OKAY: So I've been reading a lot of Sherlock fics recently… But I've not written one as of yet…

I'd like to…

So I might give it a go right here…

Not sure what it'll be like yet…

But here goooooooes :D

I trolled the meme site and saw this, so I might try it for a start, a one-shot :

So everyone knows the scene in the cafe/resturant place - when John's like "Girlfriend...boyfriend...?" and Sherlock's just like "...I'm married to my work."

Yeah? Good. I think we definatly need a fic based on Sherlock's thought in that conversation - cos he clearly wasn't thinking what he was saying. XD

Non-slash, fluffy inside Sherlock's head

Wish me luck :P

x

One Friend

Sherlock POV:

I had said I was married to my work. Not untrue. Not entirely true however. I've never been one to advocate small-talk and superfluous conversations, but I felt the need to justify myself to John.

I wasn't sure why this man who had just wandered into my life suddenly encouraged such confidence. But there was something about him, a sort of quiet confidence that belied the hardened soldier his physical appearance gave the impression of, and an approachable air. It was quite bizarre.

Not even I would have envisioned myself moving in with a man I had met the day before, but something felt right about John. And now, well. Now he was becoming almost indispensible.

No, I am married to my work in the sense that there's not been anyone else to detract from my work. The last time caused a little more trouble than I was willing to deal with. And after that, there really wasn't anyone else that interested me.

All normal. Excitable. Boring. Dull.

But John. There was something to his type of mundane, something new.

I watch people every day. It's part of my job. It is my job. And knowing people as I do I knew that John was in awe of my deductive prowess, but it's something more than that that's keeping him with me, I'm sure.

It's the danger, the thrill, the thought that he might die. All because he's with me.

Not that I'm going to let John die.

I noticed his watching me, and resolutely stared out of the window, keeping my eyes on the vehicles passing. I felt my eyes flicker to his face as our plates were removed. So careworn, so stern almost, contrasted with the boy-ish features. Yes, John's face is yet another thing that makes him different. He's not as young as he once was, true. But he doesn't have the ragged features of a misspent youth, more the gentle aging you find in kindly fictional characters. Distinction. That's the what I'd describe it as.

I caught myself and reminded that there was more to hand than merely watching John, analysing his presence. But running through the streets of London, calling directions to my constant companion, and the camaraderie… The awareness of him just being there, just knowing he was behind me, following my every move, it was comforting. It was closer to having a friend than I'd come in a long time. John didn't seem to judge me.

Not even when I got things wrong. As I had now. Not even when he realised I had stolen from Lestrade. Not even when we were running once more through the backstreets pursued by officers merely doing their job. John had taken to my reckless way of life with considerable ease.

And the fact that we now stood in the corridor of 221 Baker Street, the place we now called home, laughing breathlessly, hardly aware of our own luck, meant one thing to me.

I didn't want to lose John Watson, not now, not ever.

Well there you have it, my first foruay into the Sherlock fandom.

Reviews are most welcome, because if this isn't good then I'd rather know and stop.

Thanks for reading

Wayoming

x