Chapter Text
John Watson was a puzzle. He always had been.
His disarming warm smiles, compliments and his putting up with all of the trials of living with Sherlock Holmes were all a mystery to the detective.
That was one of the things Sherlock liked about him. It wasn’t unique, there were puzzles everywhere in the world around them, all of which Sherlock pledged his life to solving. That was precisely why the mystery of John Watson was so alluring, Sherlock couldn’t figure it out for the life of him.
But god damn him if he wouldn’t try.
***
The night of November 3rd was playing out as usual. A winter only a few days old was already showing its strength with biting winds and icy sidewalks, leaving the streets relatively empty of pedestrians.
There was an increasingly-familiar spring in Sherlock’s step. Another day saved, another case solved, with the only casualty being the ceiling of a poorly made apartment. The memories of the day we're still flying through Sherlock’s mind; the body in the fountain, finding the murderer cooking Khao Pad in a 3-star restaurant, chasing her through the tangled streets with adrenaline pumping through his veins, John smiling as a silent ‘well done’ while the police led her away…
“Sherlock!”
He snapped back to reality at John’s words, one foot hovering over the highway he would have walked straight onto, if not for the hand grabbing the back of his collar.
“You really need to watch where you’re going,” John sighed and let go of his coat, with his fond yet exasperated ‘you great idiot’ smile.
Sherlock wasn’t quite sure when he’d started categorising all of John’s smiles.
“Then what use would you be?” Sherlock muttered, a grin creeping on his face.
“Git,” John punched his shoulder, but couldn’t fight his laughter either, “Genius and he can’t even avoid getting run over. Speaking of, you never bothered to tell me how you knew where the killer worked.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes in his classic isn’t-it-obvious fashion, “Birds, John, birds. On her path to dispose the body, she deliberately avoided any areas where there was a surplus of pigeons, an evident fear of birds in general. I knew she worked in the restaurant industry by the curry stains on her shoes and marks on her neck left by wearing an apron, but really anyone that works in the food industry is more likely to be a murderer anyway, with their job conditions. Thus, we needed to find a restaurant, Thai, that was away from the usual congressions of birdlife-”
Sherlock stopped halfway through his explanation, noticing John gazing at him with open wonder and an emotion in his eyes Sherlock couldn’t quite place.
“What is it?”
John shook his head without taking his eyes off Sherlock, “Nothing, just… you’re bloody incredible”
Sherlock felt a familiar surge of joy ripple through his body. John’s compliments never ceased to amaze him. “You’ve said so before”
“And you haven’t stopped being incredible,” John shrugged with a teasing grin. His smile faltered a little and his gaze rose to the top of Sherlock’s head.
“You’ve got dust in your hair,” he observed.
Sherlock rolled his eyes again, “Yes, John, that’s one of the hazards of being in a collapsing building.”
“Don’t remind me,” John murmured, “You could’ve died.”
“And therefore, dust is the least of my worries,” Sherlock turned to glance down the street. You could never find a damn cab when you needed one.
“Well, let me fix it for you” Before Sherlock could react, John reached up and gently brushed the dirt out of his hair.
For a minute, Sherlock was sure he was having a stroke.
John’s fingers had only lightly brushed his hair and that was enough for Sherlock’s mind to go into overdrive. His senses were taking in information at a dizzying rate, even more than usual. Air- freezing. Sky- black and inky. John’s hand- sweeping through his curls to push away the dust, skin barely touching his forehead and oh for god's sake, what the hell was happening to him?
“There, all gone,” John said, or at least Sherlock was pretty sure that was John talking, everything was going so fast, and frankly, Sherlock couldn’t string together a rational thought at that moment.
He was overwhelmed with the urge to touch his hair, feel the places where John’s fingers had been a second earlier. Touch wasn’t uncommon between the pair of them, light brushes of hands and accidental bumps of shoulders were familiar, and yes, each one may have given Sherlock an inexplicable rush of endorphins, but none had ever warranted a reaction like this.
Sherlock was absolutely out of his element, confused to no end and completely, totally elated.
His mind was up and running again after the brief blackout and Sherlock immediately set out scouring his mind palace for anything useful. Focusing all of his energy on the facts, he started to spell things out.
Fact: John touched his hair
Fact: It felt impossibly wonderful
Fact: Sherlock had no clue what to do with this information
“For the love of… SHERLOCK!”
Sherlock jolted like he had been stabbed. He was greeted with the sight of a taxi waiting patiently on the curb in front of them and John grabbing his shoulder with an expression both irritated and close to laughter.
“I’ve been talking to you for five minutes,” John chuckled, “You alright?”
“Of course I’m alright!” Sherlock tried to snap in his usual fashion, but his voice felt weak and small. He cleared his throat and jerked his arm out of John’s grasp, “Let’s get home, I’ve got more important things to do.”
John rolled his eyes and followed Sherlock into the back of the cab, which took off down the street at an irresponsible speed for the weather. Usually, Sherlock would make a lewd comment on the driver's skill, but he was much too preoccupied with the puzzle of John Watson and the war of thoughts in his head.