Floriography

•° one °•

   It had started with acacias. There were other flowers, too, but yellow acacias were the ones that started it.

   It was after a case, when adrenaline coursed through their veins. Sherlock hadn't thought much of it, just a simple click, a few choices, and a bouquet would be delivered to the flat two weeks later.

   Initially, he wanted to show John how much he meant to him, how much the blogger actually helped him. Yet that was sentimental, and Sherlock didn't do sentiment. So, he turned toward the language full of secrets, subdued emotions, and subtle messages. The Victorian Language of Flowers.

   With a few simple clicks, he had done it. He tried to explain how he felt, without actually using words. And he had succeeded.

   When the bouquet actually arrived, however, he realized he was sorely mistaken.

   The impulsive buy had him pulling out his floriography books again, scanning through the pages. It was amazing what he could say, without anyone knowing. He could profess his undying love to his beloved, or tell someone they looked like a dead cat. No one would know.

   It wasn't until the day they arrived that he pulled them out again, comparing the flowers to their meanings. When he bought them, he was certain that he hadn't ordered yellow acacias. Yet here they were, taunting him with their sunshine-coloured blossoms. He was sure he didn't order yellow, because yellow acacias meant "secret love".

   Downstairs, he heard the click of the door, indicating that John was home from work. He had about thirty seconds to make a decision. One, he could say they were from a stranger. Two, he could admit they were from him, and that the yellow blooms were a mistake. Three, he could just put the book away, and give them to John, admitting that they were from him, but not that he knew what the flowers meant. He chose option three.

   He rushed to shove the book back, and pick up the flowers. He winced at the small hearts on the paper, but it would have to do. Sherlock prayed that John had no clue as to what floriography even was.

   When the doctor first saw the flowers, he paused. Then he shifted. And paused again. "Here", Sherlock supplied, "These are for you."

   The blond took the flowers hesitantly, and peeked at the colourful blooms. "You... Bought me flowers? Why?" He smiled, slightly, in a disbelieving way.

   "Well, technically I bought them two weeks ago, but yes. I did buy them. I wanted to show you my gratitude for your help on our cases." He looked away, awkwardly, before shuffling down the hall.

   He didn't see John look at the book shelf, and notice his most recent read askew.