#and work has been just the worst for the last month

[raina-at]

Secret

Bakers, again, and a very direct sequel to this ficlet from last year. It doesn't stand alone quite as well, but keep in mind that in this universe, John was working in an inner-city A+E during the worst of the pandemic, and I think the rest is self-explanatory. (It's also maybe a bit of hubris to explain the premise of this ficlet with a reference to another ficlet, and not the original story, but I'm sort of assuming if you know me it's probably for these two dorks, so here we are ;-))

-------------------

One of the things Sherlock loves most about John is that he’s the least sneaky person Sherlock knows. Every time John tries to keep a secret from Sherlock, he’s so transparent about it he might as well be wearing a neon sign. 

The thing is, the absolute foundation of their relationship is trust. When Sherlock asked John for more, John took a gigantic leap of faith for Sherlock. John trusted Sherlock not to break his heart, and he trusted Sherlock to stay clean.

In return, Sherlock trusts John unconditionally. He can’t imagine John hurting him. It just wouldn’t happen. He trusted John every time he came home late from the hospital, and he trusted him every time he lost his temper and went out for a walk to cool off. He knows, for a stone cold fact, that John would never hurt him, never betray him. The one time Mycroft offered to have John surveilled, Sherlock laughed in his face and told his brother to grow the fuck up. Mycroft was noticeably taken aback by this, and asked how Sherlock could be so sure. 

Sherlock still remembers this day, because he finally realised that in this one area of life, he knows so much more than his formerly all-knowing big brother. He looked long and hard at Mycroft and said, “That’s what trust is.”

Mycroft never mentioned the subject again. 

So. Sherlock trusts John absolutely. That’s why Sherlock never tries to find out what secrets John is keeping, because they mostly turn out to be surprises for Sherlock. And Sherlock might be a certified arsehole—at least if you believe his YouTube comment section—but he’s not going to ruin the joy John takes in surprising him by calling him on the bad sneaking around. 

All that having been said, this time, Sherlock is a tiny bit worried. Mostly because John seems to be. John is being incredibly obvious again, clicking away tabs and hiding things under pillows when Sherlock enters the room, having quiet phone conversations he takes to other rooms, even skiving off work one day, to apparently—judging from the dirt on his shoes and the rain on his jacket— traipsing around the countryside somewhere. Normally all this sneaking around would be accompanied by sly grins and sparkling eyes, but this time, he catches John looking at him worriedly. John’s also having trouble sleeping, and when he’s very tired he rubs his hand over the leg that bothers him every time he’s stressed.

Conclusion: Whatever John is doing, he’s worried about Sherlock’s reaction when he finds out. 

Sherlock debates whether he should say something, but in the end he decides against it. Whatever John is up to, he’s apparently working his way up to telling Sherlock, and Sherlock will just have to be patient.

Not his best discipline, it has to be said. But since he can’t imagine anything he wouldn’t do for John if asked, and he can’t imagine John asking something of him he wouldn’t be willing to give, he says nothing, and waits.

Thankfully, John doesn’t keep him waiting for long.

It’s about a month after the whole sneaky business started. It’s Saturday and sunny outside when John asks, trying and failing to be casual, “Any plans for the day?”

Sherlock looks up from the accounts spreadsheets he was pretending to peruse and gives John a look over the rim of the glasses he reluctantly wears now. “Are you finally ready?” he asks, knowing John will understand.

John rubs a hand over his thigh, a classic nervous tell. “I think so. Yes.”

“Show me,” Sherlock says. “Show me now.”

*-*

The house is beautiful. 

Sherlock stands outside in the generous garden and breathes in the smell of green and rain and the ocean.

The house is a quaint brick cottage, with a generous sitting room and library downstairs, and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. It’s situated a five minutes’ walk from the train station. Trains go to London every half hour, transit takes forty-five minutes to Waterloo. The village is small but thriving. The sea is an easy five-minute walk away.

It’s idyllic. Peaceful.

And it has a tiny, dark, pokey kitchen. The oven is small and barely usable. There’s no room for his equipment, for his ingredients. 

“Hey,” John’s arms come around him from behind. 

Sherlock leans back into him and says nothing. He doesn’t want to disappoint John, but he can’t live here.

“Want to see the barn?” John asks, and there’s a great deal of amusement in his voice.

Before Sherlock can answer, John takes his hand and drags him to the barn. He opens the door and presents the inside to Sherlock with a knowing grin. 

Sherlock gapes as he steps inside. The entire barn has been transformed into a professional kitchen. Ovens, walk-in fridge, gleaming work surfaces. Large windows let in a lot of natural light. Wooden countertops, lovely light fittings. 

“The house belongs to the owner of the local bakery,” John says from behind him, watching with a fond smile as Sherlock runs his fingers over the gleaming surfaces, the shelves, the ovens. “She used the barn as a kitchen, since the bakery is so small. It’s pretty much just a storefront. If you want to, we can look at it later. It’s also for sale.”

Sherlock looks up from inspecting the oven. “Is it now.”

John swallows, looking nervous again. “Mike runs a primary care centre in Brighton. They have an opening. I could commute from London, of course, no problem, but I thought, maybe…” he trails off.

Sherlock looks around the kitchen. A purchase of this size would mean selling 221B as well as the bakery. He bought out Amit’s daughters when he died, so the property is his to do with as he pleases. It’s doable. Easily. It’s also a huge step he’s not in the least considered before.

But then his brain fully catches up to the implications of what John is saying. “You’re quitting,” he whispers. “You’re quitting the hospital.”

John looks down, a bit embarrassed, and shrugs. “Seemed like the thing to do.” He looks up at Sherlock again, who’s staring at him in shock. “You said I could do what I wanted, remember? Well, this is what I want. If you want it too, that is. I know it’s a lot to ask. Not trying to force you into—”

“Shut the fuck up right this second,” Sherlock breathes, then walks over and pulls John into a searing kiss. “Do you know,” Sherlock mutters between increasingly frantic kisses, “what I would do to get you out of that fucking hospital?”

John lets himself be kissed for a few moments, then draws back. “But your bakery—”

“I’m the bakery. I can bake anywhere. You know that the channel makes more money than the bakery does, anyway. I could close up today and be financially better off.”

“But you love it,” John whispers, running his thumb tenderly over Sherlock’s cheekbone. “This isn’t an either or, you know. I’m quitting either way. We can stay in London and I can commute.”

“And run yourself into the ground like you’ve done the last three years?” Sherlock shakes his head.  “I don’t think so.”

“It’s a lot to ask,” John says quietly. 

“Listen to me,” Sherlock says, taking John’s face in his hands to ensure John is looking at him. He needs to make John see that this is the very definition of a no-brainer, and in fact one of the easiest decisions of Sherlock's life. “I love the bakery. And I love London, and 221B, but I love you so much more, it’s not even remotely a fair comparison. You’ve always supported me. I think now it’s my turn.  Will you let me do this for you? Please?”

“Well,” John says softly, giving him a small smile. “If you insist.”

“I do,” Sherlock says, kissing John’s forehead gently. “Also, you found me a house with the most beautiful kitchen in the world, and if you think for one second that you’re getting out of this now, then you’re certifiably insane.”

John laughs and sags into Sherlock, obviously relieved. “I haven’t even gotten around to showing you the beehives,” he murmurs into Sherlock’s shirt.

Sherlock smiles into John’s hair. “When do we move in?”

-------

Tags under the cut as always, please let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. Also, I hope it's not bothering anyone that I'm doing so many ficlets where you kind of need prior knowledge of some of my work. I'm always trying to make them as stand-alone-y as possible.

@dapetty @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @salmonsown @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee

[starrystevie]

au where eddie is a classic motorcycle guy. he started with a hand-me-down harley, learned how to fix up choppers and opened his own shop once he had enough saved up. he has a disdain for the newer bikes, the loud sport bikes that zip through traffic like they don't have to follow the rules, the riders in blacked out visors and trendy racing suits that try to race him when they both get stopped at a light. they unnerve him, annoy him, get under his skin and have him rolling his eyes because they can't appreciate the classics.

steve is a sport bike guy. he's a proud suzuki owner with a dark blue suit to match his bike, likes to speed around the corners of the backroads no one goes on and feel the adrenaline coarse through his veins when he hits speeds he probably shouldn't. he knows it isn't a classic bike, knows that most bike shops don't take him and his fancy non-american made bike seriously. he expects shops to turn up their nose at him when he needs things fixed.

but then steve stumbles in eddie's shop. his accelerator is starting to stick and it's scaring even him, so he takes it to the first shop he can find when he's out for a drive in a podunk town and hopes they'll take him. and eddie turns up his nose and almost kicks him out until he takes the pretty bike guy's eyes into account, lets his own eyes trail over the way his dark blue suit clings to all the right places. matches pretty bike guy's smirk with one of his own and invites him into the office while his guys work on his bike.

eddie decides after, when steve's back on the road after a race around the backroads and more than a few purpling bruises on his neck, that he doesn't hate all the people who drive sport bikes, especially when they can kiss as well as steve can.

[lesbiancarat]

man, part of me really wants to type out a whole rant about this shit but I feel like if I do there won't really be a central point and it will just be a bunch of disjointed rambling. so all I'll say is I'm so fucking tired of svt being under a giant corporation. like regardless of opinion about pledis by itself/pre-hybe, at least then we a) knew what we were dealing with and b) had /some/ collective power as fans to influence the company (ex. getting closer MV and svt ring as merch incidents)

all the hybe acquisition did was add 10 more layers of politics onto everything. for every one thing you could argue hybe improved or fixed, there's like 100 other pieces of bullshit that got introduced directly or indirectly. and it's not even a situation of hybe trying to sabotage svt or whatever like some ppl try to fearmonger about, it's literally all just capitalism and trying to please shareholders and make a profit and I'm so fucking tired of it

[camgoloud]

you ever just. become overwhelmed by a sudden out-of-nowhere wave of tenderness and affection and longing for reconnection directed towards someone to whom you no longer speak for Very Good Reasons

[archduke-enver-gortash]

posting on here is like my sisyphean boulder i'm constantly rolling tbh

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

the eternal question: is scheduling w friends as an adult That Hard or am I just bad at it

[danielnelsen]

always fun to remind myself of the side effects of my thyroid meds

[izzy-b-hands]

I know it's probably just a part of restarting the lamotrigine, but. holy fuck does it have me short on spoons and patience and. Everything mentally today lmao

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

oh my god everything makes sense now

[zevrans]

.

[rainymoodlet]

only took five days, but we're finally going to be done moving in tomorrow 😩 our movers come early in the morning, we got internet set up today, and i finally planned out every "episode" of the bachelor challenge's reboot and lbts' posting structure (bc i can't fckin play them bc my desktop is still sitting downstairs sdklfdkfj LAST DAY)

it's been exhausting, but i can't wait to come back strong 💛 thank you to everyone for the well wishes and the love!! you've given me a lot of comfort through a rough ass time and i know i don't do shit to show it but i appreciate it a ton!!!

[mimiri22-6]

You wanna know the worst thing about tomorrow for me is?

I'm gonna be at work when s2 of gomens drops. I can't even induldge and marathon the whole thing because I only get home around 1 am after a shift. And on Really bad nights, wich happen 1-2-4 nights a week? 2am. AND THEN I can't even marathon it the NEXT day because I work the next 3 days.

I want. To Die.

[deadtime-stories]

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

right. so. i meant to be writing the thasmissy fic. i did not do that but

i can explain

[savethepinecones]

reaching the point in a depression spiral where my thought process shifts from "i gotta push through and go to work even though i dont feel like leaving my bed because i need to keep my job" to "my mental health is important and if i feel like i need a break i should take a break" and then i take a bunch of time off work and nearly lose my job but keep telling myself that i just need a longer break and then ill bounce back

[second-breakfast]

Got put on a PIP today for shit no one ever mentioned to me before that isn't new plus some some stuff that it is only halfway accurate