfortably certain that he'd wake up and snog the man, strip him bare and work out exactly what sex with a man had going for it.
However, today was safe, the case itself something a bit mad and far from arousing. John couldn't remember all sorts of things from films he'd watched over the years, but he remembered the details of every fairytale he'd ever read, apparently packed into his memory, easily accessible whenever there was but a hint of something that began with 'once upon a time'.
He suspected that most people kept those childhood memories and the man they were searching for certainly did. The young woman in the hospital with pale skin and hair that mimicked Sherlock's own might not have blood red lips, but she had been poisoned. It was even possible that she might recover, but it would take more than a kiss to wake her up.
She wasn't alone, at least three cases had been reported so far, Sherlock pinning them together across the globe. One in Italy appeared to be first on the list, then Germany and now this young woman in London. They hadn't been in contact, hadn't come close to one another and had nothing in common but the circumstances of their hospital stay and certain physical similarities. But at some point they'd encountered the man who called himself Charming and they'd fallen asleep. The police had managed to get that far, but the toys and red apples that showed up within seven days of their arrival hadn't come from any well meaning relative or friends.
Sherlock had pieced that together too and the authorities were on the look out for anyone disguised as an orderly who could sneak in and look for her. According to the police it was now just a waiting game and they were certain they'd find him. However, Sherlock didn't like waiting, so John had spent an enterprising time looking online for a match to the toys that had been found and discovered they were cheap, mass produced and more likely to be found in an arcade or cheap knick knack shop. Sherlock determined that they would have been picked up locally and brought to the hospital the same day.
These are the reasons why John found himself looking for knock off Disney toys in Oxford Street for Sherlock to declare inadequate.
"These don't match."
"They're dwarves," said John and huffed. "I mean one dwarf toy looks the same as another." He held one up and waggled it, displaying the tag. "This one's name is Grouchy."
"It has a name," said Sherlock. "Our man likes names and he doesn't count that one."
"I don't see the difference," said John and dropped it into the bag again. "He's getting most things wrong."
"Indeed. It's the wicked step mother who poisons Snow White."
John raised an eyebrow. "I meant he's attacking young women. The fairytale bit sort of pales into insignificance after that."
"And yet it's what will convict him," said Sherlock and gestured to the arcade behind him. "I think we can discount him buying his little trophies."
"Sounds so sinister when you say it like that."
"He is sinister, as you so rightfully point out," said Sherlock. "We know what he does. And now that they've found an antidote for the poison those women will be waking up. You know what that means."
"Yeah, it'll mean I don't have to dick about buying soft toys," said John and sighed as Sherlock shook his head. "What? They'll catch him when those women give the police a description."
"You really think someone clever enough to have done this three times in three different countries is about to leave that to chance?" Sherlock put his hand on John's back and guided him toward the arcade. "No, he'll change his M.O., he'll start afresh and we'll lose this chance to catch up with him. We need to pick up on him now, before he knows that they've identified the poison and those women wake up."
"And this means we have to go into the arcade?" asked John as his feet covered the pavement. "Look, much as I know you hate to admit it, the police do have most of this in hand."
"But they'll never find out the why, John," said Sherlock. "They don't care about why right now. They care about catching him and stopping him."
"And that isn't a concern for you?"
"I'll beat him," said Sherlock and John figured that was very much that. It answered all questions the way it always did. Sherlock had to win no matter the odds and John was very much there to ensure that he didn't break his neck, (or anyone else's) while he was doing it.
The arcade was dark when they walked inside and John blinked as he readjusted. No clocks on the walls, and since the place was filled with kids of all ages and sizes, he couldn't help but think of it as a mini casino for the under eighteens. One of the kids barged past him and he felt Sherlock's hand on his arm.
"Steady there," Sherlock said and glanced round. "What kind of machine gives you toys?"
"I don't know," said John. "Haven't been in one of these since I was small."
"Smaller," said Sherlock and John rolled his eyes and pulled away. He pointed over to the crane.
"There, that one. Although no-one ever wins a prize."
"No one?"
"I've never won one," said John and huffed as Sherlock smirked. "Oh don't tell me, you cleared one out once."
"Not cleared," said Sherlock as he walked over. "They did ask me to leave."
"How old were you?"
"Should have been in school," said Sherlock and John laughed. "Have you brought change?"
"No," said John. "Didn't realise I'd be picking up penny sweets and paying for you to play."
"It's not playing."
"It bloody is."
"It's going to catch our man," said Sherlock loudly and John glanced round, aware that some of the teenagers close by had started to giggle. He didn't really fancy making a scene here, but there was clearly no getting Sherlock out of this mood until John was laden down with stuffed toys. He wondered if he could explain that there was method in Sherlock's madness, but quickly dismissed the idea. No point clarifying anything with people who didn't care and didn't matter to either of them.
"I thought we were here to catch him picking up toys," said John.
"Yes, and we need a believable reason to be here."
"Believable?"
"You're repeating yourself again," said Sherlock. "Or there's an echo in here."
"It's disbelief," said John. "I mean, think for a second. Why are you in here trying to win..." he paused and looked in the glass box. "A panda. I mean, why are you trying to win a panda? What are you going to do with it, stuff it on the mantelpiece?"
"I wouldn't?"
"No," said John firmly as he fished in his pocket to locate a few coins. "You wouldn't. You stand out like a sore thumb with your...you know, just you."
"Right," said Sherlock and lowered his voice. "So what's a good reason for winning a panda?"
"I don't know," said John. "For a kid or, um, for your girlfriend."
"I don't have either."
"Yeah, and that's why it's weird."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John and leaned in closer, his hand on John's arm. "I do have you."
"If this is another crack at the short thing, I'll knock your block off."
Sherlock slid his hand down over John's coat and caught his hand. John watched, temporary apart from himself as Sherlock lifted John's hand and turned it over. He pressed his lips against John's palm and John instinctively curled his hand against Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock smiled, his cheek curving up as John blinked, his body dangerously alive and his brain slowing down to replay a moment that he still appeared to be in.
"John," drawled Sherlock. "May I win you a panda?"
John pulled his hand back slowly and cleared his throat to stop the squeaky note that wanted to come out. "Sounds worryingly wrong."
"You stuttered."
"I really did not," said John and felt his voice returning to something close to normal. He curled his hand in against his palm, felt the kiss that he could swear he'd imagined. Perhaps he did, because really, this was not something a man carrying a bag full of cheaply made toys should have to deal with. John stood at ease and looked back at Sherlock. "It's not going to work here."
Sherlock huffs. "Then what will work? I don't have a girlfriend or a child or you apparently."
"No, you've always got me. I'm just saying that I don't look the sort of bloke who wants a panda."
"It is quite a big panda."
"Sherlock," said John in his calmest voice. His hand tingled, he could swear he knew the shape of Sherlock's lips anywhere, but they are now imprinted on his palm, painted in saliva and warmth from the detective's mouth. "Look at me. Really, look at me. I don't keep stuffed toys. I don't want stuffed toys and I really don't want a bloody panda."
Sherlock glanced back. "Polar bear?"
"No!"
"Well, pick something!"
"Why don't we try something else," said John and folded his arms, the bag at his feet as he glanced round. No one seemed to be paying either of them the slightest attention and yet John felt more exposed than he had before. "There's a slot machine, gives you an ideal view of the desk. If you want to be inconspicuous, you're dressed wrong."
"Our man will be dressed wrong."
"Right now, you look like our man," said John and set his hand on Sherlock's cuff. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" asked Sherlock and John tugged him through into the bathroom and checked the cubicles.
"Get that off."
"My coat?" asked Sherlock. "It's cold outside."
"Not inside, though."
"Yes, but it's my coat," said Sherlock. "John, I didn't come here to be in disguise. If I'd wanted to do that-"
"You would have what?" asked John. "Kissed my hand? Pretended I was your boyfriend?"
"People assume that anyway."
"Yes, but you don't have to feed them things like that."
"Like what?"
John holds his hand up high. "Like this!"
"It's your hand."
"It's my hand with your lips on it."
"Not now."
"Not now, obviously," said John and curled his hand in again. "But it was."
Sherlock stared at him before he stepped back and put his hand on the door. "Acting, John. You said I needed someone to win a toy for."
"I know," said John and pushed past him back into the arcade. "Just don't do that."
"It's a ruse."
"It's annoying," said John and huffed as he looked round. "Uh, Sherlock?"
"I don't see why it's annoying," said Sherlock. "You knew what I was doing and why. Your attitude now seems an overreaction. And in here. No one you know is here, so you can't be concerned with what people might say. Unless you're worried about what I might say."
John growled. "Sherlock, there's a bloke turning in tickets at the booth," he said quietly.
"What? Where?" asked Sherlock and turned as the man with the stash of tickets glanced over at them. Sherlock grinned and stepped forward as John grabbed his arm. "What are you doing? We've got him."
"We don't know it's him."
"Oh it's him," said Sherlock and didn't lose the grin. "He's been everywhere, looking for something precious to bring his versions of Snow White. Honestly, it must have started as a whim and now it's an obsession, just to prove he's clever."
"Yeah, we know how annoying that can be," said John and licked over his lip as Sherlock moved to pull free again. "He's poisoned people and you just want to walk over there?"
"He'll leave," said Sherlock and looked back at John. "The police won't catch him."
"They're really thorough."
"They'll miss him. He revels in getting past them and if you don't let me go, he'll be lost. He'll go undercover and they won't find him."
"Sherlock," said John. "He's dangerous."
"So are you," said Sherlock and John stared as his friend grinned. "Come on."
John took a quick breath and nodded quickly, his feet already moving toward their man as Sherlock pulled free. The man turned as they closed the gap and moved to run, but Sherlock was deliciously fast when he wanted to be and it really didn't seem to be a case of if, but when he was run down by the pair of them. John certainly relished the opportunity to land a few punches and afterward, as the police turned up and took over, John turned his hand over to check his bloodied knuckles.
Sherlock headed back, his bottom lip split at the edge and a flash of high colour on his cheek. His hands were pushed deep into his pockets as he walked over and sat next to John.
"So, they're taking him in for questioning."
"Guess he won't be dropping off gifts to Snow White," said John and flexed his hand. "Have we got ice at home?"
"Yes, but it's packed round that case of eyeballs I picked up," said Sherlock. "I suppose we could get some more."
"Yeah, I think so," said John and turned to look at Sherlock. "Did a bit of a number on you."
"It's superficial," said Sherlock as John lifted his hand to touch. "Really, you think prodding it will help?"
"Might help me," said John. "So."
"Yes?"
John glanced round and looked back at Sherlock. "I think maybe we need to sort out, you know, what happened before?"
"Well obviously you should have ducked."
"I meant earlier," said John and cleared his throat as Sherlock looked at him blankly. "Or not. You know what, let's just get out of here and go home."
"Fine," said Sherlock and stood up. "Dinner?"
"Sounds like a plan," said John and glanced up as the first rain drops fell. He pulled his collar up and stood next to Sherlock on the curb. "He was pretty easy to find, when you think about it."
"Hmm?"
"That guy," said John. "You'd think someone who'd pulled all this off would be a little harder to bring down. Sore knuckles aside, he went down like a lead weight."
"Yes," murmured Sherlock and opened the taxi door when it pulled up. "He did."
"I mean, it was almost as though he didn't try to hide. You'd think he had practice."
"Yes, you would," said Sherlock and sat down as John climbed in and gave the driver the address of the Chinese restaurant. Sherlock drew his phone out of his pocket and typed out a quick text to Lestrade. "I think you're right."
"Really?" said John. "That'll be a first, then."
"Hardly a first," said Sherlock and looked back at John. "That man we caught poisoned the woman in the hospital."
"Right."
"I don't think he's responsible for the others."
"What?" John shook his head. "He's some kind of copycat?"
"I think he's one of several," said Sherlock and frowned. "And I think we need to catch the first train to Calais."
"You mean you think there's more of them?" asked John. "And why Calais?"
"Because we need to get to Paris," said Sherlock. "There's going to be another one."
"And why Paris?"
"A hunch," said Sherlock and took a slow breath. "I think we're going to take a weekend break."
"Wonderful," said John. "To maybe catch up with someone who might be a part of a group? Sherlock, we got him. It's a good day."
"It's too simple," snapped Sherlock as his phone sounded a text alert.
"I like simple."
Sherlock looked at the message from Lestrade and looked back at John. "And our man hasn't been out of the country in the last three years. Book tickets and a room, John."
"Fine," huffed John and leaned back. "We're still having dinner."
"Anything you like," said Sherlock and grinned broadly. "We'll need to set off tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll fix it." John sighed as he leant against the window. "I was looking forward to a lie in."
"You can sleep on the train."
"You're so generous," said John and winced as he caught his hand on the door. "Bloody thing!"
He shook his hand out and was caught by surprise as Sherlock took hold of it. John opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock lifted John's hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of John's knuckles. It wasn't quite a kiss, at least John's brain couldn't quite process it as a kiss, but he could feel the slight suction, the pressure of Sherlock's mouth and the brief but deliberate brush of his tongue. John licked over his bottom lip as Sherlock let go of his hand again and looked back at his friend.
"Sherlock?"
"Tickets," said Sherlock and turned back to his phone, a wry smile etched across his face. "We can sort it out over dinner."
John nodded absently, his hand still wet from Sherlock's touch. He looked at Sherlock, but the man was focussed on his phone, apparently fine switching between making John melt and dealing with the case at hand. So that discussion really wasn't about to happen, even if his dick was making his jeans uncomfortable. Even if John was thinking far too hard about those same lips wrapped round him, about feeling Sherlock's tongue sweep up the underside of John's dick as he sat in the taxi and watched him.
"Problem, John?"
John swallowed hard and sat up straight in the taxi. "Just thinking about dinner," he said. "I want more than half the prawn crackers this time."
Sherlock smirked and John tried to breathe out. One more day without having that conversation.
He could handle this. He'd been in a war. He could certainly handle having a tiny, little crush on Sherlock Holmes.
John just worried it was mutual.