HOME | DD

Description
A Study in Pink

John was curious about Sherlock Holmes. His brain worked in ways John could never understand. It was amazing. He had to follow Sherlock wherever he went. The man was brilliant. A mastermind. A genius. It intrigued John Watson.
So when Sherlock said he said 'girlfriend, not my area,' John's heart skipped a beat. The war had changed the doctor, he saw things clearer. He knew what he was. And Sherlock was a fairly attractive man. He had an odd face that was smart yet strong. Then John's heart skipped another beat when Sherlock said he didn't have a boyfriend, and didn't deny that part. But John's heart sunk when Sherlock said he preferred his work rather than a relationship. Little did he know the detective was lying.
Then John noticed other things. When Sherlock saw that passenger, the so called 'killer', he practically flew off his seat. John had to hurry to keep up with him. John almost had a heart attack when Sherlock was hit by the car, but what surprised him was when the man kept going. It was obvious to even a moron that it would've severely hurt. But he kept going. And when Sherlock muttered something about the streets, it was amazing. Of course John followed. But he was not expecting Sherlock to be so…fast. He flew up and down the stairs with such speed and agility. It was easy for the detective to jump over the gap. Didn't even think twice. And he was ever so fast going through the alleyways.
And when they arrived home, Sherlock wasn't wheezing as much as John. Well, John was older, maybe. He wasn't quite sure of the detective's age. No one was quite sure of the detective's age. It was also odd how he knew the doorbell would ring before it happened.

And yes, John did freak out when he met Mycroft. He was just as pale and odd as his brother.
*****
Dr John Watson. Sherlock Holmes and been thinking about his new flatmate when he got into the taxi cab. Why was he thinking about the simple man? He did not know. Or he did, and he would just rather not believe it. It had been a while since Sherlock had loved. It felt awkward talking about it with John. Girlfriend? That was easy to answer. Boyfriend? He freaked out when John had asked that. Sherlock had been out-casted by his family when they learnt of what he was. He learnt not to give in to those kind of feelings for someone. But John, however, was a different story. He wasn't the most attractive man around, but he had a cute face and was sweet, and loyal. But that wasn't the only reason Sherlock had been attracted to the good doctor. Something he cursed himself for thinking. He had vowed never to do it ever again, especially after all the running from angry mobs he had caused over the years. But he didn't deny what he was when John asked if he had a boyfriend. He did do what had to be done, lie.
As Sherlock walked down the hallway of the university, he thought about John. He wished he had taken up that chance of a date. It was his dying wish. A wish he'll never get. So when he grabbed the bottle with the pill, he pleaded it was the wrong bottle. Wrong. Even then he didn't know what it meant at the time.
He swore his heart, if it had been beating, would have skipped a beat when the bullet burst through the window, straight through the killer's heart and into the wall. He wanted to know who his saviour was. It was odd how he thought saviour after all the things that had been swirling in his mind. He could smell the blood before it flowed out. The murderer was dying, and Sherlock needed to know. But when the dead man wouldn't speak, Sherlock tried another tactic. He enjoyed hurting the cabbie, the man should've been grateful. The detective knew another, much more painful, tortures. Moriarty. Sherlock was curious, but before he could ask another question the cabbie had passed on. The blood was still fresh though. No use wasting perfectly good blood. And it wouldn't be breaking his vow, the man was already dead. So Sherlock knelt down and lapped up as much luscious, warm, rich blood as he could before he heard police sirens.
Seeing John made him feel better. He could get his wish. And he wanted to protect John, the man had saved his life, but also had killed a man. Something Sherlock knew all too well. He enjoyed laughing with John. Laughter wasn't something he was used to. Real laughter, not the laughter he does when he's on a case. Laughter when someone else makes him laugh. And he was pleased when John said yes to dinner. And he knew John knew it was more than two new friends eating together.
It was a splendid dinner. And at the end of every splendid dinner, there should be a splendid kiss. Of course there was, but nothing more than that. John took it as Sherlock wanting to take it slow.
Sherlock did want to take it slow, but there was another reason. He couldn't get the image of him digging his fangs into his lover's neck and tasting the beautiful scarlet liquid inside.