Hey guys! Jo here.. Thanks for all the reads peeps. Here's Chapter 2. Hope you like it. :)
John and Sherlock stayed out on the beach until the sun began to dip down into the water, creating a beautiful arrangement of oranges, reds, and yellows in the evening sky. John would have been content watching the sunset, but Sherlock seemed in such a hurry to get back to the hotel, and John didn't want to make him wait. However, while the duo were making their way up the stone path to the front entrance, John kept sneaking glances over his shoulder at the beautiful setting sun.
Once when he was turned around Sherlock stopped suddenly, causing John to bump into him. He apologized profusely while steadying himself, but Sherlock didn't seem to mind. He just took a step closer to John, who was staring up at him with his lips slightly parted.
"You know John," he said in a low voice, "if you wanted to watch the sunset, you should've just said so." Sherlock took a step back and smiled at John before turning and continuing on down the path to the hotel. John stood frozen for a moment before he remembered where he was, and that it was beginning to cool down with the sun no longer in the sky. He quickly caught up to Sherlock and followed him into the hotel and to their room. He waited patiently while Sherlock unlocked the door, and as soon as the door was opened he rushed inside the room and grabbed the remote. Sherlock, who was still standing at the door, was staring at him strangely. He smiled sheepishly and held up the remote.
"I uh," he coughed awkwardly, "I…" he trailed off, trying to think of some excuse for why he made a mad dash for the remote without sounding crazy. He knew that if Sherlock was allowed to choose what they watched it would be something involving murder and mysteries, and John didn't feel like watching another marathon of 'I Married a Monster' before bed. He'd had nightmares the night before as a result, which might have been the cause of his cuddling up to Sherlock in his sleep. He didn't want to take a chance of that happening again.
"Ah, well," he said, when he remembered that Sherlock was waiting for him to complete his sentence. "I just really wanted to watch…" he turned the TV on, and some game show appeared on the screen. "This." Sherlock closed the door behind him, then went to sit on the bed. "It's my favorite show."
"No it's not," Sherlock said, his voice barely audible. "I know you just didn't want me to get the remote. Did the murder mysteries scare you last night?" John sighed and hung his head. There was no point in trying to deny it.
"Maybe." Sherlock laughed, and John glared at him before sitting on the edge of the bed next to where Sherlock's feet were. They sat in silence until the show went off, then Sherlock got up and went inside the bathroom. John stood as well and walked over to the mini fridge in search of a beverage. He grabbed a bottle of water and sat back down, but on the floor this time.
When Sherlock came out of the bathroom he came over and joined John on the floor. He was close enough to John that he could feel the heat radiating off of his body. Sherlock stretched out his long legs, tapping John's foot with his own as he did so. When John looked over at him confused, he just smiled and turned his attention to the television. John's eyes remained fixed on his friend's face for a moment longer than they should've. For some reason John found himself unable to tear his gaze away from those perfectly chiseled cheekbones and multicolored eyes. He had no idea just what color to use to describe them, so he settled for calling them beautiful.
That was when John had to stop himself. He had just called Sherlock's eyes beautiful. Something was wrong. Guys don't think things like that about their friends, no matter how amazing their eyes were. John forced himself to watch the television, though the only thing his mind was focused on was the detective sitting beside him.
On the last day of their trip John and Sherlock decided to go to a local tiki bar and order a few drinks, just so they could say they did something other than walk on the beach during the day and watch TV at night. John ordered two different drinks, neither of which he could remember the names of, and Sherlock just got a glass of water.
"Sherlock," John said, when the bartender left them alone to make the drinks. "You said you'd try something."
"No, you're not."
"I am trying something new. I've never been to a tiki bar before." John rolled his eyes, but when he saw the smile on Sherlock's face he smiled as well. "Would it make you feel better if I got something more…exotic?" John nodded his head, and Sherlock called the bartender back over. He told the young man to 'surprise him' with something that wasn't disgusting and wouldn't make him 'too drunk'. John couldn't help but laugh when he said this.
"Sherlock," he said when the bartender left again. "You can't get drunk from one drink."
"Is that why you ordered two?" Sherlock asked without looking away from the bartender who was mixing their drinks. John frowned, but said nothing. They didn’t speak again until after their drinks had been delivered and paid for, but even then it was just mindless chatter. John finished his first drink quite quickly, but Sherlock hadn't even touched his drink. John couldn't remember the name of it, but he remembered it sounded quite exotic. John pushed his empty glass to the side and grabbed the next one. Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing.
"What?" John asked, feeling slightly self conscious. Sherlock shook his head and took a sip of his drink. He made a strange face, then took another sip. And another. John watched with an amused smile as Sherlock finished his drink in record time and ordered another one.
"I guess you liked that," he said to Sherlock, who just laughed and nodded. He reached over and placed a hand on John's shoulder, not saying anything, and John began to feel very uncomfortable. The warmth from Sherlock's hand spread throughout his entire body, and he could feel his face getting hotter than any other part of him.
"Thanks for bringing me here John," Sherlock said, his words slightly slurred. Perhaps it was possible to get drunk from one drink. Especially if one hadn't ever built up a tolerance for alcohol, and John was sure Sherlock hadn't. John's mouth turned into a small smile and his eyes moved from Sherlock's hand to his face.
"You're welcome, Sherlock."
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