Song: Smile by Nat King Cole

Summary: Five Times Sherlock Holmes Faked A Smile

Warnings: Vague John/Sherlock slash.

Spoilers: General for the series

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing.

Author's Note: Sorry this is so late, I've been mad busy with History Coursework these last few weeks. Hope you enjoy this :)

Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by
If you smile through your fear and sorrow
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You'll see the sun come shining through for you

Five times Sherlock Holmes Faked a Smile

1

For Sherlock Holmes' seventh Christmas his Great Aunt Muriel gave him a woolly jumper with a reindeer on it. He absolutely hated it (this was before he met the man who would show him how warm and comforting a woolly jumper could be, before he started thinking of them as a part of home). He not only hated it but found it insulting to his obviously superior intelligence; he was seven years old, far too old to be wearing a jumper with a silly, dancing (anatomically incorrect) reindeer sewn onto the front of it. He opened his mouth to tell Great Aunt Muriel exactly what he thought about her gift when he caught Mycroft's eye. He shook his head gently, warning him with his eyes to remember his promise not to spoil Christmas like he did last year (it wasn't his fault; Aunt Marie deserved to know that Uncle Simeon had given the maid an expensive necklace for Christmas). Sherlock put on a smile and muttered a few words of thanks, using the considerable charm that he possessed even then. And if his smile morphed into a grimace when Mummy forced the jumper over his head, well Great Aunt Muriel was almost blind anyway. And it was almost worth it to see the genuinely affectionate smile on his big brother's face.

2

Professor Theodore Branning was officially the dullest man Sherlock had ever met. If he hadn't been the only witness for his current case he would have abandoned this conversation half an hour ago, probably running. But Professor Branning had actually seen the murderer leaving, although he didn't know it, and so Sherlock was trapped listening to a seemingly endless lecture about the daily routine of the University, hoping against hope he would provide him with some useful information. As the Professor droned on, Sherlock's agile mind jumped through the pathways of the case like a squirrel racing through the treetops. Suddenly light exploded in Sherlock's brain and he saw everything clearly, the answer written in the sky in fireworks. He put on a smile and thanked the professor for his time, not because he was grateful but because the boredom he had exuded had already been swept away by the euphoria of the chase.

3

Sherlock swept towards the crime scene (or at least as much as one can sweep in a short leather jacket and skinny jeans). The blue of the police lights danced over his pale skin and raven hair making him look more like a vampire than usual. He was riding high, for once not on cocaine but on the thrill of the hunt, the chase, the game. And then…

"Hello Freak," with two careless words Sally Donovan cut him down, dragged his mind back to his days at boarding school (Jarred Blackheath had been the first one to call him freak, the first to make him hide behind the label high-functioning sociopath). He paused, pasted a smile on his face and turned to her. His reply was cold, aloof; he didn't care what she said, he was better than her, stronger. The perfect smile never slipped, his mask remained intact. Their words did not reach him, could not hurt him. He would not give them the satisfaction. He did not need their approval; he was Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Detective, master of the false smile.

4

John was worried about Sherlock. This wasn't exactly an unusual state of affairs; John spent at least half his time worrying about Sherlock. If it wasn't his inability to remember to eat it was his lack of sleep or his apparent magnetism for trouble of all kinds. But this was worry of a different flavour. Sherlock seemed normal (his own special brand of normality which to the rest of humanity was indescribably odd); John only noticed the difference because he knew him so well. Sherlock could read people but John could read Sherlock and he knew something was wrong; Sherlock wasn't talking, not his usual sullen silence but something more melancholy. But when he asked what was wrong Sherlock just smiled and waved him away, not his real smile but the one John called his 'if I smile then maybe the idiot will go away' smile. John didn't push the issue but the memory of that forced expression niggled in the back of his mind until he finally gave in and texted Mycroft.

What's wrong with Sherlock? He's not talking to me. JW

Sherlock is often silent. It's not unusual. MH

This is a different sort of silence. It's like he hasn't noticed he's not talking. JW

I think I understand. MH

Well I'm glad someone does. Please enlighten me. JW

Today is the anniversary of our Mother's death. She died ten years ago. Sherlock was very close to her. Her death was what turned his gentle flirtation with drugs into a more serious addiction. She is the only person he ever grieved for. MH

John read the text but didn't reply. He understood Sherlock's silence now, what he didn't know was what to do about it. It distracted him throughout the remainder of his shift at the surgery and through the journey back to Baker Street. But in the end the answer was simple. He walked into the flat and saw Sherlock lying on the sofa, staring through the ceiling.

"Tea?" he asked gently.

"Please," Sherlock's reply was almost inaudible, his voice rough with disuse. He listened as John clattered around that kitchen, feeling as if the tendrils that held his brain in place were slowly detaching one by one. Then he felt a touch on his shoulder, a hot mug was pressed into his hand, a hand brush through his hair in a reassuring touch and he put on a smile. It wasn't quite genuine but it was as close as he could get on that day, feeling as he did, and John smiled in reply but allowed him his silence and Sherlock's smile crept an inch closer to normal.

5

Sherlock stood at the side of the church, dressed even more elegantly than usual in a sharp suit and silk tie, with a black rose in his buttonhole and a top hat clenched in his hand. His eyes looked upon John, where he stood before the priest with Mary, but he did not see him. Instead he saw ghosts of their past, nights spent together in 221b, chasing criminals through dusky London streets, laughing together, scenes of friendship, the only friendship Sherlock had ever known. But those days were over now, stolen from him by love and a woman. He felt like there was a vice clamped around his heart but he didn't understand why. He hated feeling as he did, wished he knew how to make it all go away, change things so that John had never met the woman, never loved her, that things could just go back to the way they were. But the service was over now; John was no longer his to call his blogger, to follow him into danger and to pull him back out again. The time for sadness had gone; John was lost to him forever, why burden him with Sherlock's aching heart? John walked down the aisle, arm in arm with his new wife, and as he looked towards him Sherlock met his eyes and painted a smile upon his face, to cover the truth he dare not show.

Light up your face with gladness
Hide every trace of sadness
Although a tear may be ever so near
That's the time you must keep on trying
Smile, what's the use of crying?
You'll find that life is still worthwhile
If you just smile

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, please review. Until we meet again, Fireheart93