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John sighed heavily and shuffled the sheets of paper aimlessly around on the table in front of him.
'Only one more until payday…' John thought inwardly, as he was assessing his finances and wondering how on earth he would make it through the next week. 'Good god, I need that money…' John had been working in a surgery as a locum, but it wasn't the most reliable of jobs; the pittance he received from the army barely covered his rent and he really needed a job that could provide some stability for himself. He had been throwing the idea of applying for a permanent job in one of the nearby surgeries – but it would mean giving up solving cases with Sherlock to listen to patients moaning on about blocked noses and runny eyes and all that rubbish. Everything would turn into monotony; and he would be stuck in a job that he hated with a passion up until the end of his working life. It would regress into what it had been before he had met Sherlock… Waking up, getting through the day, going to bed, sleeping. Sherlock had revitalised his life, he had brought colour and depth into his day to day being again. Giving that up just to have a steady income was a big forfeit… it was a sacrifice that he didn't want to have to make, but in the end it was inevitable. He had desperately attempted to look at this situation and arrange his pay slips and account balances into any which way that would prevent him from having to go for a permanent position somewhere.
"What are you doing John?" Sherlock's voice floated out from behind where John was sitting and the detective came slouching into view, clad in one of his dressing gowns. Sherlock had been irritably restless over the past few days – mainly because they didn't have an on-going case at this moment – but his engaging in conversation would indicate that he was in a better mood than he had been earlier.
"Trying to convince myself that I don't need to apply for a permanent position in a surgery." John replied with a sigh. "In vain I may add…"
"Why do you need to look for a permanent job?" Sherlock asked airily, seating himself on the opposite side of the table to John and half glancing over the piles of crumpled paper.
"Because I need the money!" John laughed slightly; Sherlock was the most astute being that John had ever met, yet the matters of finance and other menial subjects were uninteresting to him.
"No you don't… I've got money." Sherlock's reply was an indignant one, he looked as though he was highly affronted with what John had just said.
"But Sherlock, I've got my portion of the rent to pay, and other things to cover also – my army pay doesn't stretch that far." John told him, collecting up his papers and stacking them neatly in a pile before him. "And it's not as though our cases pay very well."
"No but I have enough money to cover those things myself."
"Sherlock, you can't pay my part of the rent – I moved in so we could share the cost of this place." John had a fair amount of pride that, despite Sherlock's insistence that he could afford, wasn't covered by someone else taking them on.
"I don't see why not." Sherlock suddenly sounded like a petulant child, and the thought crossed John's mind that perhaps the idea of John getting a full time job and being unable to answer every single one of Sherlock's whims so readily made the detective unhappy at this decision.
"What would happen if something happened to you? If on a case – I don't know – you got into trouble or something and didn't come back?" John put forth quickly, trying to justify his reasons besides pride for needing a job.
"Then you'd still have this place." Sherlock said firmly. "And you'd receive half of an estate and a considerable amount of money." John's eyebrows had drawn down in confusion at Sherlock's reply, so Sherlock expanded to make things clear: "You're my next of kin." John stared at Sherlock in utter disbelief for a few seconds.
"I'm your what?" John exclaimed.
"My next of kin." Sherlock repeated as though saying it again would make everything crystal clear. "So if I snuff it, you'll be next in line to get all of my stuff."
"Why would you…? What about Mycroft?" John had started irrationally and then brought in the thought of Sherlock's elder brother.
"Ttschk!" Sherlock made a disconsolate noise. "Mycroft's already got enough rubbish! Besides I'd rather it all go to you."
"But… Why Sherlock?" John asked, honestly in total confusion as to why Sherlock would have signed to make him his next of kin. "People don't usually sign a next of kin change until they're getting married or have been in a relationship for years, or something like that!" John felt like he had been thrown headlong into a whirlpool about the whole thing.
"And?" Sherlock shrugged. "Why are you surprised at that? I get along with you better than I get along with anyone else I know…"
"And you think that's enough to make me your next of kin?" John stood up from the table and gathered all of his papers into his arms.
"Well why not!" Sherlock now appeared to be as equally confused as John was about the subject matter.
"How can you not see how weird that is?" Sherlock just shrugged in response; John shook his head and took a bundle of paper up to his own room. He sighed again as he shook his head at what he could see in the absurdity of Sherlock making him his next of kin. John couldn't ever remember who his next of kin was – it was probably still his army officer; he should maybe look into that. And as he dropped the pile of paper his heart made a jolt in his chest. John had commented that changing to someone to be their next of kin was normally something that people did when they were in a committed relationship or about to get married: maybe that was what Sherlock was proposing… John stared at his feet, frozen to the spot, wondering whether he was jumping to the wrong conclusion. But how the hell was he supposed to find out without asking Sherlock?
Sherlock was still sitting at the side of the table and was still sitting at the side of the table and was drumming his fingertips rapidly on the table top.
"Sherlock?" John started slowly, and was slightly put off by Sherlock giving a rather coarse grunt as an acknowledgement that he was listening. "Were you…" John felt rather awkward in trying to think how he should word what he wanted to say. "When I said that most people don't change their next of kin until they're in a committed relationship… Were you – hinting at something?" Sherlock stopped drumming his fingers and looked directly at John.
"Like?"
"No, nothing – it doesn't matter." John dismissed the thought instantly as he saw the blank look on Sherlock's face.
"If you are asking about our "relationship" then I believe you may be onto something. Very perceptive John!" John ignored the last derogatory comment.
"So, what about our relationship? We're… we're friends." John stumbled unsurely.
"You don't want us to be more than that?" John stared at Sherlock in utter dumbfoundment.
"Like… like a proper relationship?" John inquired, sounding as though he could hardly believe his ears. "As in… boyfriends?"
"Well, neither of us is a girl." Sherlock pointed out the obvious, rather more bluntly than he usually did. "So yes."
"I – well… I – uh – I…" John spluttered.
"Is that something you'd want?" Sherlock posed this huge question as though he was asking about the weather.
"I – well, yes… if you're sure you're fine with it." John finally managed to get coherent words into an answer.
"Good." A small smile twitched across Sherlock's face. "Me too."