Enchanted

By: Texmex007

A.N: This is a Johnlock Songfic, it's where John uses his Doctor skills to save Lestrade. Don't like, don't read. Simple enough. I do not own Sherlock or the song "Enchanted". I really liked this one, since it wouldn't stop bugging me until I wrote it down. Well, without further ado, here is Enchanted

Why am I here?

John had been asking himself that same question repeatedly over the past half hour with no valid results.

This is boring.

"Hey John!"

John turned his head from the balcony window leading outside. It was Greg Lestrade-the host of the party. John faked a smile as the detective made his way over to the army doctor.

"How are you enjoying the party?"

"It's great," lied John. He held back a sigh as he heard the man laugh,

"I'm glad, I'm glad. I owed it to you, since you saved my life that time," said Lestrade, his voice rising slightly towards the end.

John thought back to the moment he had seen the detective gagging on a pastry of some sort as John was trying to enjoy an evening at the local coffee shop. As the caring doctor he was, he had rushed over and performed the Heimlich maneuver on him and was able to get the man to start breathing properly. He hadn't seen that much action since the war…

Out of the corner of his eye, John spotted someone move along the back of the room. He turned his full attention to the curly raven haired man, his eyes drinking in the rich blue-green color that demanded John's attention his cheeks high, his skin the color of fresh fallen snow. The man slightly narrowed his eyes, as if to acknowledge him,

Have we met…?

As his silhouette gracefully strode across the room towards John, words popped into his mind like a series of instant messages firing all at once;

Magnificent.

Unreal.

Enchanting.

"Oh, John," said Lestrade, reclaiming John's attention-unaware of his savior's inattentiveness from the first place, "allow me to introduce you to a colleague of mine,"

John looked up just in time to see the raven haired man stop in front of him, much taller than he had appeared from the back of the room,

"This is Sherlock Holmes, a good friend and help in my detective work. He calls himself a consulting detective, and a damn fine one at that."

Sherlock held out his gloved hand, to which John took, "John Watson," said John, watching as Sherlock's eyes roamed over his figure. It sent heat waves up his spine, manifesting itself on his face and ears as he continued, "I'm, Greg's uh…"

"Saviour," answered Lestrade proudly, "Hero even. He's a Doctor-saved me from choking to death, this man did."

"I see." Said Sherlock, looking John in the eyes, his eyes unfathomable.

Beautiful.

It took John a moment before he realized they were still holding hands. John quickly pulled his away and pulled on the sleeve of his jumper nervously,

"Greg, that's unnecessary. I just didn't want you to die of oxygen deprivation-it was nothing," he said, looking down at the floor.

"Saving a life isn't 'nothing'," replied Sherlock softly, "saving a life is definitely something."

John's eyes shot up at the man who'd just complimented him, this time a real smile manifested on his face.

"Well," said Lestrade, "I'm going to attend to the other guests. You two enjoy yourselves." Without another word, but with a well-hidden smile, he left the two alone in front of the balcony window.

Sherlock watched as John pulled a phone out and check the time before putting it away. After examining the man a little further, Sherlock couldn't help himself.

"So which war?" asked Sherlock after he felt Lestrade's presence leave.

"Excuse me?" asked John.

"Which war did you serve in-Afghanistan or Iraq?"

"A-Afghan," answered John, "How could you tell?"

Sherlock could feel his lips tug into a smirk, "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself, says military. But our conversation with Lestrade as we met — said trained at Bart's, so army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists — you've been abroad but not sunbathing," he took the moment to endulge in the shorter man's surprise before continuing,

"And then there's your phone,"

"What about my phone?" asked John somewhat defensively.

"It's not yours-not originally. It cannot be your father's-it's too modern. It's your brother's, who used to have a girlfriend, but his drinking probably got in the way of that-"

"How could you possibly know about the drinking?" interrupted John, his face darkening slightly at the mention of Harry's…habit.

"Just a guess," explained Sherlock as he stepped outside into the cool night air. John followed closely, "Power connection — tiny little scuff marks around the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaky. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them."

John was quiet for a moment, contemplative as he looked up at the starry night. As he leaned on the cold railing he could feel Sherlock's eyes scanning him.

"Well?" asked Sherlock after a moment of silence.

"Harry is my sister-it's short for 'Harriet'," said John, finally looking over at the man standing next to him. Sherlock prepared himself for the barrage of insults that were sure to come.

Freak.

Psycho.

Monster.

The list could literally go on and on. Before Sherlock could open his mouth, John continued,

"Sherlock, that was amazing."

Of all the things Sherlock was ready to hear come from John's mouth, he didn't expect that. He found himself exceedingly grateful for the darkness that enveloped them; otherwise he would've been extremely embarrassed to have John staring at his now very red face.

"That's not what most people usually say," deadpanned Sherlock.

"Oh? And what do they say then?" asked John.

"'Piss off'," replied Sherlock with a slight grimace on his face.

"I guess I'm not like most people," laughed John-this time sincere, "because you were just absolutely brilliant."

Absolutely brilliant. John watched as Sherlock's smirk transformed into a beautiful smile, and listened as the man's chuckle exploded into roaring laughter, to which John couldn't help but join.

When's the last time I laughed like this..?

"So what can you tell me about the other people here at this party?" asked John after catching his breath.

Sherlock threw his head back at the crowd, analyzing for a split second before he spotted a target.

"There," he said, placing one hand on John's good shoulder and pointing with the other towards a woman and a man conversing.

"See that tall, lanky man with the dark skinned woman in the light brown jacket?" whispered Sherlock.

"Yes," breathed John.

"Well, despite the fact they adamantly deny it-which actually adds to my deduction-they are actually having an affair."

John's eyes widened, "Wow-you can tell just by watching them?"

"No," said Sherlock, leaning over John's shoulder with a sly look on his face, "I caught them snogging in the copy room of the police station during lunch break."

"Nothing gets passed you, does it?" asked John, a chuckle escaping from his lips.

"N-not if I find it necessary to acknowledge," answered Sherlock, trying not to look at John.

Did I just stutter?

"So what made me different?" asked John, his nerves bundling in his chest.

"You noticed me…" breathed Sherlock, his warm breath condensing on the shorter man's neck.

John turned his head ever so slightly to face him, his breath caught as he once again found himself drowning in the taller man's eyes. They held each other's gaze for a dazzling moment, before Sherlock found himself reaching for his buzzing phone.

Blasted phone…

"Seems like Scotland Yard's found itself with a new victim," thought Sherlock out-loud, standing strait and reading the text while John tried not to let his disappointment show as he watched.

"Okay…" said John, not sure what to say. Sherlock offered his hand, to which John inwardly recoiled at the sheer sparks he could feel by those hands.

I don't want to let go…

But he did. John let go.

"Goodbye Sherlock," whispered John as he watched the man exit out the door with Lestrade and a majority following behind him. With a sigh, he got into a cab, ready to climb into bed and earn some well needed sleep…

Who do you love…?

John groaned loudly as he stared at the bright red block numbers on his bedside table:

2 A.M

Had he really been awake this whole time, staring at the ceiling fan and thinking about a man who was obviously way out of his league?

YES.

What if he already has someone…?

He groaned again, this time slamming the pillow in his face, trying to diminish the heat radiating from his face.

Please… Don't have someone waiting on you, Sherlock. Please…

The sound of his phone vibrating made him jump slightly. He sat up and stared at a text sent by an unknown number. He opened it and read it with curious wonder,

Dearest John

Please know that I am not one to sit idly while something worth-while in pursuing, like a case, passes me by. Regardless, I've come to realize that something else worth-while in pursuing has also caught my eye..You. Ever since I saw you-and you I- I've felt something that I've never quite felt before. You caught me by surprise, John Watson. There is something I must say-these are the words I held back, when I was leaving too soon:

I was enchanted to meet you.

I know it's uncalled for, but I couldn't stop myself from telling you these things. I feel like you understand. If my deduction is correct, please come to 221B Baker Street.

-SH

Sherlock found himself pacing back and forth like he usually did when he was on a case, but this wasn't usual. He had his phone on the arm of his favorite chair and was waiting anxiously for John's reply. For a split second he was grateful for his brother Mycroft for giving him the Army Doctor's number.

Had I gone too far? His pupils dilated when we were outside-so close to each other. Was it maybe the darkness? No..Yes..No.. He blushed constantly, maybe because he was too warm? He did fidget with his jumper…

The sound of his phone buzzing made him leap towards the couch, grabbing the phone and reading the text hungrily-relief washing over him, a smile broadening across his face.

Be there in about 20 mins.

-JW

John found himself breathing shallowly as he stood in front of the ebony door, the letters and number '221B' plated in gold. With a shaky hand he lifted the knocker, paused,

Is this really happining..?

Yes. Yes it is John Watson, so don't back down now.

And let the metal hit against the wood three times. He held his breath for what seemed like forever, in only a three second span of time. After releasing his breath he turned around and was about to start walking back home when he heard the door open and felt a pair of hands pull him into the flat. When he finally gained his composure he found himself inside the building with the man he had met once and felt like they'd known each other for a life time.

Is that even possible..?

"John." Said Sherlock, it felt like the first time he had ever composed the name on his tongue, and it made him shiver to think that John was here, with him, right now.

"Sherlock." John answered, his voice tender and caring. They stood there, quiet, observant. Soft eyes and warm smiles. Finally, Sherlock spoke;

"I…" for the second time, Sherlock Holmes stuttered, taking a step closer to the shorter man, "I was enchanted to meet you."

"As was I," declared John, returning the move. Sherlock slowly stooped down and pressed a small, chaste kiss on John's lips. Three words encompassed them in the blessed quiet of the moment.

Absolutely, Brilliantly, Enchanted.