Who: John Watson (BBC AU), Sherlock Holmes (BBC AU) What: John’s birthday surprise from Sherlock When: Monday, April 30, evening Where: 221b, Tumbleweed Warnings: Mushy lovey dovey thoughts Status: Complete in gdocs
It turned out that searching How to Plan the Perfect Date on the internet yielded bizarre and mostly unhelpful results. Sherlock selected the few that seemed vaguely suitable for John's birthday: dinner at a quaint Italian restaurant, a film screening of Casablanca, and the pièce de résistance, a gift that he'd agonized over for weeks, desperately hoping his friend would like it. They'd completed the first phase of his plan — dinner and a movie — but he hadn't breathed a word about what he had in store for phase two. For all intents and purposes, those were the gifts, which is exactly what Sherlock wanted John to assume. It would make the surprise all the sweeter. He'd never given anyone something like this before. If he gave gifts at all, they derived from deductions, not creative ideas about what a person might enjoy doing at some point. This was ... a gamble, but then, hadn't the whole date night been a calculated risk? John still hadn't acknowledged the very obvious element of romance. That was fine. Sherlock could be patient when he felt like it.
"No," he said, reaching out an arm to block John's passage into their flat. They'd just returned home, but that wasn't where his friend's gift was. "There's one last thing," Sherlock explained before ascending the stairs to the flat above theirs. He'd spent almost all month preparing for this, wanting it to be perfect. It took a little longer for him to make it to the top, however, considering his leg, but he was determined, and showed no signs of stopping. "Open this first." Sherlock handed John a wrapped box. Inside he would find an old-fashioned camera — not the digital kind, but the one that required actual film. He watched the army doctor very carefully when it was revealed, heart in his throat, wondering whether this had been a good idea or not. Because there was more to the gift. A lot more.
Back in their world, neither of them were really into observing their birthdays. A mumbled acknowledgment over their first mugs of tea and the morning paper, then the day went on pretty much as usual. The first year they’d moved in together, they “celebrated” John’s birthday with a case, where instead of cake and ice cream John ended up digging through a dumpster behind a private school looking for a clue to a murder. Sherlock had ‘kept guard’, though John suspected he just didn’t want to get his clothes dirty. He mumbled about it later, but in retrospect, it was the best birthday he could ask for, because it was his first birthday with Sherlock, and that alone made it special.
So when April 31st came around,, John didn’t expect anything different. Imagine his surprise when Sherlock clinically declared that he had events planned for the evening, and that he should promptly come home from work at the hospital because they had reservations for dinner. It was something to look forward to throughout his otherwise uneventful shift, but there was one thought that kept nagging him: was this… a date? Dinner, then a movie… that sounded an awful lot like a date. Alright, so the movie was outside, projected on a screen at the park in a very informal and family-type atmosphere that wasn’t exactly romantic, but the film, Casablanca, was undeniably a romantic one, despite it being a classic. Throughout the film, John shot glances at Sherlock, and more than once, caught his eye. John’s mind was so preoccupied with wondering about Sherlock’s intentions that he nearly forgot to have a good time.
John thought that once the movie was over, that would be all, but evidently Sherlock had other plans. What was upstairs? The second floor of 221 b was unfurnished and frankly, was in dire need of renovation. Neither of them went up there, as far as John knew. It was with apprehension that he followed the other man up one more flight, only to be met with a gift.
“Oh.” Another thing he hadn’t expected, and John was moved by the gesture even before he knew what it was. “Thank you, Sherlock. That’s… really thoughtful of you.” He cradled the box in the sling of his arm while he undid the ribbon and lifted the lid to reveal... “Wow.” John stared at the contents with a stunned expression. He once owned a camera a lot like this one when he was younger. Unfortunately, when he went to study medicine at university, he’d packed it away to take with him, but it was accidentally broken en route. He couldn’t afford to repair or replace it, and besides, he was too busy with his studying to take up the hobby of photography again. One thing led to another, and John had practically forgotten his passion.
“How… did you know?” he asked in awe, looking up at Sherlock with wide eyes.
Sherlock blinked, startled. John had taken photographs before? It made sense, of course. For all he hassled his friend about the way he wrote on the blog, it was obvious John had a natural artistic talent. That hadn't, apparently, extended to music, as Sherlock already knew John abandoned the clarinet while at school. "I ..." He cleared his throat, struggling through an internal debate with himself. Should he continue to lie to John, after everything they'd been through, or should he make an effort to be more honest? This was a date after all. He rather thought most people would make an effort to be honest on dates. This was about showing John more of himself, offering up all that he was in hopes of appealing to him as a partner.
"I didn't know, as it happens." Sherlock shifted his weight onto his right leg, continuing to stare at John. "I just thought you might like to capture the world with more than just words." He paused for a minute to take in his friend's expression, a little thrill running through him. He's pleased, Sherlock thought, feeling delighted and proud. This was what he lived for - what he craved - John's attention and good opinion. He wanted to make him happy, and hopefully, if this initial reaction was any indication, he'd succeed with the next part of the gift.
With a little smirk, cocky now, Sherlock continued further into the empty flat in what should have been a bedroom, gesturing for John to follow. The light flicked on, and there was the contents of a dark room, all the necessary accessories and tools tucked away inside. He said nothing. There was no explanation needed. So Sherlock waited, watching John's expression carefully, a quiet hope in his heart that he hadn't gone too overboard, that John would appreciate all the planning that had gone into this.
Sherlock’s reply made John pause. Usually the detective wasn’t so humble. About this time, he’d be bragging about his method of observation and deduction, which never ceased to astonish John. Did Sherlock actually just guess? John blinked back his surprise to say, “Well, that was a pretty good guess.” He took the camera out of the box to turn it in his hands and look at it from all angles. “I had one of these when I was a kid, but it got broken. It’s been a really long time since I’ve taken photographs, though.” A bit of insecurity crept into his tone of voice, but he was also excited to give it a try, again. He then looked up at Sherlock. “Thank you. This is amazing.” Somehow, that didn’t feel adequate enough for how John felt. What was John feeling, anyway? He was so adept at squelching his feelings about Sherlock, that he didn’t dare acknowledge them, even to himself.
They entered the apartment and John’s pulse quickened, and his face felt flush, but he wasn’t sure whether he was excited or nervous, though truth be told, it was both. He knew from being in this flat before that they were going toward the bedroom, and John immediately started imagining a freshly made bed strewn with rose petals and flickering candle light. It was what John would’ve done as a culmination to a romantic evening with one of his girlfriends, and in fact, had done before. Was Sherlock actually wooing me? John wondered, feeling a little dizzy. Is he inviting me to the bedroom for sex? He licked his lips anxiously, but was nevertheless, eager.
What John found on the other side of the door was so different from his expectations, that he was again, stunned. But instead of being disappointed, he responded positively with joy. “Oh my God, Sherlock!” He entered the room and walked around, looking at everything. “This is amazing! How… when did you do all this?” He turned and looked at looked at Sherlock and realized that to buy everything, he must’ve had to sell more of his personal items, and that gave John a twinge of guilt. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he said. “I mean… I’m glad you did, but still. This must’ve cost a small fortune.”
If only his online research had yielded what John was imagining. He would have done it, but thankfully, the dark room setup was well-received. Sherlock couldn't help the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He tried to hide it, but he was too pleased (and, truth be told, infinitely relieved) that the gift had been such a success. "I started at the beginning of the month. Took a while to find everything and have it delivered," he said, clasping his hands behind his back and continuing to watch John as he explored the space. Happiness bubbled through him, heady and sweet like champagne, and he found himself fantasizing - not for the first time - about doing this for the rest of their lives, getting the chance to surprise John for every birthday. It made him look forward to the future in ways he never had before.
Sherlock came back to himself at the mention of finances and waved a hand, dismissive. It had cost a lot, but the reward was far sweeter. "I'd been meaning to sell my ex's things for years now. I only kept them because they had historical value. He was a collector." This wasn't something Sherlock would have normally shared with anyone, least of all John. He rarely revealed personal details about his past, mostly because he was such a private person, hoarding information about himself in order to control how the world perceived him. But this was different. He wanted John to know he was capable of a relationship, and more than that, that he was attracted to men.
If the intense look Sherlock was currently sending John was any indication, his intentions would hopefully be understood. He wouldn't push, particularly if his advances were unwanted, but he would certainly plant the idea in his friend's head. Now all he had to do was wait.
How this was accomplished right under John’s nose might’ve frustrated him, had it not been done by Sherlock. John liked to think he was a little bit more observant, that he should’ve noticed something. But he conceded that it would’ve been easy to do while he was away from the flat while at work in the hospital. Plus, Sherlock was clever enough to pull it off, so John wasn’t disturbed
What did disturb John was one simple syllable. “Ex,” he echoed, blandly. Ex?!?! his mind raged. Ever since he met Sherlock, John wondered if the detective had dated before, despite his initial insistence that he was married to his work and wasn’t interested in having a relationship with anybody. John had his suspicions that Sherlock had pined over Irene Adler, especially when she was assumed dead, and not even Mrs Hudson knew for sure, but this was the first time it was confirmed that Sherlock had actually been with somebody.
“Ex?” John repeated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, restlessly. It really wasn’t fair of John to be jealous. After all, he was the one that had a string of girlfriends, which he’d bring over to the flat, only to be critiqued by Sherlock’s sharp wit. If Sherlock had a girlfriend, or rather in this case, a boyfriend, then why not? He had a life outside of John Watson, and could do whatever he wanted. But all the reasoning in the world couldn’t prevent John’s jealousy from rearing its ugly head. And the fact that it had been another man seemed to make it all the more worse. Feeling very possessive, he cleared his throat and said, “A collector, huh? That’s… urm… interesting. I didn’t know you… urm… what was his name?”
In the past, Sherlock might have explained away the reasoning behind John's sudden aggressive behavior. He has a temper was his usual assertion. He doesn't trust her was the next one, reserved for John's consistent annoyance whenever Irene Adler made an appearance. But then, Sherlock hadn't gone away and written desperate letters to John for the better part of a year without catching on to what was blossoming between them. At least what he hoped was happening. He was ignorant in many things, particularly when it came to romance, but he'd have to be willfully ignorant to misinterpret the way John was becoming agitated and restless right now. It sent a little thrill up his spine, and he swallowed quietly, careful not to show too much excitement. Not quite yet.
The question, however, threw Sherlock for a bit of a loop. "Victor Trevor," he replied, raising a single eyebrow. What on Earth was John going to do with that information? "We met at university. I haven't seen him since he decided his father's legacy meant more than me." There was no real inflection in Sherlock's voice. He wasn't bothered by what happened anymore, and he shrugged to emphasize that point. "In any event — he was an amaetur historian. Got something out of it him in the end, I suppose." Then he winked at John, feeling a little bold and terribly amused. "Tea?" Whether or not he was actually flirting, well. That was up to the birthday man.
Victor Trevor. John repeated the name in his mind. He was already forming a mental image of the man: tall, confident, intelligent, wealthy, handsome… in other words, everything John was not. Even the name sounded suave. However, his low self esteem was forgotten when he heard that… what? This Victor dumped Sherlock for money? “He must be a fucking idiot,” John blurted out before his brain could censor his mouth. “It’s his loss.” John then realized too late what he’d said and suddenly felt awkward, eyes shifting away.
Sherlock’s wink was enough to befuddle John even further. For several moments, he just stared at the other man, mouth slightly parted, taken in by just how charming Sherlock could be when he wanted. Then John puzzled over what it was that Sherlock got out of Victor? The first thing he immediately assumed was sex, and that thought of Sherlock being erotic distracted him for another couple of seconds, until he realized, “Oh. You must mean… the stuff you got from him?” John looked down at the camera he held. The one that was bought from selling Victor’s things. And then it hit him what Sherlock had done… he was getting rid of stuff from his past to… give to him.
Unable to speak, John foundered for what he felt was an embarrassingly long time, before saying, “Tea. Tea would be great.”
As they were leaving the room and heading down the stairs, John managed to say, “Thank you, Sherlock. This has been a really fantastic evening. Probably the best birthday I’ve ever had.”
Sherlock huffed a soft chuckle when John asserted his ... colorful opinion about the breakup. "It's rare for people to refuse a large sum of money when offered. Particularly when only a brief relationship hangs in the balance." He was obviously referring to Mycroft's offer when he first met (or rather, kidnapped) John. His brother had been testing the army doctor's loyalty to Sherlock in a way that was too reminiscent of Victor's betrayal to be coincidental. Needless to say, John had passed. It was a testament to his character, and there was no small amount of pride in Sherlock's eyes when he gazed upon the man now, who was so endearing in his confusion over the whole matter that he felt his heart swell.
"Tea it is, then," he announced, leading John out of the upstairs flat and back to their own. It felt better to be returning to their own space, the home they had made together. But Sherlock found himself pausing on the stairs when John spoke again, and he half-turned to gaze at up him. For once, the small difference in height between them was swapped — the doctor was above, looking down, which permitted Sherlock a new perspective of the man. It was interesting, and captivating, and it stole his breath away.
He was filled with such happiness that he smirked, unable to stop himself from delivering a small joke. "Probably? Which birthday was better? I need to know my competition for next year."
John didn’t have this change of perspective that often, the ability to look at Sherlock without craning his neck up. He liked it; it made him feel a little bit more confident. But it was the way Sherlock looked at him that drew John’s full attention. God, he’s handsome, he thought, as his eyes flickered briefly upon Sherlock’s lips, without realizing what he was doing.
“Urm.” It wasn’t necessarily the question that took John off guard, but the way Sherlock asked - playfully, with an adorable expression upon his face. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it,” was his answer, but it was really to get him off the hook, because to be honest, he couldn’t think of anything better at that moment. Oh wait, something spontaneously popped into his head. “It would’ve been better if we were celebrating in London.” Not exactly a response to what Sherlock asked, but truth be told, John missed the familiarity of home.
Sherlock's lazy smirk widened just a bit when he caught John's gaze lingering on his mouth. How could he have missed this before? All the signs were there. John was attracted to him. It sent a spike of heat shivering down his spine, and Sherlock relished the moment, committing every bit of it to memory — John above him, distracted and flushed, the dilation of his eyes creating a ring of gold and blue. He was truly breathtaking. But he wasn't ready. That much was clear, and for once, Sherlock didn't feel impatient. He could wait forever if John needed. Just being near him, still sharing a space together, was enough to keep him happy and content. It had taken him long enough to work out his feelings, hadn't it? After Victor, he'd been reluctant to embark on another relationship again, even if he'd felt the spark of something intense and lovely when he'd first met John. How would their lives be different now if he'd said yes that night at Angelo's? What if they'd never needed that second bedroom?
"Next year," Sherlock promised, knowing he could pick up a few cases he disliked and they could save money in the meantime. It would be easy to plan a trip to England — at least in this reality. "Come on, then," he said, eyes twinkling, before he continued down the stairs. He'd make them both tea, cut a bit of cake, and give John full control over the remote that night. Whether or not he spoiled the show they ended up watching was another matter.