To Be Happy

To Be Handsome

It was a Tuesday, because anything good always happens on a Tuesday.

It was rather sunny out, which was quite special for London, and John Watson grinned as he stepped out of 221B to stop at the store for tea and apples. His steps echoed rhythmically off the sidewalk, his jumper fitting comfortably, the trees nearby the green of fairy tales, the air the color of magic.

John Watson passed a man walking his dog, who barked a greeting at the passing stranger. The doctor gave both of them a polite smile, his eyes scanning the world in front of him.

He stared up at the sky, where white clouds were dancing with each other over their beautiful blue backdrop. He looked at the people, who were all bustling around with the usual energy of a Tuesday morning at ten in central London. He glanced a quiet little cafe with homey curtains in its windows, wondering what might happen if he chose to stop for coffee. He didn't really want to - he was just stopped to wonder if he could.

He passed the grocery store he'd been heading toward, smiling at the bright colors of the shop's sign. He liked this store. It always smelled like bread. He liked the smell of bread.

Maybe he'd even buy some; he didn't have any reason not to.

The doctor walked into the store, spotting the apples the moment he walking in, because today was going perfectly. Our protagonist's eyes lit up with glee, grabbing one of the shiny red fruits. Everything was good today. Today was a good day. A day when he was focus on the trees, and the breeze, and the apples, and the bread, instead of -

And then our protagonist squeezed his eyes shut.

He squeezed the apple, too, which began to bruise.

Because everything in his life was falling apart, and he had absolutely nothing to blame it on.

The world wasn't ending. He and Sherlock didn't have to save the British government (again). But John was utterly confused.

Because John Watson was in love with Sherlock Holmes; that was the only way to word it. But... can you word it like that platonically?

All the doctor knew for sure was that he wanted Sherlock all to himself. He wanted Sherlock to be his flatmate, his colleague. The two of them against the world. Only each other.

But not together. At least, he didn't think so.

And that was all our blogger could be sure of; he was platonically in love with Sherlock Holmes, which he was 90% sure was impossible. And it was killing him.

John was still bruising the fruit in his right hand. His eyes were still shut tightly, his body rigid. Someone saw him, of course (you can't have a panic attack in the center of a grocery store without catching someone's eye). She didn't just notice him, though; she went to help. It's hard to be a bystander when you've been through that pain yourself.

She walked over to the apple stand, staring (up? down? the pair seemed to be the same height) at him, resting her hand on his shoulder. His eyes opened at her touch, staring at her with a look she recognized as if it were her own; at one point, she remembered, it had been.

"Don't worry," she told him in her soft, calming voice. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "It'll be okay. It'll all work itself out. I promise." She offered him a small smile, taking the poor apple out of his hand and placing it back with the others. He tried, and failed, to return her comforting gaze, but she wasn't bothered. She understood that right now wasn't a time he'd be able to grin.

"I'm Rosamund, my friends call me Rose," the polite stranger told our doctor, shifting her short brunette bob. "And you are?"

The doctor was relaxing, now; Rose's tactics were working. "I... I'm John." His voice wasn't quite steady, but he was getting there. He cleared his throat. "John Watson. Nice to meet you, Rose."

The ever-helpful woman flashed him another glorious smile. "It's nice to meet you as well, John Watson." John, who at this point was admiring the woman's beauty. He wasn't exactly checking her out; it was more like she was a sunset, and he could stare at it all day. She noticed. She smiled.

Suddenly our doctor seemed to remember that he'd just had a panic attack in front of this woman. His cheeks flames from embarrassment, and he worked out some sort of apology: "Er... I'm sorry, about, you know, the, uh -"

Rose laughed a laugh as sweet as her name. Sweeter, even. "It's quite all right, John. I know how it is. Happens to all of us."

A relieved grin slowly crawled over our doctor's face. "Of course -" she said, flashing a flirty smirk our blogger's way, "- if you wanted to talk about it sometime, perhaps we should have dinner?"

John, in a moment of giddiness caused by being asked on a date by a very attractive woman who seemed to be very kind, didn't really stop to think about Sherlock. He didn't really stop to think that this was the first date he'd be going on since the confession. He didn't stop to think that maybe they weren't ready for this, or that at least they should talk about it first. He didn't stop to think about the fact that Sherlock, maybe, was also having a nice day this Tuesday, but the moment our doctor walks through that door he will know. And then he'll sit in his bedroom, because he doesn't want to show John how much it hurts him.

John didn't think about any of this, because if you haven't quite caught on, our Baker Street Boys don't really tend to think anything through. John and Rose exchanged numbers and set up plans for the coming Friday. John headed home, less happy than when he was heading there. He was still giddy, of course, but his thoughts from before weren't gone. John had a date. What did that mean, of course, for his weird, not-crush on his best friend? And, of course, the real question: was he really just platonically crushing on Sherlock? I mean, look at the man. Couldn't it actually be more?

John was sure that he had absolutely no idea what he was feeling, but it was probably nothing, and he could never hurt Sherlock by letting him know about Johns's "probably nothing."

I mean, think about it. It would be cruel. "Hey, I know you're in love with me, and I might have some sort of feelings towards you. They're most likely nothing. Just thought I'd let you know." But John wanted to tell Sherlock, because he'd usually talk to Sherlock about this, even if the detective wouldn't really listen.

When John got home, though, it didn't seem to matter. Sherlock had a case, and barely glanced his way before returning to his work. John didn't bother trying to attempt to talk to him; he just grabbed tea and a book and sat in his chair while Sherlock sat on the couch near the smiley face, and they just enjoyed being near each other.

*~*~*~*

She asked him out, Sherlock thinks as he pretends to be involved in the case he'd just been handed. This one might actually last.

This one might actually last.

I wouldn't blame her.

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at his flatmate, who seemed to notice rather quickly and turned away from his novel. "Is she pretty?" asked Sherlock, smiling.

John coughed out of nerves, even though he knew this was going to happen. "Very; she asked me out for Friday."

"I don't blame her." Sherlock's grin remained plastered to his face.

"No?" said John, relaxing a bit and smiling back.

"You're very handsome," said Sherlock, who didn't seem to mind casually flirting with the man who rejected him at all. 

John laughed at his flatmate. "Are you sure you're not biased?"

"Perhaps a bit," was the detective's response, and they both went back to their tasks.

Later, though, Sherlock took shaky breaths in the cover of his bedroom. It's okay, he thought, this was going to happen eventually. Better sooner than later, right?

These thoughts didn't really seem to help, though.

After all, John Watson was very handsome.

i am sorry if this isn't as good as usual, I've been super busy with school and stuff so I haven't had enough time to just sit and write, so I'll try to do better in future chapters, but now I have a story line of what is going to happen next, now that this has happened. SO BE PREPARED MY CHILDREN

because these boys are gonna end up together eventually I promise.