jessamygriffith: Sherlock and John (Default)
[personal profile] jessamygriffith

Notes: Based upon this prompt on the kinkmeme; I took liberties with it. "When Sherlock and John begin a relationship, John expects Sherlock to still be, well, Sherlock. Kinda standoffish, not very affectionate. So he is pretty shocked when Sherlock is the most adoring, loving partner John's ever had. When he asks Sherlock about this, Sherlock tells him that it's because he's never been with someone before, so he's got a lot of love stored up and never given, and John will have to suffer through all of it." ( http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/13188.html?thread=74309508#t74309508 )

I wasn't sure the prompt was really that cracky. It could have been. Like a dull dog, I took the serious route. Why?

Felt like writing some Mad Love For The Win. As well, I wanted to try ways in which Sherlock might express his feelings without being obviously OOC. It's a one-shot fic, though it has occurred to me that the Sherlock  POV would be an interesting balance.
 Happy holidays to you, too!

Title: Words Within
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Brief mention of child abuse. Brief episode of violence. Brief description of sex.
Pairing(s): John/Sherlock
Word Count: Just under 3,000
Disclaimer: Interpretation of characters is my own. Standard disclaimers apply.
Betas: alltoseek for wordiness wrangling and patience, red_adam for Brit pick, and Kisleth for cheering.
Also Found Here: AO3
Summary: The words don't come easily to Sherlock, John supposes. He doesn't mind. In this, Sherlock is pretty much like any other man. John just hadn't expected all the gestures. It doesn't seem very... well, very Sherlock. Anyway, John knows. He hears the word in Sherlock's every action, sees it in the spaces between.


.

..

...

{love}

{I love.}

{I love you.}

John knows he does.

The words never come easily to Sherlock, John supposes. The words - the right words - never do come easily. They are earned, paid with the heavy gold of shared emotions, experiences, touches given and received. John doesn't mind. In this, he thinks, Sherlock is pretty much like any typical man. For once in his brilliant life Sherlock's right down amongst the common run - saying the words make him uncomfortable, probably. The man never talks about previous relationships. It's not 'his area.' Unfamiliar territory, perhaps completely uncharted for Sherlock. In this domain, the detective fumbles his way forward, groping but sure-handed for all that.

John just hadn't expected all the gestures. It doesn't seem very... well, very Sherlock, but then why should the man not surprise John in this as he does in his brilliant deductions? And anyway, John knows. He hears the word in Sherlock's every action. He sees it in the spaces between.

{John. You... }



It's in the in-between moments, the small gestures. John, his arm in a sling of hideous blue cradled against his chest, cursing the fates that it is his dominant hand ('Again, dammit!' he mutters, and Sherlock grimaces). Angelo raises his eyebrows at it as they enter, but smiles as Sherlock matter-of-factly helps John out of the coat, lifting it from his shoulder and tugging the right sleeve away. The detective pulls the chair out for John, and when John sits, rests his hand on his shoulder before sitting across from him. And John smiles and thanks him. It's unexpected after all, but considerate. John appreciates the tact with which Sherlock had done it. It's what a couple might do. Except, they aren't a couple.

It's the first real unspoken whisper of Sherlock's feelings, the care with which he helps John with his coat, long fingers deft, sparing John pain or embarrassment. Looking back, John sees the gesture for what it is.

{John, this thing between us... I...}


It's in the sudden domesticity. To his surprise, John finds he isn't doing all the cooking any more. Sherlock still gets sunk into his cases, and whether he cooks or even eats when John is out (like some shy cat), John has no idea. But sometimes when John comes home there will be something in the oven, something edible, and John sees (with ever-decreasing surprise each time it happens) that Sherlock is standing over the sink, peeler in hand and denuded root vegetables in a heap, ready for the boiling. (Still in his dressing gown some days, but why else would one create their own occupation if one can't dress however one likes for it? Thinking can be done in any attire.)

Sometimes when John is in and making dinner, Sherlock will help. Standing side by side at the sink as John passes the wet plates over, Sherlock drying and stacking ('I'm better at reaching the top shelves anyway,' he jokes and John can only smile crookedly at that). And sometimes they talk as their hands move in this most common of chores, but even when they don't talk, they exist in a bubble of companionship, each content to let the other be alone in their head. It's good.

And that very first time, when John expresses his surprise (bewilderment / shock / blank unflattering amazement) at Sherlock's making dinner, Sherlock only narrows his eyes at him. 'I can think just as well when I am doing something, and the more repetitive the action, the better it helps at times,' he says, and John has the terrible urge to catch Sherlock by the waistband of his drawstring pyjamas, pull him close and kiss him. He doesn't. They are not in a relationship. Not that kind, anyway. In spite of common assumptions.

Instead he only says, 'It's not that, Sherlock, I just... Well. That smells great. Thank you. I appreciate it.'

And Sherlock looks half-embarrassed by the compliment, but lifts his chin, a half-smile twitching up his mouth. 'Naturally.'

{John, I think...}


It's there in the first kiss. Not after any great case - there is no danger, no adrenaline or emotional high pushing them together. It is not some Mills and Boon moment. Just an ordinary night - they've gone out for a bite to eat. John has long since given up on anything happening between him and Sherlock and so it comes as a surprise when Sherlock's steps slow on the street and John turns back to him. 'What is it?' he asks. 'Something about a case? Did Lestrade just text?'

And Sherlock stands still, looking down, and shakes his shaggy curly head like a baffled bull. 'No. Not a case. It's not always about the work, John.' His gaze lifts from the pavement to John's face and John's throat goes tight.

John can't move (what is - is he really - I don't believe it - Sherlock?) when Sherlock steps in close and rests a gloved hand on John's shoulder. The pale eyes flick over John's face, cataloguing, measuring. What Sherlock sees there relaxes some tension in his lean body - he melts, he bends his head down, hand sliding to the back of John's head as John tilts his head up (Sherlock, yes YES). Lips chilly from the winter air - a gentle pressure, a point of contact that warms as the lips move against John's.

And all too soon Sherlock pulls away. His eyes are closed, lids fluttering, and his teeth glint briefly as he collects the flavours from his lip, tests them, tongue briefly seen (and god how John wants to step back into him as he watches this). The bright eyes open. The deep voice is unsure, almost bewildered as he says, 'That... I think - I should have done that a long time ago, John.'

And John's laugh is a bright bird that flies free with the joy he feels. 'I wish you had.' And just like that, (so simple, why was it that simple?) they are together.

John and Sherlock.

{I need you. I...}



It's the objects. It's the new tea pot, a real Brown Betty. Just like the one John's gran had when he was a child and having (very sweet) milky-white tea on special days in the warm cramped kitchen, one of his favourite memories. The tea pot is large and squat and as glossy brown as a chestnut. It's waiting on the sideboard one morning, next to a tin of tea. Fortnum and Mason's.

John says nothing about it to Sherlock, wondering a little at the unexpected appearance of it, but he makes a mug for himself and Sherlock. He carries it up to their shared room, where the lanky form is still curled into a nest of blankets, one bony foot protruding. John strokes the bottom of the foot and a half-yelp is heard, and Sherlock's sleep-tousled head emerges. 'Here,' says John.

And Sherlock takes the mug and sips, blinking, pink lips not-quite-smiling. 'Mm. Perfect.'

John smiles at his partner, eyes crinkling at the corners. 'Naturally.'

And the teapot remains inviolate, no matter what experiments are run.

{I want to make you happy, want to see it...}


It's the unspoken understanding at times. It's the days when John has had a terrible day at work (god the bruises on the boy's arm, the greenstick fracture, not the mother thank god, whose eyes are full of terror that John will report this to services - outright lies when he asks oh so gently about their home situation, God people are hateful, why? Why?)

Sherlock knows. Of course he does, but he also knows when John doesn't want to talk about it, can't talk about it (not now god please don't Sherlock or I'll have to either go for a walk or break my knuckles on the wall).

On those days it's Sherlock who pulls John down to the sofa. John lays down, head in Sherlock's lap, in a reversal of their usual relaxed positions. John's eyes are closed, Sherlock's hand sifting carefully through the strands of his hair, thumb stroking the crease on his brow. Not speaking, only waiting. (And god how I need the quiet sometimes, oh god it's killing me when he does this, the feeling in my chest, hurts to contain it.) When John is ready to speak, Sherlock listens carefully, eyes on John's face, flicking to his hands, shoulders, reading the signs of tension. His long hand rubs at the base of John's skull until the muscles loosen and John sighs. If John doesn't talk, Sherlock doesn't push, doesn't ask. Sherlock knows, and just lets his presence speak for him.

{You are always there for me, I want to do the same for you...}


It's the actions. When they are called in by Lestrade (and it is 'they' now - 'Will you and John come?') Sherlock is as irritating and lofty as ever. He whirls through the scene, giving pronouncements from on high and dealing deft verbal jabs at Anderson when the sharp-faced man annoys him. But when John and Sherlock walk away, their strides are perfectly matched, Sherlock draping an arm around John's shoulders to tug him against his side. Or tucking John's bare hand into his pocket, Sherlock's gloved thumb rubbing John's. Or resting his hand at John's back. Or simply keeping pace, shoulders brushing.

{My companion, my partner, my lover. Together.}

It's in the touches. It's when John awakens with his heart in his throat (not so frequent these days the nightmares but the subconscious is a bitch and he'll never be free of them) and Sherlock's hand is on his shoulder (just the good shoulder, Sherlock, don't touch me anywhere else, I might punch you otherwise without knowing it).

Sherlock never forgets this thing, never deletes it, never touches him in the wrong spot when the dreams twist his lover into knots of strain. 'Sh, John, it's fine. You're here, home in England, you're in Baker street, just breathe, breathe, I'm here...' And Sherlock doesn't ask him about the dreams (pointless, you'll tell me if you want to, John), never complains about his disturbed slumber (god knows the man needs it, never sleeps enough). He is just there, and when John falls back to sleep, it's with the comforting pressure of Sherlock's touch on his shoulder. That is all he needs.

{My anchor. What you do for me, I would do for you. You have no idea...}


It's the attention given him, the minute observation, Sherlock using all his considerable skill to unravel John, eyes intent from between John's legs as John's hands scrabble and twist up the bedding. Yes, there, just like that, Sherlock, though John doesn't actually need to say it, Sherlock sees, he observes. And the dark head dips down again and a cry is wrung from John as another finger insinuates its way inside, twisting gently through the spasms as John shakes apart.

And it's also in the way Sherlock lets himself be open, trusting John absolutely. He lets John in, allows himself the freedom to be unwound in exchange as John hitches a long leg up over his elbow and presses in, leaning in to nip and kiss the pale skin. It's in the way Sherlock lets his reactions play over his face, the eyes slumberous and aroused, then wide and frantic, mouth falling open, oh, Christ John don't stop don't stop don't- until his back arches and he can no longer control his movements or keep his eyes on John, all grace and wanton abandon as he is lost to sensation.

{I will show you. All the ways I value you...}



It's there in the panic, the edge of the moment when life is in the balance. It's when the suspect has the unexpected knife and is struggling under John. John is trying to pin the man's wrists to disarm him (should have just punched him in the throat, stopped him fighting) and as they roll in the grit and filth of the warehouse floor the flailing hand strikes home, a lucky shot (just inside the bicep, brachial artery). Not too deep but the bleeding just won't stop. It's in the trembling breath as Sherlock kneels over him and presses as John gives him low-voiced terse instructions. Sherlock sees - the brilliant eyes skipping over John's features as if memorising, watching the colour fading - but he does not observe, not this time, he can't, the famous detachment is lost, utterly and forever. It's in the way Sherlock continues to murmur encouragement as they await the paramedics (where are they dammit), voice steady, even as the edges of John's vision go blurry and dark. And as John slips under, the voice finally breaks.


- not alone don't john, don't leave don't break my heart, you can't -

- john please -

And the last thought John has is, That's funny, I always thought that'd be my line.


{Without you I can't...}



It's there in Sherlock's presence, when John awakens in the hospital (sharp scent of antiseptic in his nose, oh not again, dammit) and his hand has lost all sensation. He panics and his eyes fly open before he remembers - no, the knife hit the other arm. And there's a peculiar snuffling noise at his hip, and it's Sherlock, upper body draped on the bed, head pillowed on John's leg at an awkward angle, sleeping. The weight of his hand on John's (uninjured) has cut off the blood and left him with pins and needles. That's fine. John withdraws his hand from under Sherlock's carefully and threads their fingers together. Squeezes (still here Sherlock).

{Love you. I love you.}



But John knows. The day he knows for certain is featureless - no cases, nothing to distinguish it from any other, except it is this day - the day he understands, the day he finally knows.

John is in the bathroom in the morning, and he rests his hands on either side of the sink. One has days like this, but this day John looks at his face. The creases on his forehead that won't ever leave again, the slight softness under the eyes that will only grow more pronounced as he moves forward into the future. The patch of white in his hair and the mixing of silver in with dishwater blond. A day when life catches up and throws one into doubt and uncertainty. Sherlock still has the ability to look like he's twelve at times, smooth faced and so perfect it twists John's heart (Jesus he's beautiful), but today it only makes him feel old and sad.

The sigh is hardly audible as he leaves the bathroom and moves to the kitchen to plug in the kettle, but Sherlock observes. He moves from the sofa, turns John around and leans him against the counter, bending in for a kiss, lips moving against the tautness of John's until they relax. Sherlock pulls away and his thumb traces the lines of his face. The laugh lines, the crease between John's brows. All the marks that represent the story of his life and experiences, written for all to see. But Sherlock doesn't say anything reassuring, he doesn't say, Don't be silly, John, you look the same as the day I met you. The platitudes John expects do not come.

Instead Sherlock staggers John, leaves him completely off balance, cracks him open as he asks John simply, 'Will you love me any less when I grow old and wrinkled?'

And John can only stare up at him a moment before he crushes Sherlock to him, presses his forehead onto Sherlock's shoulder like any child that needs comfort, wants reassurance, breath hitching just once. And then he kisses Sherlock, heart on lips and given freely into the other's keeping, because in spite of everything, every action, every touch, John has not known. Not for certain. He's been afraid that one day the brilliant eyes would look elsewhere.

But now John knows. Sherlock is there. He's in this for the long haul. They'll grow old and be together to see it and if John's eyes are stinging as he murmurs against his lover's skin his own declarations (of course not, how could you know, I never thought, oh god Sherlock, I love -), who can blame him?

Later, when John has pulled Sherlock up to their room and they are lying side by side, Sherlock speaks. 'It's not really my area,' he says.

John smiles. 'I didn't think it was. But you're brilliant at it. You're the best partner I could ever have. I never dreamt it.'

Sherlock lifts a shoulder, the smile slowly spreading on his face. 'Well. It wasn't my area. But now... I suppose I have a lot of love stored up. It needs expression.' He rolls over and presses his mouth to John's chest. 'You'll just have to suffer under the burden of it.'

John giggles and twitches away from the tickle of lips, and Sherlock grins up at him from under his tousled fringe. His chin tilts and he rests his cheek on John's chest, eyes half-slitted as he listens to John's heart. John runs a hand through the tangles, down and over Sherlock's shoulder. 'I suppose I will. I love you, too. God, but I do.'

{I love you.}

{love you.}

{love.}

...

..

.

~Fin~



Date: 2011-12-22 01:55 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] sabrinaphynn.livejournal.com
Wow. I think my heart just overflowed and melted. This was lovely, thank you.

Date: 2011-12-22 02:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Thank you. I haven't written Mad Love FTW before, but I am an utter utter sap for romances.
I am glad you liked it!

Date: 2011-12-22 02:05 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pinkydbzfan.livejournal.com
Very sweet and romantic. *sigh* we all can see the boys are made for each other :) why cant cannon XD

Date: 2011-12-22 02:37 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Oh the canon just leaves spaces between for things like this fic, I can't complain.
But they are perfect together, the boys.

Date: 2011-12-22 02:08 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] verityburns.livejournal.com
Really beautiful - a lovely progression which I enjoyed very much and has left a smile on my face, thank you!

Date: 2011-12-22 02:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Thank you! My betas really helped lick it into shape - I get wordy.

It was a fun little fill, and I am happy with it for the time being! I must be in a romantic frame of mind.

Of course though... My fav part is the sacred teapot.

Date: 2011-12-22 02:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] arianedevere.livejournal.com
Oh dear gods, this is beautiful. I cried at Sherlock's anguish when he thought he was losing John.

So gorgeous. Memming this like crazy.

Date: 2011-12-22 02:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
How interesting! I mean, when I wrote it I got more choked up over the oh-so-casual bombshell of Sherlock's, the implication that he loves John (he never says it outright) no matter what and will not love him less even John is old. And that he'd be there to see it so there is no need to feel unhappy or unsure.

Damned man has a way with a loaded sentence.

In which, I guess you identified more with S., and I with J. I love reviews, I never know how people will read things.
Ta!

Date: 2011-12-22 03:40 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] the-first-chibi.livejournal.com
Wow. I... Wow. This is so brilliant and Beautiful <3

Date: 2011-12-24 03:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Thank you for reading and liking! For some reason the sherlockbbc comm is a bit intimidating to me. Glad my first story here is well received.

Date: 2011-12-22 04:45 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] fanbot.livejournal.com
Wonderful and warm. Thank you.

Date: 2011-12-24 03:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Warm for the winter, a bit of romance and love. I am happy you enjoyed it!

Date: 2011-12-22 04:48 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] red-chapel.livejournal.com
Wow. Sherlock is just the perfect love (I can have one, too, yes, please?). Teared up at potential death. Was floored with John at Sherlock's question -- killer, that.

Date: 2011-12-23 02:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Sherlock - if he devoted even a tiny amount of his brainpower and time to making someone happy - would have the world at his feet.

Yes, the loaded question. I teared up like a softy writing that, it had so much behind it.

Date: 2011-12-22 06:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] laurtew.livejournal.com
That was amazing. Your word choices were spot on and you crafted a beautiful picture of two people falling in love. It was tender and had the perfect ending. You made my day and I'm saving this one for when other stories leave me depressed so I can come back and bask in this happiness.

Date: 2011-12-23 02:31 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
....you gave me a terrible thought. What if it were the other way round? You read the happy story, and then read one with a terrible sad ending and it's like, oh - the happiness was snatched away! All that love...

I may try this one day. Just to see. I will probably wring myself dry of tears.

I am happy you enjoyed this, it was a bit more crafted than some others I've done.

Date: 2011-12-22 08:46 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] shaindyl.livejournal.com
That was so lyrical. As someone else said, a wonderful portrait of two people falling in love. Gorgeous.

Date: 2011-12-23 02:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
I am almost of a mind to write the other side - what is Sherlock thinking? How does he decide to start making the gestures? Why?

Date: 2011-12-23 04:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] shaindyl.livejournal.com
Please do! We won't argue! :p

I'd especially like to know his thoughts when John gets stabbed. If he's never had anyone to show love to before, then I would imagine that his feelings would boil over in a stressful, emotional situation like that.

Whether you do or you don't write it, this was lovely on it's own. Thanks again! :)

Date: 2011-12-23 04:40 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Yeah... I am in constant WIP purgatory. I need to update other stuff. A little story like this just sneaks under the radar, though.

As you said, this is a good stand-alone. But it's entirely John-centric.

I figure when you are compressing a wound and feeling the pulse growing weaker, either you are in utter panic brain-stutter mode (where are the paramedics, the love of my life is dying under my hands)

Or - you are in even worse shape if you weren't sure you loved the person and had that brain-blowing epiphany, which is a cliche but a good one (artery bleed-out if completely severed 5 minutes, 15 if compressed where is the fucking ambulance I love this man and now he's dying under my handa and his colour isn't very good, his eyes won't stay open oh god *pop* pfttzzzz NOooooo)

YEAH. Like that. I don't know?

Date: 2011-12-22 11:42 pm (UTC)
ext_22549: Ice boy (Default)
From: [identity profile] sethra2000.livejournal.com
Ooooo I've gone all wibbly and squishy and mushy.. in a perfectly lovely way.

Pure Awwwww but still so very in character.

Date: 2011-12-24 03:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
It's that kind of story, you want it so bad, a little wish-fulfillment but still mostly in character.

I am glad you wibbled!

Date: 2011-12-23 12:28 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] eightnoon.livejournal.com
Absolutely lovely. I love all the little moments.

Date: 2011-12-23 02:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
It's the teapot that made me happy. It was important it never get used for experiments.

Thanks, glad you liked it!

Date: 2011-12-23 04:53 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] love-bug-54.livejournal.com
This is truly wonderful! I love romantic John/Sherlock. *sigh*

Date: 2011-12-24 03:39 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Me too. If there's a soupcon of angst to leaven the sweetness that is also good, I just love a bit of schmoop on a cold winter day to warm me.

Thank you for reading and commenting!

Date: 2011-12-24 02:35 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] iibnf.livejournal.com
Holy crap that was good! That prompt could have been awful in less skilled hands, but you brought that in with real talent (plus I'm a sucker for a liet motif, I admit).

Date: 2011-12-24 03:42 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Well... prompts. They can be taken any way one likes, mostly, unless stated otherwise.

I did ask if the prompter cared if I took it a non-crack way. Not many people commented, but I did update it during LJ's sweeping updates, I think it got lost. I'd be sad, except well.
Still I am happy with it and other people are happy, so it's all good!

I am thrilled people are enjoying and commenting, thanks!
Edited Date: 2011-12-27 01:15 am (UTC)

Date: 2011-12-26 11:02 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] imhit.livejournal.com
This is so, so gorgeous. Beautifully done. <3

Date: 2011-12-27 01:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Thank you, I am pleased with it, at least for the month of December.

Thank you for dropping in to read and say you liked it!

Date: 2011-12-27 01:36 am (UTC)
caffienekitty: (sherlock)
From: [personal profile] caffienekitty
Wonderfully soft and dreamlike, lovely. Reccing this here.

Date: 2011-12-27 02:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Oh, thank you! Am always absurdly thrilled when people rec one of my fics.

Date: 2011-12-28 01:27 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] mismatched37.livejournal.com
this is overwhelmingly beautiful. thank you :]

Date: 2011-12-28 05:57 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Thanks for reading and commenting! Very happy it's gone over this well.

Date: 2012-01-26 06:33 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] quirkies.livejournal.com
Best declaration of love ever!
Followed from the meme and had to comment on the quiet beauty of this. :D

Date: 2012-01-27 12:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
It was sweet and very left field with so much unspoken. Very Sherlockian.

Thanks for reading and enjoying!

Date: 2012-02-12 04:31 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tracionn.livejournal.com
Oh I loved this! Loved this utterly and completely.
Firt I read through it without even breathing I think and then I read it again, treasuring each single sentence.

You captured them and the atmosphere perfectly and I liked the depth of emotion and the meaning of the 'little' things (that aren't little at all) very much.

Wonderful writing!!

Date: 2012-02-13 03:23 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] jessamygriffin.livejournal.com
Ah, thank you! I wrote this just before the new eps, and if I had known the general post-Reichenbach atmosphere of fandom was going to be so angsty, I think I would have saved it for then.

I like that Sherlock never does say 'I love you,' directly.

Date: 2012-02-13 10:25 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tracionn.livejournal.com
Ah, you couldn't have known! And this tender/intense atmosphere you created here works perfectly no matter when it's read or set.

You're right about Sherlock and one of teh wonderful things about their connection is that John hears Sherlock's 'I love you' nevertheless, even if he doesn't use words to say it.

Thnx again!

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