A Study In Love - A Johnlock Fanfiction

Chapter Eighteen

Finally an on time update again! I suppose that may be the only good thing about this update... I won't say anything more...except thank you to the people who have read, voted for and commented on this. I mean, over 5,000 reads is amazing. You guys rock!

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Some kind of classical music that John had never heard before was playing softly in the background while he and Sherlock were cruising down some back country road. Sherlock had spent the last hour or so humming along to the music and John had been doing his best to ignore the fluttering feeling he got in his stomach when he heard Sherlock do so. Every so often he would glance over at the detective and see that his eyes were fixed on the road ahead of him, a relaxed smile on his face as he drove.

"Are you still nervous?" John asked, allowing his eyes to linger on Sherlock's face longer than he should've. Sherlock's face twisted into a grimace briefly before he smiled and shook his head.

"Nope," he said, popping the 'p'.

"You're lying," John said, turning his head to look out the window. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock's head turn towards him. He glanced over at Sherlock, and felt a smile tugging at his lips when he saw the confused look in the detective's blue-green eyes.

"How'd you know?" Sherlock asked, turning back to watch the road. John just shrugged, and continued to smile at Sherlock.

"Because I know you." John reached over and placed a hand on Sherlock's upper arm, and he could've sworn he saw the faintest hint of colour in his cheeks. John figured it was just his "crush vision" playing cruel tricks on him, and ignored it. He sighed, and let his hand fall. These next few days were going to be rough. John began to wish he could head to a pub and have a few pints to be able to endure the emotional agony he was no doubt about to go through.

"Hey Sherlock," he said after a few moments of silence had passed between them, "I don't suppose you have anything…alcoholic in the cooler back there." He gestured with his thumb to the blue container of ice sitting in the back seat, and Sherlock shook his head.

"Of course not. I don't drink. You know that." John chuckled and nodded his head, remembering the one time he'd seen Sherlock drunk. He felt his ears get hot, but luckily Sherlock was still looking straight ahead and didn't see John blushing.

"Yeah, well… maybe you should," he suggested. Sherlock shook his head vigorously.

"Absolutely not. I hate drinking. It's dreadful actually, due to the fact that I can get completely hammered and still remember every incongruous thing I've done while under the influence." John sat silently in his seat while he thought about what Sherlock had said. If Sherlock was telling the truth, that he remembered everything he did when he was drunk, surely he would remember the things he'd said and done in their hotel room in Fiji. Yet, the next morning he'd acted as if he hadn't remembered a thing. So either Sherlock was lying now, or he'd been lying then. John wasn't sure as to which upset him the most.

"So…you're telling me that you can remember, with detail, everything that happened every time you've been drunk," John said, stroking his chin and staring at Sherlock. The detective nodded his head, and opened his mouth, most likely to make some sort of haughty remark at how impressive his memory was, but all of a sudden his face froze and he remained silent. His eyes briefly met John's and in that moment John swore he felt his heart stop. Sherlock licked his lips, then looked back at the road.

"I think we should make a pit stop," he said quietly, "My leg is beginning to cramp up." John didn't say anything, but his mind was racing a mile a minute. Did Sherlock remember that night in Fiji? The look on his face was enough evidence to support the theory that he did, but for some reason John wasn't quite sure. Sherlock had seemed to genuinely not remember anything, but perhaps he was just a fantastic actor, even when hung over… unless that had been an act as well. John was drowning in a sea of his thoughts when Sherlock pulled over to the side of the road and stepped out of the car. John remained inside, and took out his phone. He dialed Ollie's number, knowing that a conversation with him would be a great distraction from his own suffocating thoughts and questions. He answered after three rings.