Chapter Text
It began at the beginning, with a dead taxi driver and a Chinese meal in a Soho restaurant.
“We are going to be so good together,” said John.
If Sherlock hadn’t already realised that John was half-cut that remark would have convinced him. Ever since their ‘misunderstanding’ at Angelo’s John had been careful to avoid saying anything that might be misconstrued. Only now he grinned and set his beer glass down on the table with exaggerated care. His sister was an alcoholic so there was probably a genetic predisposition to alcohol. She was a lesbian as well and there were those who claimed that was also genetic. Time would tell, but whatever his sexuality John Watson had turned out to be an unexpectedly intriguing choice of flatmate.
Sherlock had liked him from the first, which made him almost unique since he did not make friends easily or indeed at all. Then John had killed a man, without hesitation and with a steady hand. He had nerves of steel and there hadn’t been any evidence of guilt or remorse afterwards. That had surprised Sherlock and instantly made John even more fascinating.
“Drowning your sorrows?” asked Sherlock.
“What sorrows?” It wasn’t bravado. John’s conscience wasn’t bothering him at all. “Do you want another drink?”
“No, thank you.” Sherlock hadn’t touched either of the last two glasses of wine. He liked to keep a clear head. Okay, that wasn’t quite true, not always, but he had never been a drinker.
“It’s past my bedtime anyway.” John pulled his jacket off the back of the chair. “Do we just split the bill or arse about working out which of us had what?”
“Split,” said Sherlock firmly.
It had started to rain when they stepped out into the busy street. A faint drizzle danced in the lamplight and people hurried past with their collars turned up.
John swayed slightly. “Which way’s home?”
Sherlock knew every street in London. “Left, second right, right again, another right, left and right into Baker Street.”
“I’ll just follow you, shall I?”
Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a wry smile. “You better had if you don’t want to sleep on a park bench tonight.”
“I could find my own way, eventually,” John insisted. He patted his jacket pocket. “Mrs Hudson gave me a key. I live there.” John thought for a moment. “I’m pissed, aren’t I?”
“You’re more than a little worse for wear,” replied Sherlock with a twinkle in his eye. The word fun wasn’t normally in his vocabulary, but an intoxicated John came pretty close to providing all the entertainment he needed.
“Pissed,” announced John as if it were an achievement. He fell into step with Sherlock and they made their way through the crowd. “I could do with a piss.”
“Hardly surprising, considering the amount you drank,” said Sherlock sarcastically. “We’ll be home in a quarter of an hour. I assume that you can wait until then?”
“Maybe, but I might just nip down an alley,” said John. “Who’s this Moriarty bloke then?”
“I told you I’ve absolutely no idea, but I intend to find out.” Sherlock took a quick sideways look at John. There was nothing obvious to the casual observer, but the subtle clues in his body language told Sherlock that he really did need to urinate. “I’m afraid that there aren’t that many dark alleys on route.”
“There must be one somewhere.”
Two actually, if one was being precise, but Sherlock was certain that John had already forgotten the route home and they could easily be avoided. Something nagged at Sherlock that might just have been a guilty conscience; John had saved his life after all. Yet it would be an interesting experiment and he could always resist anything but temptation.
“None at all I’m afraid,” said Sherlock and he took a left turn where he ought to have gone right.
Left was a loop that added a good ten minutes to their journey home. Those extra minutes were very good for Sherlock, but not nearly as good for John who seemed to be getting more uncomfortable by the second.
“Is it much further?” he asked when they entered yet another long street of restaurants and shops.
“Only another ten minutes or so.”
“Hang on.” John grabbed Sherlock’s forearm. “You said fifteen minutes when we left the Chinese and we’ve been walking for longer than that already.”
Chalk one up to John for not being too drunk or too stupid to notice the discrepancy. “I didn’t allow for the fact that you don’t walk nearly as quickly as I do.”
“It still shouldn’t be ten minutes. I’m not a bloody snail.”
“Perhaps five.” Sherlock gave John his most charming smile.
John huffed his breath out in a cloud of night air and Sherlock saw his thigh muscles tense. “Make your mind up, will you? I’m dying for a piss.”
Sherlock shrugged elegantly. “More like ten I’m afraid.”
John’s teeth sagged on his lower lip. “In that case I’m going to have to piss somewhere, that wall should do.”
Sherlock saw the shadowy alcove across the road and he caught John’s arm before he could make a beeline for it. “Not there, not unless you want the whole thing captured on CCTV.”
“Bugger!” John shifted restlessly from one foot to another.
Sherlock, who had no idea whether there was a camera or not, plastered on his most sympathetic expression. “Maybe we could find a secluded spot further down."
“We’d better find somewhere soon or I’m going to piss myself.” John shoved his hands in his pockets and hurried off down the road.
Sherlock watched John for a moment before he fell into step beside him. John’s sudden decision to go in the street had both surprised and disappointed Sherlock. He hadn’t expected such a quick and easy capitulation. Still it made sense in a way, medically trained, army doctor. There wasn’t much privacy in the military by all accounts and John didn’t seem to be the least bit embarrassed by his predicament.
John stopped outside a locked-up jeweller’s shop with an old fashioned porch. “Will this do?”
Sherlock wasn’t sure whether it was pity or curiosity, though the latter fit his image better, but he nodded. “You’re out of range of the camera.”
“Thank Christ for that.” John was already unzipping his jeans as he stepped into the shop entrance. “I’m bloody bursting.”
Since he didn’t ask Sherlock to look away he didn’t feel obliged to do so. He curled one arm around the railing and leant his chin on his fist. Not that there was much to see, just John’s shadowy profile and a brief glimpse of his pale cock when he pulled it out. It disappeared behind John’s hand and a moment later he gave a little sigh. Sherlock closed his eyes for an instant to savour the hiss of urine, but they flew open when he heard footsteps on the pavement.
It was a young couple with their arms around one another, giggling and kissing as they approached with her heels sparking on the flagstones.
“Oh fuck,” John muttered. He shuffled closer to the wall in an attempt to hide what he was doing.
So there were limits to John’s unembarrassed matter-of-a-fact attitude then, but he was either unable or unwilling to stop when the couple walked right past them. Sherlock saw them glance at him and then at John. The girl looked down at the puddle on the step and quickly away again with a spot of colour in her cheeks.
“Did you see that bloke pissing in the doorway?” the man’s voice floated back to them.
John turned around. He slumped against the wall and closed his zip. “They would have to come past then, wouldn’t they?”
“They were making enough noise to wake the dead. I would have thought that you had plenty of time to stop and zip up,” said Sherlock innocently.
“I couldn’t, could I? Not once I got started.” John looked a bit sheepish. “You try stopping mid-stream when you’re absolutely dying to go.”
Sherlock had frequently done just that with varying degrees of success, but he thought better of saying so. Confession might be good for the soul, but life without John Watson would be very dull indeed and he didn’t want to scare him off.
“Point taken,” said Sherlock. “Let’s get home shall we?”
He took them by the most direct route and he was turning the key in the front door of 221B less than five minutes later.
“I’ve have tried to hang on if I’d realised we were this close to home,” grumbled John.
Sherlock filed that piece of information away for further reference. “I did say that it wouldn’t take us long to get here.”
“Yeah, I suppose you did, but five minutes seems like forever when you’re nearly pissing yourself.” John grinned. “It’s been quite an evening hasn’t it? Now I just need to catch up on my sleep. Night, Sherlock.”
Sherlock watched John climb the second flight of stairs to his room before he took his coat off. Then he reached down and gave his groin a much needed squeeze. What had just happened wasn’t sexual for John in the way that it was for him. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t fantasize about it though.