The One Next Door

Don't Need to Eat The Yellow Paint

    When Sherlock woke up, the first thing he did was make sure John wasn't in his kitchen. Sherlock didn't need to relive that experience, not again. So he changed his clothes, made himself decent, and trotted on down to Molly's. When she opened the door, Molly was still in her pajamas, trudging around with a bed head.
"You're early." She decided.
"You're...you look tired." Sherlock agreed.
"Well, I just got up! I don't know what you're playing at, yesterday you never showed up and today you're ten minutes early." Molly sighed.
"Grumpy, are we?" Sherlock asked.
"Tired." Molly insisted.
"Do we get free coffee privileges, I never really asked?" Sherlock sighed.
"Ya, but I try not to abuse it." Molly shrugged.
"I just might make myself a coffee before the costumers start pooling in." Sherlock decided.
"You do that." Molly groaned, stalking off to her bedroom to get changed. Sherlock rooted through her cabinets, looking for something edible for breakfast, and settled for a frozen waffle. While Molly was getting ready Sherlock put the waffle in the toaster and listened to the frozen water hiss, and finally, when she was just about done, it popped out with a loud pop.
"You made a waffle?" Molly asked, looking like her normal self.
"I did." Sherlock agreed, pulling the hot waffle out of the toaster with trembling fingers.
"Good for you." Molly decided, pouring herself a bowl of cereal and sitting at the kitchen table. As soon as Hell Spawn heard the milk pouring, the cat materialized out of nowhere and was suddenly pawing around Molly's bowl, trying to get some of the milk for herself. Sherlock just munched on his waffle, the first breakfast he's had in a long time.
"So, you're painting John today?" Molly asked.
"That's the plan." Sherlock agreed.
"You nervous?" She asked.
"Why would I be nervous?" Sherlock defended, but honestly, he was. His stomach was turning in little knots at the thought of him and John, alone in a room, for a good three hours.
"Well, you know, this is probably the first time you two have been alone for a good chunk of time, I mean, anything could happen." Molly shrugged.
"If you suggesting I'm going to waste perfectly good artistic vision to have a kissing fest, then you're wrong." Sherlock snapped.
"Well, maybe John doesn't see it that way." Molly pointed out.
"Oh, so now John loves me? Is that how this is going to go?" Sherlock growled.
"Yes, I think so." Molly agreed.
"There are such things as friends you know, people that want to hang out together without kissing and getting married." Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes, we're friends. But if we shared eye contact for as long as you and John, I'm sure there'd be a wedding band on my finger." Molly decided.
"Well, I'm not proposing anytime soon, not to you, not to John, not to anyone! I'm a loner Molly, and that means I'm going to be alone. Forever." Sherlock insisted.
"That's not true." Molly insisted. "I'm sure you'll have your parents when they get older."
"Shut up Molly." Sherlock snapped, finishing off the last of his sort of disappointing waffle and stared judgmentally at her. When finally Molly finished off the last of her cereal, she abandoned the bowl of milk for the cat to enjoy and grabbed her coat. Sherlock mimicked her, pulling on his trench coat as he walked out the door.
"Good morning." John said with a smile, leaning against the railing and looking truly radiant.
"Am I painting you today?" Sherlock asked.
"If that's what you want Mr. Artist." John shrugged.
"That is what I want, Mr. Hardware store." Sherlock snapped.
"Oh, he showed you." Molly laughed, leading the way down the stairs.
"So, everyone have a good night?" she asked as they walked.
"Well, let's think, I got some take out Chinese food, and watched some alien movie on TV, so yes, it was alright." John agreed.
"Mine was terrible." Sherlock sighed.
"Well that's typical." Molly mumbled.
"How was your night then?" John asked.
"Splendid, thank you. I got Helen a new cat toy the other day, and she loves it, wouldn't stop playing all night." Molly said happily.
"I've got a fun toy idea for that cat, a noose." Sherlock decided.
"Sherlock!" John exclaimed, but Molly seemed unamused.
"You might as well get used to it." She sighed. "I think he's just jealous."
"What, that you don't buy me a ten dollar feather on a stick? Yes Molly, I'd devastated." Sherlock insisted.
"That I give the cat more attention than you. That's why Helen hates you of course." Molly pointed out.
"I'm not jealous Molly, that's pathetic. It's a cat." Sherlock decided.
"Well, who knows what goes on in your funny little brain?" Molly asked.
"Undoubtedly more than whatever goes on in yours." Sherlock sighed.
"Spoken like a true role model." John decided with a laugh.
"Shut up Watson." Sherlock snapped. They all walked into the coffee shop, a little bit early since the sign wasn't flipped yet. But all the chairs were down, the register polished, the lights on, it was ready to go.
"Hello you three." Jeanette said with a smile. She, Sarah, and Carl were chatting behind the counter, sipping some complementary coffee.
"Good morning." Molly said with a smile.
"A bit early, are we?" Sarah asked.
"Nothing wrong with that." Sherlock insisted.
"We don't want to see your ugly face until we have to." Sarah insisted, and Sherlock just scowled, walking behind the counter and tying an apron around his neck.
"That's nice of you." Sherlock sighed.
"Joking of course." Sarah insisted. "You're not all that terribly ugly."
"Just ask John." Molly agreed.
"I'm going to slap you." Sherlock warned.
"I heard my name." John decided, leaning on the counter with a hypnotizing smile. Sherlock tore his eyes away, not daring to look for a long time, just in case Molly or Sarah had any ideas.
"Very good John, you've got ears!" Molly said.
"We're past the point in our friendship when we have to be nice to each other I guess." John decided.
"Very true." Molly agreed.
"Good. It's a lot or work making jokes that don't offend someone." John insisted.
"Are you saying you can only make fun of people?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, I am." John agreed.
"Fair enough." Sherlock said with a bit of a half-smile.
"Glad to know we're all on the same page then." Molly agreed.
"Come on guys, we're opening!" Jeanette called from the window, where she had just turned the sign. As if they were waiting by the door, the moment the sign said open, the costumers starting sauntering in, one at a time. Sherlock was actually able to make every drink without help, which made him very proud of himself. He felt like he was now truly one of the team. But, no matter what happened, it seemed like he was always stuck with that one large medium roast coffee.
"One dumb coffee for one dumb person!" he called. Everyone looked around nervously, hoping it wasn't them, but John surfaced from the crowd with a smile on his face.
"I'm actually very intelligent." He insisted.
"How would I know? Everything that comes out of your mouth sounds like static." Sherlock pointed out.
"Then you should probably spend more time with me." John decided. Sherlock couldn't seem to find a response to that, did John ask him out or was it just an innocent friendly suggestion? Either way, Sherlock felt himself blushing a little bit, so he just thrust the coffee into John's hands and went back to take more cups from Carl. When the day was over, Sherlock helped clean up a little bit behind the counter, put away his apron, and returned to the coat rack, where John was already waiting.
"I can already feel the limelight." He decided with a sigh.
"The only place that painting is going is the trash." Sherlock insisted.
"So then why bother?" John asked.
"I was hoping you'd buy it from me." Sherlock shrugged.
"Why would I do that? You should hang it in your apartment, and then you can creepily stare at me even when I'm not there!" John suggested.
"Don't creepily stare at you." Sherlock defended.
"The microwave begs to differ." John insisted.
"What is it about this microwave? I've heard so many things, and I still have no idea what it means." Molly groaned.
"Oh, Sherlock watched me take off my shirt in the reflection of the microwave." John said before Sherlock could stop him. Sherlock's face lit up red like a Christmas light.
"You did what?" Molly asked, sounding more proud than disappointed.
"You didn't take off your shirt you liar, trying to make me look like a creep." Sherlock insisted.
"You are a creep." John insisted. Molly made a little squeaking sound, turned around and gave Sarah a bit thumb up. Sarah smiled and returned it, and Sherlock just frowned.
"You've got a wager going, don't you?" he asked.
"Honey, the only person that doesn't know you're in love with John is you." Molly insisted.
"Well, since I know you're probably going to lose money, I'm definitely not going to hook up with him." Sherlock decided. Molly just giggled.
"Oh, so it wasn't always a definitely?" she asked.
"Shut up!" Sherlock insisted, pushing Molly out the open door and following her.
"What's the cause of this domestic violence?" John asked.
"Molly's an idiot." Sherlock decided.
"And Sherlock's blind." Molly insisted.
"No wonder you two get along then." John decided.
"Shut up Watson, or you'll find yourself falling into oncoming traffic." Sherlock warned.
"I'd like to see you try." John laughed. Sherlock stopped fully prepared to give a good push, but Molly stepped in the way before he could really take action.
"There will be no car accidents, please." She insisted, holding out her hands like she was separating two animals about to fight each other.
"Not today there won't." John agreed, raising his eyebrows suspiciously at Sherlock, who just scowled. When they walked into the apartment building, Molly said a hasty good bye, winking at Sherlock as if it were some sort of sign language he was not yet familiar with. So he just nodded unsurely, saying farewell and leading John up the stairs.
"So, how does this work, do you feed me?" John asked.
"Paint first, eat later." Sherlock decided.
"Oh come on, that's child abuse!" John insisted.
"You're not a child, are you?" Sherlock asked.
"I'm bringing over some lunch meat, no arguing." John decided, pointing an accusing finger at Sherlock before he could open his mouth.
"Alright, that's fine. I'll pass though, digestion slows down the inner eye." He said mysteriously.
"You're such a nerd." John decided.
"Ya well, you're stuck with me." Sherlock shrugged. John didn't seem too happy about that. So they split up, John to go make a sandwich, and Sherlock to set up his easel and paint. He didn't need a palette or anything, partially because he didn't own a very good one, but primarily because he could sense he wasn't going to need all those colors. He got some black, some white, some yellow, some gold, but that seemed to be all of the colors that made up John's beautiful face. And, of course, if his soul craves more colors, then he'll get more colors. The beautiful John Watson came marching in with a crude ham sandwich in his hands, eating it as fast as he could to get the lunch out of the way. He wasn't all that flattering at the moment.
"Alright, where do you want me?" he asked, finishing off the last couple of bites.
"Did you eat a whole sandwich in the time it took to get over here?" Sherlock asked, impressed.
"It takes talent, but yes." John said proudly, smiling wide with a bit of ham in his teeth.
"Good thing you're not smiling." Sherlock decided.
"Why am I not smiling? You don't want me frowning, do you?" John asked.
"Have you ever seen a good portrait where the main subject is smiling like a buffoon?" Sherlock asked.
"No, because usually the artist doesn't make the subject look as stupid as they look." John decided.
"I can't...stop being an idiot, stand near the window." Sherlock decided, pulling on a plastic apron to protect his clothes from getting stained. John positioned himself near the window, but not near enough. And he wasn't angled properly, he was just a mess. Sherlock sighed heavily, walking over and squaring John's shoulders, angling his head the proper way, brushing the excess crumbs off of his jacket, and positioning him right in front of the sunlight that was streaming through the window.
"Making me look all pretty?" John asked with a small laugh.
"No, I'm making you look decent enough for my eyes to bear." Sherlock decided.
"You're admitting I look better." John insisted as Sherlock examined him.
"No I'm not." Sherlock muttered, squinting his eyes and moving John's left arm a little bit.
"So you're what, just going to stare at me..."
"Don't talk." Sherlock insisted. John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock mimed zipping his lips, and John looked disappointed. "You need to stay as still as possible, don't move from that position, straight face, eyebrows in line, mouth closed, try not to look around as much as possible, it messes with head position." Sherlock decided.
"This is going to be an awkward couple of hours." John decided.
"Shush." Sherlock insisted, going over to his little radio and turning on the classical music station. The terror in John's eyes showed his dislike for the music as soon as it turned on, but thankfully he didn't say anything because Sherlock wasn't going to change it. So Sherlock took a deep breath, positioning himself with his paintbrush in front of the canvas, staring at John, who looked pained, in the sunlight, and took in the feeling of the room. All of the sounds, all of the feelings, the sights, smells, emotions flooding his heart and his soul, and pressed the paintbrush to the canvas. So it began. Honestly Sherlock barely looked at the canvas at all; it was from the soul, not from sight. He trusted his arms enough to stroke straight lines, to curve the face shape, to frame the face, to add all of the little details that went into making John be the beautiful creature he was. And Sherlock just kind of stared, glancing only a couple of times at what his brush was doing, but mostly he looked at John, looked at him through no filter, and he saw light. He saw pure white light, the happiness that John's presence filled him with, the love that flooded his heart, the pure wonder and blessing Sherlock felt every day when John was with him. It was lovely. It took around two hours until finally Sherlock put the final touches on his masterpiece, touching up the little things that the soul might've forgotten. Over all, it was gorgeous. It was John, Sherlock knew that and John might, but it was more than John. It was his outline, his face, but radiating from his face, his skin, was all that light that Sherlock felt, all of the emotions he felt radiating off of John all in a blur of gold and yellow. It was like he was a sun himself, a beautiful man radiating beautiful light that made the world go around. The only thing that looked humanoid was the collar of his shirt and the shape of the light, everything else, it was just purely emotional.