iamjohnlocked4life

watsonshoneybee:

there’s being looked at, and then there’s being seen.

john thinks sherlock was the first person to see him in his entire life. he saw everything.

and he loved john, nearly right away. not right away, sherlock fusses, when john posits this. I wasn’t that hopeless. I was just seeing.

so what did you see? john asks, in the violet velvet night, sprawled half over sherlock’s body, skin to sticky skin. the breeze coming through the open window is cold and sharp and smells like a frost. what made you invite me in?

dunno, sherlock says after a moment. his fingertips are soft along the line of john’s spine. that was it, really, I suppose. I looked at you, and I couldn’t quite see you in the haze of—whatever you were trying to be. I could just see the faint outline of you, I think, and I thought maybe it looked like the faint outline of me.

john slips a little further up the bed, fitting one hand to the curve of sherlock’s bare waist. sherlock’s body moves a little under his palm, a quivering little flex and flute of reaction before it settles again, and he’s beautiful like this, all blurred lines in the dark of night and indigo shadows and electric life. john kisses him; his mouth is a neon welcome sign, a cup of tea, a soft, slow smile that curves around a love too big to hold inside.

do you know what I saw, john whispers, nudging his nose along sherlock’s. their eyes are both closed, but john sees him just fine. there’s a flush just barely starting high in his cheeks, john knows, and the lines in the corners of his eyes are just starting to deepen for a smile.

sherlock steals another kiss. hardly anything, if I know you, he teases.

hush, john laughs. sherlock’s waist shakes again, so full of happiness and fondness and joy. I did see something.

what did you see? sherlock asks finally, two or three kisses later.

john opens his eyes and looks down at him. sherlock’s hair is wild against the pillows; his mouth is lopsided in a grin. the blue night has turned him pale and otherworldly, almost fragile, like a storm caught in john’s hands, but he is warm and he is solid and he is here.

It was like seeing everything all at once, john says. like I could already see everything that was going to happen. like I could already feel you, dying and living under my hands at the same time. it was like I saw you, and suddenly I knew more about myself, about what I was meant for, than I’d ever known before.

sherlock looks at him for a long minute; his eyes have gone serious in the shadows. outside, john thinks he can hear the snow starting to fall.

I loved you too, sherlock says finally. right away.

right away. john kisses the corner of his mouth. and it wasn’t hopeless at all, I don’t think. I think it was the most hope I’d felt in my life.

john, sherlock says, but he doesn’t say anything else. his waist is trembling under john’s palm.

he doesn’t have to say it. john can see it.

john can always see it.