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John doesn't know whether he does it on purpose, or he's just an annoying, impatient prick, refusing to let him have a life and assuming that his minute problems are more important than the one trying to escape John's flies. One thing's for sure, he's never getting laid. Never gonna happen with Sherlock around. There's just no let up. Every date. Every single date is messed up because of him. Only twice has he achieved a second date and once a third, since meeting that cock blocker. Those, of course, ended in disaster. He's just a nightmare.
Second date, on the sofa, knowing he shouldn't have brought her home, but Sherlock was supposed to be on a case with Greg. They're kissing and getting on very nicely, hands roaming, buttons being undone. Finally he's getting somewhere. From the bedroom door, in walks Sherlock. Apparently he's been in the flat the whole time.
"Don't mind me. I'll be out of your way in no time." He says quite cheerfully. "Oh sorry, I'm Sherlock. You must be Sarah. It's so nice to finally meet you." He says in a suspiciously cheerful and polite tone, ignoring how embarrassed she is at being half naked in front of this stranger. John frowns, even now, just thinking about it.
She spins around to look at John, face all red and no longer from embarrassment. "Who the hell is Sarah? I'm Kate!" She snaps her head between them, not very happy at all.
"Oh, I am sorry." Sherlock chimes in. "You all just change so quickly. John hasn't told me anything about you. Goodnight then." And off he goes, shutting the bedroom door and leaving John to deal with the fallout. She didn't believe him when he said that Sherlock does these things on purpose or that Sarah was six months ago. No sex for him tonight.
"For fucks sake Sherlock. Why did you have to do that?" He shouts, slamming open Sherlock's bedroom door. "You knew she wasn't Sarah. What is your problem? I want a life. A life away from this flat."
"Well if you want a life away from the flat, don't bring them to the flat." He says, voice snippy but his body still.
"That's not what I mean and you know it! I can't go out on dates because I'm always being called or messaged. It has to stop Sherlock. Understand?"
"Yes, yes. I'll leave you and your new lady friend Katie alone."
"Kate! And it's too late for that. Screwed that one up royally thanks to you." He rants to himself as he walks away. He hears Sherlock say something about there always being another one but chooses to ignore it. Sitting on the sofa, he thinks of all of the fuck ups he's had with woman, thanks to Sherlock Holmes.
All he wants is some, him, time. Not Sherlock time, or work time, just John time. Is that really too much to ask? He can't keep on like this. He is just going to have to turn off his phone, but what if there's an emergency with Mrs Hudson? Plus, this is Sherlock and there's always some emergency or some trouble to sort out. That's kind of the point though, isn't it? He's not here to babysit a fully grown man, Is he? It's what he seems to spend his life doing.
Greg thinks it's hilarious. He loves hearing the next installment of 'what's Sherlock done now?' Not so bloody funny when he has to sort out the legal trouble that Sherlock lands him in though, is it? If he was on the outside looking in, he would probably find it funny too. Greg says to talk to him. He has, but it makes absolutely no difference.
He's scared to even pleasure himself because you never know when he's going to barge in or pick the lock because he says it just couldn't wait. He has to jerk off at the surgery and that is far from ideal. How the hell did 'three continents Watson' end up unable to even get a woman half naked anymore? He used to be so good at this.
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Jenny. Well, she is lovely. Kind, sweet, perfect for setting up a life with - not that he wanted that yet, maybe someday - but of course, A wrecking ball crashed through that life. A wrecking ball named Sherlock Holmes.
Date number one was going well. A cinema trip, romcom and dinner. Perfect. Then he gets the call. He had turned off his phone purposely to avoid it. He knew he would find him if it was urgent but he hoped to God there wouldn't be anything. He had literally had it on for 2 minutes when…
"John! John! I need you. I can't do it John, it's impossible."
"Ask Mrs Hudson for crying out loud, or Mycroft." He was worried but knows his tricks. "What's wrong? I'm sure they can help."
"I can't. It has to be you."
"Oh for fuc- fine, are you at home? I'm on my way." He looks at Jenny. "I am so sorry. He's worse than a child. Raincheck?" He asks, pulling a face.
She smiles at him."You're too sweet to say no to. You're paying for dinner though." She laughs. "Go on. It's fine John."
He grins back and kisses her cheek. "Sweet huh? I'm so sorry. I'll call you." He pays the bill and heads home quickly, running up the stairs, calling Sherlock's name in a bit of a panic.
"You alright? What's the… Oi, is that my laptop? Where's yours?"
"In my room. I…. Can't find the charger."
"Bollocks. What's so important I had to run home?"
"Oh. I.. couldn't remember the code for the safe and I needed something out of it." John's fuming.
"Seriously! I ran out on my date, for that! Why didn't you just ask me over the phone?"
"Well you don't know who's listening. I'm sure Mycroft has us both bugged. He's probably listening to all of the sickening things you say to those women you insist on dating, as he's never going to have anyone to say it to."
"Seriously? You are too fucking much." He says, walking away, knowing Sherlock never forgets anything and especially a code he set himself. He texts Jenny.
*I am actually going to murder him. Wait for me? 25 to life is quite a long time. :)
*What was the problem?
*Nothing! Sat here, breaking into my bloody laptop AGAIN!
*I shouldn't laugh but I can see how angry your little face looked in my head and it's kinda cute.
*:( Well I'd better make it up to you. Dinner on Friday?
*Yeah, why not? One condition. I get to meet him. From what you told me tonight, he sounds intense. Please? I'll come and pick you up.
*Fine. If it's the only way I get you, but then we're straight out to dinner. I think you might regret it. I have warned you. Don't listen to a word he says. Deal?
*Deal. Poor little John. I have lots of sympathy for you.
*I hope so but I doubt it. I can almost hear you laughing down the phone.
The second date.
He's told him. Warned him to be nice. He really likes this one and he wants Sherlock to like her too. He thinks they could be friends and she's smart.
"You promise?" John asks, hopefully.
"Yes, yes, I said so, didn't I? I can't help it that they're all so dull. I'll smile and be as lovely as always." He puts on his most sickeningly sweet smile.
"No, no, don't be how you normally are. In fact, I'd rather you listened and nodded and kept that mouth shut. No deductions, no snarky comments and no mentioning her name. You'll get it wrong and that will be that. We will be in and out. For God's sake, don't mess this up for me."
The doorbell rings and John jumps. "Ah, she's here. Now remember…." He turns around and sees Sherlock sitting awkwardly in his chair, grinning like the Cheshire cat on speed. "Fuck me, not like that. Scares the crap out of me and i don't want her thinking about that face when we're…" he clears his throat. "A bit less, OK?"
Sherlock drops the smile into a frown and John throws up his hands. "I give up." He says, stomping to the stairs. This is going to be a disaster. Better to wave goodbye now than in a month he supposes.
He finally gets to the door after much impatient bell ringing. He opens it, flustered and sees her standing there, in the rain, dripping and attempting to smile at him. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was raining. Come in. Give me your coat." He says, helping her to take it off. "We're up here," he states, pointing up the stairs. "I've told him to behave." He pulls a face as they enter the living room to see Sherlock, sitting in his chair, buried in John's laptop. "Sherlock. This is." He points towards Jenny. Nothing. So rude. "Sherlock!"
He snaps his head up. "Oh, sorry. Hello, I'm Sherlock. You must be-"
"Jenny!" John chimes in a bit too loudly. "This is Jenny."
"Pleased to meet you, Sherlock. I've heard so much about you."
"Nothing good I'll bet." He says, side-eyeing John.
"No, no. All good. He's been telling me about your cases and how amazing your brain is."
"Oh. Well he's right of course. Compared to the average human, the storage capacity in my brain is infinite. It's all due to my mind palace but I suppose you wouldn't know what that is. I'll explain it to you in very easy terms." John frowns at how impudent he's being and does the throat slicing motion at Sherlock.
She smirks at John, not really caring but knowing how stressed the poor man is. "Mind Palaces. I've read about them. Not palaces, just areas and buildings, a palace seems awfully grand." She isn't going to let him make her feel uncomfortable and she actually enjoys a challenge. She sees John's shoulders relax.
"Well a palace is bigger of course and I need an awful lot of space for all of the information I have to memorise for each case. What is it you do?"
"Oh, I'm a teacher. I teach primary."
He snorts a laugh and doesn't even try to hide it. "Oh, well they say that those who can't do, teach and those that can't teach, teach primary." He smirks, thinking he's got one over on her.
"Actually, I enjoy teaching the younger children. They're open and honest, say it as it is and never try to pretend that they're smarter than you. I mean, they do sulk when they don't get things their way but we all do that don't we?" She winks at John.
"Some more than others." He snaps, glaring at him.
"Shall we go?" He smiles at her as he places his arm around her back. "Goodnight Sherlock."
"Goodnight Sherlock. It was very nice to meet you." She says, smiling sweetly.
"I'm sorry," he says as they head down the stairs. "He has a habit of being an arse to the women I bring home." He pauses, looking worried. "I mean, erm… not that there's many, or a lot… I just erm.."
She giggles at him. "Come on loverboy."
He smiles, knowing she's not easily put off by the manchild and laughs to himself as they hold hands down the street.
He leaves his phone off, realising that Sherlock is an adult and managed before him, so he can manage now. They enjoy a nice meal and after a few drinks, they head to a club. John forgot how good it is just to cut loose. To enjoy dancing and laughing, feeling a warm body against his.
Her phone rings. She looks at him, confused and mouths, it's 2am! She answers her phone. "Erm… hello?" John watches her sigh and rubs her forehead. He watches, confused and then she thrusts the phone at him. He knows before he even hears the voice.
"John, are you there?" Comes that deep, soft voice.
"Sherlock, what the fuck? It's 2 o'clock in the fucking morning!" He holds her hand and mouths "I'm sorry" at her, before heading to the bathroom where there's slightly less noise. "Seriously Sherlock. What the hell is so important at 2 a fucking clock that it can't wait for a few more hours?!"
"John. I…." Comes a, suddenly, very small voice. "I….I just wondered if you were coming home? I was worried. I couldn't get hold of you and it's not like you to stay out without telling me and…. I just…. Are you?"
He feels awful for his, obviously bored, flatmate but he needs to stand firm. "No Sherlock. No I'm not. I'm on a date and I have other things on my mind right now. My phone is off because of you. I'm not doing this tonight. I'll see you in the morning." He disconnects the call, feeling guilty but knowing he had to do it. He splashes water on his face and steps out, seeing her leaning against the bar, looking at him, wondering how this is going to go now.
"Sorry love. He just… he doesn't cope well if I'm not there. I've told him my mind is only on you and I'll see him in the morning. Well it is the morning but you know what I mean."
"Someone's feeling confident are they? What if I say no? Would you sulk off to the puppy dog at home?" She grins and laughs. "OK but don't wake the flatmates. I hope you're not a screamer." She giggles, pulling him out of the club.
They can barely keep their hands off each other all the way to her flat, up the stairs and into her room. He enjoyed undressing her, kissing her, touching her and fucking her. It felt like so long since he had had sex. Who's he kidding? It was a bloody long time.
He dreamt of Sherlock. He can't even escape him in his dreams! It must be the guilt. Normally he says no to him but gives in anyway. Sherlock doesn't normally ask him to stay, or even notice if he's gone, does he? He doesn't think so. His voice just sounded strange, quiet like a scared little boy and if he wasn't thinking with his dick, he would have noticed that. Fuck! Is he alright?
He switches on his phone. Loads of missed calls and texts but nothing after they spoke. Fuck! Well there's nothing from Mrs Hudson or Mycroft so that's good. He hopes he didn't do something stupid. He searched the flat with Mycroft last week after a particularly stressful case and found nothing. They all know that he has the ability to hide anything and it not be found if he wants to. It's fine. I'm sure it's fine. He tells himself. He sends a text.
*Hi, it's me. Erm…. Listen, I'm sorry about last night. I was tired and stressed and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. You are a bit of a prick though, at times. :p Call me back, OK?
He places the phone back on the nightstand as a hand reaches across his chest. "Good morning Doctor." Comes a croaky voice. "Sleep well? I certainly did. Someone wore me out." He grins. "I'm going to get coffee and make myself more presentable and then fancy another go?" She giggles.
He's tempted, he really is but he's worried about Sherlock. He will just phone him quickly. He might be asleep but he usually has his phone somewhere nearby in case Lestrade phones with a juicy corpse. "I'd love a coffee. Just gotta do something really quick." He dials Sherlocks number and listens to it ring. It rings for a very long time before cutting off. He rings again. After the big 'no phone incident' last year when John trawled the hospitals after hours of worrying, before Sherlock dragged himself in saying he left it turned off under his bed, Sherlock always has his phone. It's handy and he answers it, or at least texts back. Why doesn't he have a damn answer machine! He's worried now. He's phoned 6 bloody times! What If he was Lestrade calling? Sherlock wouldn't miss a phone call. Not from John.
He keeps trying and every time it's ringing out. Fuck that man! He gets up, pulling on his trousers. Why didn't he just listen? What if Sherlock knew it was a danger night and wanted him there? He failed his best friend when he needed him most. Some friend he is. He calls Mrs Hudson whilst pulling on his shirt.
"Oh, Mrs Hudson! Amazing! Have you seen him?"
"Who dear?" He rolls his eyes at the phone.
"Sherlock of course. Have you seen him? Listen, I know it's early and I'm on my way home. Can you please just check on him? If you need me, I'll be there soon. Just be careful. We don't know what he's up to!"
"You're worrying me John. What's going on? I'm going now. Will you stay on the phone with me?"
He's pulling on his shoes and grabbing his things as she comes back in with coffee. His face says it all. "I'm sorry. I'll explain later but I've got to go. I'm so sorry." He kisses her, grabbing his keys and hurrying out of the door.
"I'm still here. Are you there?" He asks, running down the road. He just knows it's not good. There is no way he wouldn't have a way for John to contact him. Not after two years of..
He pushes it to the back of his mind, too painful. That's for another time. "I'm here. I'm at the front door. I'll go in shall I?" She whispers, voice shaking.
"Yes please and be careful." He pants at her as he runs. He's not far from home now. If he can make it without having a heart attack then it was worth it.
"Sherlock? Sherlock, are you here, love? It's me, Mrs Hudson from downstairs."
John almost laughs at the mental image of Sherlock rolling his eyes and uttering the word "obviously" under his breath.
"Can you see him? Is he there?"
"Nope. He's not here. I don't know where he- Oh, there's someone upstairs John. They're in your room." He hears her breathing. "Oh John, I'm afraid."
"Don't go in. Just stay where you are. I'm one minute away." He bounces through the door a minute later and runs up the stairs. He sees her, standing outside his door.
"It's alright Mrs Hudson. I can take it from here. You go and get yourself some tea." He hugs her and she starts to walk down the steps.
"Tell him I'm not talking to him, Hudders!" Shouts a familiar voice of the overgrown toddler he knows so well.
John's face reddens in anger. "Oh, for fuck sake! Are you alright? I thought something had happened to you!"
"Can you kindly tell him that I know he heard me say that I am not speaking to him so could he please just leave." Comes the voice.
She turns around, mouth open and utterly confused. "Had a bit of a domestic have we?" She whispers.
"No we have not. Can you please tell Sherlock that I- Oh, this is ridiculous. Excuse me!" He maneuvers her out of the way and attempts to open the door but it's locked. Hmmmm. He has the key. "Hudders… I mean Mrs Hudson, where is the spare key? I think he's locked it."
"Of course I haven't! Tell him to stop being an idiot who ditches his so called best friend for a woman he barely knows and think about why the door won't open."
John shakes his head, thoroughly pissed off now. "Get up Sherlock. It's my room and I'm coming in. Now!"
"No. Tell him no Hudders. I refuse to move. He can't make me. I'm staking my claim on this room for when he leaves us both for Kate!" He shouts.
If he wasn't this angry, John might actually find it amusing. Greg would love this. Bloody idiot. He opens his mouth to shout at Sherlock but Mrs Hudson gets there first.
"For crying out loud you two!" She screams. "You're like a pair of toddlers, fighting over a toy." She shakes her head in frustration. "Well you're on your own. I have things to do that are actually important. Do what you like, just sort it out!" She shouts, storming off down the stairs.
There's awkward silence. John sits with his back to the door. "Come on Sherlock. This is just stupid. Surely you can see that, right? You know why I did it, don't you? "
There's no answer and the silence is too much for John. Sherlock can stew over something for hours and shut himself in his mind palace, time passing without him even realising but John likes to sort things and he wants to get into his bloody room.
John tries to speak but his voice cracks as he asks, "did you… erm… need me last night? Was it one of… those nights? I'm sorry Sherlock. I was distracted and my mind was on other things. I'm here now if you want to talk. She likes you, you know? She thinks you're interesting and a challenge. You two are very alike." He smiles, leaning his head against the door as he remembers them meeting last night and her holding her own against him. "I really like this one, Sherlock. I think you will too if you just give her a chance. I promise that I will be here for you. I'm not going anywhere, any time soon. You're my best friend and we're in this together. Please just open the door. We could talk. I have ginger nuts." He smiles, knowing it always does the trick.
Theres silence for a long time and then a tiny voice. "Ginger nuts? Really?" John smiles. "Don't try to trick me like last time John. You know I'm too smart for your idiotic pranks. Make me tea and i'll be down in a minute." He's back to his bossy self. Maybe they can sort this out after all.
John knows he won't want to talk but that's alright. He's out of the room and John will be able to tell with one look, if he used last night. He had better make the tea. He texts Mrs Hudson.
*He's fine. Just having a sulk over me going on a date. Usual stuff. Thanks.
He gets a text back.
*Oh John, I wish you wouldn't play games with the poor boy. He's not as strong as he would have you believe.
He's confused. He decides she's rambling again and puts his phone down.
Hearing his door creak open and slow, steady footsteps on the stairs, he places the tea and biscuits on the coffee table. Sherlock looks tired and fed up, big bags under his eyes and his hair a frizzy mess. He reminds him of a child who stayed up all night waiting for Santa to come and regrets it in the morning when he's exhausted. That breaks his heart a little.
He hasn't used, or at least he doesn't think so. He has a certain complexion when he has. He will try and have a look at his arms after. He knows if Sherlock wanted to hide it from him, there's plenty of places that he knows John can't see.
"Here we are, your majesty. Tea and biscuits." He grins, putting one into his own mouth. Sitting down opposite him, both in their chairs, he opens the paper to look for cases. "Anything good in here Sherlock?"
"That's your job, not mine." He says shooting John a look and John returns it with a scowl.
"I left it here yesterday and told you to take a look. It was supposed to keep you busy while I was out."
"Oh, I probably wasn't listening. Oh well, you can just look now. There's rarely anything worth my time anyway." He mumbles, chewing on a mouthful of biscuit and opening John's laptop.
After a while of typing and John suggesting cases to him and receiving a huffy noise in return, Sherlock's voice pops over the top of the laptop, without him even looking up.
"She's far too young for you John. When you get older and suffer from erectile dysfunction or aren't able to keep up with her, which is inevitable, she will toss you on the scrapheap."
"Oh shut up! What do you know about it?" He wishes he didn't ask. Too late. For the next ten minutes he is given a complete rundown of everything Sherlock knows about her. Some things he knows are true and others he would rather have discovered for himself. Like the fact that she likes to climb mountains and jump from planes, likes dogging and shoplifts lipsticks and perfumes. He is pretty sure that Sherlock made the last ones up to put him off. It didn't work. He likes her and that is that. John scowls at him from behind his newspaper.
"Right. Well OK then. Thanks for the advice. I'm going to shower and do some jobs and then I'm seeing her tonight. Want to join me?" He asks and then seeing Sherlock's face, realises what he said. "On my errands Sherlock, not my date, or my shower."
"I know what you meant, John." He looks at him, eyes narrowed, trying to look bored and failing miserably. "No, I don't. I have far more important things to do."
John knows that that means he can't be bothered and would rather sit and sulk at home.
"Now look who doesn't want to spend time with their friend." John says, walking away with a smile.
He heads to his room to get clothes and notices that as much as Sherlock thinks he's done a good job of fixing it, he's not as good at making a bed, military style, as he thinks. It doesn't quite have John's tight corners and the sheet isn't pulled quite tight enough across the bed. Sherlocks failing. He obviously slept on, or in, here last night and hasn't noticed what a bad job he's done. Sherlock never misses details like this. Maybe it's worse than he thought. Did he really miss him that much? He knows that Sherlock doesn't always like change and he doesn't usually stay out unless he's away but this is a bit much.
"Sherlock, have you slept in my bed?" He shouts, without leaving the room.
"No!" A snappy voice comes, far too quickly, calling up the stairs. "I have my own perfectly good one thank you. I tested them out when I moved in and mine is far superior to yours."
Hmmm. He's lying now. He only does that if he's embarrassed about something. He actually did miss him then. He can't help but smile at that.
After calling Jenny to apologise (yet again!) For his swift departure, he arranges to see her that night. He takes a deep breath and dials the next number.
"Greg, I need a favour mate. Fancy a babysitting shift?"
"I dunno mate. I'm not great with babies. I mean, I could, but…. Hang on, who's kid is it?"
"Well, he's not really a baby. He just moans like one and is as needy as one."
"Oh, I see. Sherlock duty." He sighs down the phone. "Come on mate, last time was a nightmare. I told you, never again!"
"Mate, I can't cope. He's driving me nuts. I need a night out and I need someone to keep him away from me. No texting, no calling, no showing up. Please. I swear he's like a limpet on my side. I'll make it up to you. Footie at the pub, food and lots of beer. Please mate. I really like her and it's going well. I stayed over at hers last night and I don't think he liked being on his own."
"He stays on his own when you're away and he's fine. What's the difference?"
"I'm not sure but he sounded different." He lowers his voice even more. "Mate, I think he slept in my bed."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know but I don't trust him alone. I don't care what you do or where you take him but just keep him company and away from me, please."
"Fine. I'll take him tonight if you want. I'm on call though so if something comes up, I'm going to have to take him with me. He will moan to high hell if it's not high enough on the Sherlock scale."
John can hear the stress in Greg's voice. "Thanks mate. Just tonight, OK? She has something she wants us to try together and I don't know what it is but I'm all up for giving it a go." He chuckles. " I really do owe you. Thanks Greg."
"I'll be needing all that beer after tonight. I hope you're loaded." He laughs. "What time shall I come over?"
"Six? Is that alright? Apparently it has to be dark. Maybe we're going stargazing or something cool like that. I'd ask Sherlock what she's planning but he would just come up with something ridiculous. Thanks mate. I'll see you at 6."
"Alright."
He hangs up, grinning to himself and excited about tonight's adventure. He wonders what it is.
"Sherlock! I'm nipping to the shops. I'm going out tonight and Greg's keeping you company!" He yells, and as he shuts the front door behind him, he hears "I'm not a -" being screamed from upstairs. He giggles to himself, knowing how annoyed Sherlock will be that he has to spend the evening with 'the idiot from Scotland Yard'.
Poor Greg. Sherlock does like to wind him up. It works too and so he does it more, he's such an easy target. The best part is that Sherlock actually likes him. He doesn't like that he has to share John with him, but he thinks Greg is a good bloke really.
As John reenters the flat, expecting the pouty face and the huffing on the sofa, he finds Sherlock sitting at the table, working on some experiment or other.
"What's that then?" He asks, nodding to the pile of junk on the table. He gets a glare and then Sherlock goes back to it.
John curses under his breath and turns to unpack the shopping.
"So, the silent treatment, huh? I am allowed a life of my own Sherlock." He speaks slowly, trying to stay calm. Nothing from Sherlock. John pulls a face at him and continues with the shopping. "Is this about me going out or you hanging out with Greg?"
The grunt he gets back tells him it's probably both.
"Oh come on! I don't stop you from doing things!" He pauses. "Well, unless they're ridiculous and dangerous, even then you don't bloody listen. Why shouldn't I go out? I even found a bab-" He winces, knowing it hasn't got past Sherlock. Nothing gets past Sherlock.
"Oh, baby now am I? Inconvenience, limpet and now baby! Well, its nice to know how you really feel." Sherlocks up now, face close to johns. Closer than he's comfortable with. Sherlocks never understood personal space. He's looking at him with that sadness in his eyes that John normally only sees if he's trying to admit he's done something wrong without actually saying it. This is different though. He actually looks upset. After a few seconds of staring, Sherlock storms off, flopping on the sofa, dressing gown swirled over him and mumbling something into the backrest.
"Hey. I don't think that mate. I just wanted you to have some company. You know I don't really feel-"
"Just stop John." Comes a small, sombre voice. "I heard you talking to Greg. You're not as quiet as you think, with anything."
"That conversation was private, you prick. How would you like it if I listened to your private chats?"
"That would be virtually impossible John, as I generally only text and the only person I ever really call is you."
John realises that it's true. Also, Sherlock has no friends, except Hudders and Greg. Neither of them would be having juicy conversations with him. That makes his heart hurt a bit.
"That's true. Does that make me special?" He thinks it might lighten the mood but no. Sherlock says something so quietly to himself, but John thinks he catches the word special in there. Probably the bastard being rude again. "He's on call, might get a case. That'll be exciting, won't it?"
More mumbling. He gives up. He makes himself a cup of tea and leaves one for Sherlock. He knows it'll go cold but it's the thought that counts and as much as Sherlock would disagree, John's always got Sherlock in his thoughts. He thinks he's nodded off, or gone to his mind palace. Either way, there will be no conversation for a while so he heads upstairs to get ready for his date.
He tries to cheer himself up with a bit of Queen and Bon Jovi. Belting out some bad singing usually does the trick, but not today. He hates it when they argue. He doesn't think Sherlock's an inconvenience, or a pain in the arse. He's quite sweet really. Watching his face as he tries to solve a case, or listening to him playing his violin downstairs when he's frustrated by something, are things that always make him smile and he feels one creep across his face as he thinks about it now. He's his best mate, for crying out loud.
He finishes dressing and heads downstairs, hearing Sherlock back at the table. "Tea?" John asks, trying to break the awkwardness and noticing that the one he made had been drunk for once.
Sherlock just tinkers with the pieces on the table. There's wires and circuit boards all over the place.
"Need help with that?" He asks and cringes, knowing Sherlock would never admit it, even if he did. Sherlock looks at him, deadpan and raises an eyebrow. John knows that look.
"Look, I'm sorry. Do you really not want me to go?" Nothing. "Fine, I'll stay and I can stare at the wall, listening to you banging about, doing God knows what all night!" He tries to pull it back but it's hard. Sherlock's being a selfish prick and he knows it. "Well?"
Sherlock doesn't even look up. "Fine. I'll see you in the morning then." He sees Sherlocks eyebrow go up, as if he wants to say that he is a bit over confident. He decides to ignore it and be the bigger man here, pulling on his shoes. "My phone will be off and Greg will be here for any needs you have. Well, goodnight then." He mutters as he heads down the stairs, knowing that Sherlock's eyes are upon him.
______
Greg knocks the door, rings the bell and shouts through the letterbox but no answer. Maybe Sherlock went out after all. He will ring John, he will know what to do. He takes his phone out and sees a text.
*In case he doesn't answer, I've hidden a key. It's on the ledge of the window, above the door. I know Mrs Hudson's out. Hopefully he hasn't found it yet. I'm turning my phone off now. Thanks mate.
Greg laughs to himself before stretching up on his tiptoes to feel for the key. It's there. "Not always so smart are we Sherlock?" He says to himself, opening the door and quietly ascending the stairs. He pushes open the door to the flat and sees him sitting, crossed legged on the sofa, pajamas bottoms on and a dressing gown tied around him, hiding inside his mind palace.
"Sherlock. Hey, Sherlock, it's Greg. I thought I might take you for chips. I know you like them when…" John's told him how chips are what he likes when he's feeling a bit off. Now is likely one of those times. No answer and he doesn't want to shake him (well he does but for an entirely different reason) so he finds something to do.
He makes a cup of tea and just waits. He finishes John's crossword and waits some more. He receives a call about a case and talks through it with the policeman on the phone. Suddenly Sherlock jumps up with a gasp.
"Ah, a case. Let's go!" He shouts as he bounds up the hallway to get dressed.
"But you don't even know what it is!" Greg shouts after him, but he's gone. He's shouting through the door, checking the facts he heard, in case he missed anything on the other end of the phone before bounces out of his room.
"Come on Graham! The corpse won't wait forever!"
Greg rolls his eyes and mumbles to himself. "That's exactly what a corpse does."
He's confused. This is unlike him. Is he really that bored or that lonely that he would just take a case? This is Sherlock in the days where he would take any opportunity to visit a crime scene, not caring what it was. He enjoyed the chase and anything was exciting to him. It's nice to have that back. He smiles and follows him down the stairs.
__________
When they arrive at the murder site, Sherlock's still as chipper as he was in the car on the way over. He eyes the man who found the victim. His uncle, it seems. Sherlock has a brief conversation before rudely dismissing him with a wave of his hand.
He's on the floor now, far too close to the dead man's body as usual. Greg wonders how he can take that smell up close. He's almost nose to nose with him, looking like he's preparing to give him the kiss of life. Greg tries not to smile and wants to tell him it's a bit late for that, but no, he needs to be professional. He always finds it funny that he can't see any difference in being this close to a body and this close to a living person. No boundaries, unless they're his of course!
He walks around the corpse, waving his hands and measuring things, spinning around, as he does (Greg's sure it's for dramatic effect) and pulls faces, before grabbing Greg by the arm and dragging him towards the car.
"Where are we going?" Greg asks impatiently. "We're supposed to be assessing the crime scene." Sherlock doesn't look or answer, just keeps walking. "Sherlock!" He shouts, causing him to pause. "Where are we going?"
"Oh." Sherlock looks surprised, like it never occurred to him that Greg might want to know. "I need to check on something. I need to speak to someone. Come on Greg!" He says, sounding annoyed and heading towards the car. Greg stares open mouthed at the fact he actually called him Greg. He has to tell John this when he sees him.
Greg makes a sound between a growl and a groan, slumps his shoulders and follows behind him like a puppy. This is how John feels all the time, he thinks to himself. Poor bastard.
He drives faster than he should, in a hurry to get to where he's going. Sherlock navigates (with the help of his phone) and takes him down all these roads he doesn't know. Before long they're in the middle of nowhere. "Are you sure you know where you're going? There's nothing here!" He says, annoyed.
"Of course I do! Trust me. We're exactly where we need to be." He looks sure, giving Greg a disapproving look for doubting him. "Ah hah, there we are!" He says gleefully. Parked in a layby is a little green car.
"This person a poacher or a birdwatcher?" Greg asks, perplexed. "Don't think they'll be happy about us creeping up on the in the dark, mate. Maybe we should sound a signal so they don't have a heart attack, or shoot us."
"I'm sure they'll be fine." Sherlock smirks as he approaches the car and knocks on the window, shining his torch inside. Greg is just about to tell him to stop when he sees John's confused face pop-up from the back seat, hair dishevelled and covering his eyes from the torchlight. He looks both shocked and angry. He is not a happy camper.
"Sherlock, what the fuck?!" John shouts, scrambling to do up his clothes, but it's barely audible with the window locked. "You absolute tosspot. What the fuck are you doing here?"
Greg stares at him, that usual confused but irritated look on his face "Sherlock?" He mutters looking between him and John, where sherlocks still shining his light into the window, like he's looking for clues. He's just watching John, not at all embarrassed that he's half naked. "Sherlock, what's going on? Don't make me arrest you as a bloody peeping Tom, and John, you and your date need some privacy." He glares at Sherlock and drags him off by the arm.
"Bloody hell Sherlock. This is not OK. Do you understand that?"
"I needed to talk to him. He helps with clearing my mind so I can concentrate. I'm distracted."
"Bullshit! You've done cases without him before. This isn't fair! We're going, now!" He drags him into the car and points at him, looking angry but secretly amused. "Stay there! I mean it." He gives him a look that says he's furious but mostly disappointed, the look that Greg often saw as a child when he did something wrong.
John exits the car, straightening up his clothes. He talks to Greg, waving his hands and pointing at Sherlock. Sherlock sees John's date, staring out of the back window, looking flustered and embarrassed. He smiles, knowing he's won. How dare she take his best friend. Greg's stopping him from heading over to Sherlock with a hand gently on his chest but John is fuming. If this was a cartoon he would have smoke pouring out of his ears. Sherlocks never understood that. Smoke doesn't come out of you like that. It's physically impossible but he smiles all the same. That sets John off and he swipes at Greg's hand and storms towards him, looking like he will punch him. Sherlock stands up, hands in his pockets, hoping he won't. "I tried to tell you John. You didn't listen."
John pauses, breathing hard. "What crap are you talking now? Told me what, Mr know it all? The all seeing eye! Total dickhead more like. Told me what?"
"A dogger John. I told you she was a dogger." He says, feeling smug.
"Read the room Sherlock." Greg says through gritted teeth, hand on each of them. "Get back in the car."
Sherlock shrugs and sits back in the car.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" John shouts, too closely to Sherlock for Greg's liking. "Ruin my life and don't give a shit! You are not my child and you're obviously not my friend! Fuck off now and don't expect me home!" He shouts and spins around, stomping off towards her car. He turns and marches back towards Sherlock. "How? Just how? I didn't even know I was coming here!"
Sherlock's face tells him that there might be no coming back if he comes clean but he needs to be honest. "I put a tracker in your coat." He hangs his head. "It was only becau-"
"I don't wanna hear it! We're done!" And off he goes, Sherlock trying to stop the tears forming.
Greg rubs his hands over his forehead. "Fuck. I think you've really done it this time mate"
Sherlock looks at him, more concerned than he meant to give away.
He watches John pull away in the car and notices how he doesn't look back. Greg almost feels sorry for him. They need to have a very long talk but where to start. He lets out a massive sigh, his body deflating as he does. Then he remembers.
"Fuck. The case Sherlock. We're supposed to be on the case. We will deal with this disaster later." He pauses and looks at him. "Why did you do it? Huh? We've lost time on the case, John may never speak to you again and for what?"
Sherlock's quiet. He obviously doesn't want to talk about it so he tries to change the subject. "So the case. What do we know?"
He sees Sherlock's mind running through information. "Well?" He must have something. He always has something. "Sherlock! For fucks sake, snap out of it. The dead man is waiting." He's getting impatient. He is losing time. "Sher-"
"Oh for crying out loud Graham!" He snaps, spinning his head to look at him. "It was the uncle. It was always the uncle. Even a child could work that out!" He spits out. "He was obviously embezzling from the casino and our victim was about to go to the police. Look at his clothes. They're almost spotless. Not a drop of blood. If he tried to revive him as he said he would have more on him. He's hidden the clothes, along with the gun, probably in the nearest skip and come back clean. Even a simpleton like yourself should be able to work that out!" He finally breathes.
Greg stands there open-mouthed. He never fully gets how his brain does that and probably never will. He's always a little hurt by Sherlock's name calling but deep down he knows he probably doesn't mean it.
"Let's head back to the scene shall we? Need as much as we can to lock this guy up." He says, trying to find a way to take Sherlock's mind off what's just happened. He needs to keep him talking and distracted. They talk about the case on the way back and Sherlock fills in the gaps for Greg. He's calmed down now and Greg can tell that he's distracted by what's happened.
"Look mate, let's sort this and then I'll hand it over and we can talk about it. I'm sure he's just angry. He will come around. Just give him some time." He touches Sherlock's shoulder but he just shrugs and gets out of the car, holding a hand up to Sally's face as he passes her. If she speaks to him God help her, Greg thinks to himself.
He doesn't know how to sort John out. He has every right to be angry but Greg doesn't know how Sherlock would cope without him. Will he cope without him? He watches him holding his own, arguing with a policeman who's trying to get him away from what looks like a puddle of blood. He looks like a cat, trying to lick up some spilt milk. The poor guy obviously regrets questioning it now as Sherlock stands up and talks to him, pointing a finger at his face and then down at the blood puddle. Greg rubs his hand across his face before slumping his shoulders and walking over to them with a sigh.
After passing all the information he can, on to another detective, he turns to Sherlock. "Let's get those chips, huh? It's been a long night."
"We've only been out for two hours, Graham." Sherlock says, looking tired. "Am I really that bad? So bad that you can't spend two hours with me, without it seeming like an eternity." He sounds sad and Greg wonders if that's the voice that John heard last night. He was going to walk him home and leave, but he thinks he will stay. Maybe it isn't the best time for him to be alone.
They walk back from the chippy, barely talking, both off in their heads, likely thinking about John. "I know I'm a lot, Greg and sometimes I don't like that about me. John takes so much and I can't help it. It's like I know that no matter how hard I push, he will always come back, but I'm losing him, I can feel it. He's moving on and I…."
Greg feels his heart ache for him. He's never seen Sherlock like this. He didn't even know he could be like this. "John loves you mate. More than anyone or anything. He's not about to up and leave. It's a date. Just a silly date."
Sherlock won't look at him. Just walks and eats. "But it's different lately. It's…."
"What?" He tries to help.
"It's like he wants to be anywhere and with anyone but me. It's just one woman after another and before it was just…. us." He sounds like a child who's losing a parent. He knows John means alot to Sherlock, but he doesn't feel like other people do. Or does he?
"Oh Sherlock, you daft bugger. It's not that. John just has……you know." Sherlock just looks at him confused, fishing out his door keys. Greg's looking at the floor, not wanting to have this conversation. He groans. "Ugh! Needs. The man has needs." He's blushing now. It feels weird talking about John's needs. Especially after seeing what they saw earlier.
Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on, I'm not five. I know we have needs but you just deal with it yourself. You don't need to chase women to do it. It's just a job to be done and then you move on." He says, very matter of factly.
Greg lets out a breath as he slumps onto the sofa. "It's not that easy mate. Different people have different needs and they sometimes involve more than just them."
"Well that's stupid Greg. Couples are for families and perfect little homes." He pulls a face. "Not often you hear of relationships being all flowers and romance. Basic animal instincts are something that we can't help and I understand that, but dating and sexual encounters are just a waste of time."
"For you maybe, but sex and intimacy between two people is important for John. He needs that human connection that he can't always get….. from you. He loves you but you can't supply what he needs." Sherlock doesn't get it. Greg can see that there's no way to win this conversation but he's going to try.
"All I'm saying is that sex is overrated if you ask me. Don't know what all the fuss is about." Sherlock says in a very flat tone.
"Oh", Gregs surprised. "So you have had sex?"
"Of course Graham. No need to look so shocked. I needed to find out what makes people kill and sex is a big part of that, along with drugs, money, jealousy and love. I of course haven't experienced either of the last two but we can't make ourselves feel something that isn't there can we?"
Greg clears his throat, not wanting to state what's obvious to everyone except this idiot. "Maybe you did it with the wrong person. It's different with someone you find attractive and definitely with someone you love."
"She was attractive, or so I'm told. Honestly, her brain was far more attractive to me than her body. She was much more into it than I was."
Greg wants to ask if it's Irene but won't. That's Sherlock's secret to keep.
"I know you don't always see things as we do." He's not sure this is going well. He clears his throat. "I mean your brain is……. Well, you know." He shrugs at Sherlock. "Anyway, to you these things may not seem as important as they are to us. You've got to admit that things like this aren't always the most clear to you."
"That's unfair! I understand things far better than you do, I just cut out all of the emotional baggage. There's no need for it. It slows things down, complicates matters and just leads to heartbreak for the people involved. I just choose to ignore it,unless it's needed for a case, of course."
Greg chews his lip. "OK. So we see it as a case. The case of John Watson and his addiction to ladies." Greg grins. Sherlock doesn't. Oh.
"This is ridiculous." Sherlock snaps. "I don't see that this is helpful to either of us. I understand Graham, I just don't know why he can't just stay and keep me company and look after his needs himself."
"It's called a connection Sherlock!" He's getting annoyed. "People need to be held and caressed, to whisper sweet things to each other, to kiss and to have experiences that they can recall when they 'DIY it' like you do. John needs that and you can't give that to him. There's different kinds of love, Sherlock and not all platonic. I don't think you always get it and I'm sorry for that, but not everyone is like you." Greg's feeling worse and worse as each word leaves his mouth but can't stop himself.
"Can't you see how much he cares for you? How torn he is between hating and loving you at times. It's cruel, Sherlock and he can't take it forever. You have to share him or give him up and that's life. If you love him as much as I know you do, you need to let him have this." He takes in Sherlock's expression. He's angry but trying to hide it and he doesn't do it well.
Greg leans forward in his seat. "What happens when he walks back in that door, whether it's tonight, tomorrow or next week?" He nods towards the living room door. "He will expect something."
"He may not come back. I know that." He lets out a big sigh. "He's all I have. Sure there's Hudders but I can't really drag her out to cases. She has a hip." He says, deadpan.
"And….." Greg waits. Sherlock looks at him, unsure what he's waiting for. Greg groans. "And me. You have me. I know we don't always see eye to eye and sometimes you are the biggest arsehole I've ever met, but I like you. Honestly, there's no one like you and I will always be here. No getting rid of me." He grins.
Sherlock looks at him. "That's for cases, Greg, that's different."
"No, as friends. You called me Greg. I like it when you call me Greg." He smiles.
"Why? Your name is Graham." Sherlock teases.
"Dick." Greg laughs. "Come on. What do you say to us hanging out more? Give John some time and he will quickly get bored. I'm just as fun as John, I promise."
Sherlock considers his proposal. "I very much doubt that, but you do have better access to crime scenes." Greg lets out a laugh. "It's not the same though, is it?"
"He's not a plaything. You can't monopolise his time like this. Please say you see that?" He pauses and takes a deep breath. "So what happens when you see him?"
"I apologise, even if I don't mean it." He says like a sulky toddler.
"No. Nothing will change. We need a plan. Something to tell him there will be changes. Me, you, three nights a week, whether it's working or not. Can we do that?"
"You'll get bored of me too, but fine."
"Of course I won't, you git." He smiles to himself. "See, I already sound like him. And you'll apologise?"
"If I must. I'm not the one dumping his best friend though am I?"
"Well maybe he will understand how it feels when you're out with me, having fun, or not, three nights a week. Maybe he will get bored and beg for you back?" He gives him a look which says, stranger things have happened.
"Let's do this then, but I think you two need to talk and clear the air. I'm going to crash here tonight, but first I need to check in with work." He pulls out his phone and makes a call.
"Do what you want, I'm finishing my work." He mutters, heading back to his electrical heap. He's sulking and Greg thinks how small he sometimes looks, even though he's like a giant at others.
"Do you want some tea?" Greg asks him.
"It's like John never left." He sounds bored. "No. Busy."
"Mind if I watch telly then?"
"You don't have to babysit me. I don't have any in the house." He glares at Greg.
"Well let's be on the safe side shall we?" Greg doesn't back down.
There's a long pause, maybe half an hour or so before he speaks. He says it very normally, not even looking up, but Greg knows what's behind it. "So, has he messaged you?"
"Sorry, who?" He shouldn't tease him but he needs him to say it.
"John, of course. Have you heard from him?" He pauses, waiting for Greg's answer. "Maybe you should just message him, make sure he's OK?" He looks awkward. "I mean, I don't care but that's what friends do and I thought you were his friend."
"Um, no mate. Shall I?" He feels quite sorry for him, with his inability to admit he cares.
"Whatever. I don't care." He replies, eyes telling a different story.
"OK. Shall I tell him you're sorry?" He smirks.
"Oh for God's sake, give it here!" He snaps, stealing the phone from Greg and typing a text faster than anyone he's ever seen. He sends it, keeping the phone.
"Erm…..what did it say?" He tries to take the phone but Sherlock moves it out of reach and puts his head back into his project.
_________
BEEP
He knows it'll be Sherlock. He's not going to check it. He makes that mistake every time, just in case it's important, he will check and there's always some urgent problem.
"You can get it. It's fine." She says as they're lying in bed, still fully dressed. He couldn't get into the mood after imagining Sherlock’s face over and over again, peering through that window. Also the rage he felt hadn't quite disappeared yet and he couldn't face it. She tried to talk to him but he was still too angry.
"No!" He snaps, more than he wanted to. "Sorry. He just….. it won't be important, but he will say it is and he will drag me home."
"Would you go? If he told you to?" She's interested.
He doesn't answer. Honestly, he wouldn't want to but he doesn't know.
"I think I have my answer." She says, sounding disappointed.
"No, no. I mean…." He can't lie to her. He knows he probably would. He's run out on extremely important things for him before. He doesn't know why he has this hold on him but he does.
"John. You're lying to yourself. Tell me how you feel about Sherlock." She turns to look into his eyes. "Do you love him?"
"Of course I love him. He's my best friend. I'm closer to him than anyone. I mean, he probably doesn't think the same." He looks away from her, trying to hide how upset he gets, thinking about how Sherlock will never care about him the way he wants him to. He knows Sherlock isn't built that way. Feelings aren't his thing and he's just glad for the friendship they have.
"That's not true and deep down you know that. You're who he calls when he's sad or alone. You're who he wants to talk to first thing in the morning and last thing at night. You calm him and keep him grounded. You're his guiding star John. I'd kill for a relationship like that." She smiles at him, cupping his face and kissing his forehead. "I think your love for Sherlock goes far beyond flatmates. Maybe you need to explore that, either alone or together."
He pulls a face at her. He thinks she's going mental. "We're best friends. Of course we're more than flatmates. We love each other. That's what people do."
She looks at him, like she's trying to read what's in his brain. He wonders what she's thinking as she hands him his phone. It's Greg. He can handle Greg.
*John, I'm here with Sherlock. He's upset by what happened and asked me to apologise for him. He's sorry. He's at home if you want to talk.
John shakes his head. "Yeah, of course he is." He says to himself. He starts to type a message, trying to disguise his facial expression.
*Oh, because we all know how much he likes to admit he's wrong. I know what will happen, I'll come home and he will be his usual self. I can't do it anymore mate. I just can't. It feels like we're always going around in circles. Apparently I love him, according to Jenny. How ridiculous! I feel like I'm going insane. Another relationship gone because he comes before everything else. I'm so confused Greg. I need to talk to you and I can't because we're probably both being stared at by the people we need to talk about. What should I do? I don't think she will listen. I really like her mate.
He waits impatiently for a reply. She places a cup of tea next to him. He didn't even notice she had gone. Why is she being so nice? Finally, he hears that familiar sound.
BEEP
*And do you?
*Do I what?
He messages back quickly.
*Love him?
John huffs out a breath and rubs his hand across the back of his neck. Honestly, it's never entered his brain about loving Sherlock. There's no denying he's attractive. Any fool can see that but he's not… is he?
*I'm not into men, Greg.
*That isn't what I asked, John.
*Of course I love him.
A writing bubble appears and scares John. He just needs to clarify.
*He's my best friend. That's all.
The bubble disappears and the phone stops beeping. After five minutes he pushes it aside, offended by its lack of conversation. He doesn't understand where Greg went. Maybe there was a problem? What if Sherlock's hurt or done something stupid. Fuck. He needs to know.
*Greg, are you all alright? Where did you go?
BEEP
He sighs with relief as he sees the message pop up.
*We're fine John. Just letting you have a life outside of the flat with your date!
Something is wrong. Greg's weird. Then it hits him.
*Sherlock, is this you?
He hopes not. What if he sees the previous messages? Fuck, he would be mortified. What if Sherlock thought he was actually in love with him? He will have messed up his friendship, his relationship and (maybe) lied to both of his best friends. None of this was what he expected when he woke up this morning.
He doesn't get a reply. He chews his lip and rubs at his temple.
*Is this you, Sherlock? Talk to me, please? Fuck it, I'm coming home!
He turns to Jenny. She just smiles at him. "Going home?"
He doesn't even know what expression he gives her. His body feels like mush and his brain feels just as bad.
"I'm so sorry, love. Rain Check?" He says without thinking. He's so used to saying it now that he doesn't even realise it.
She raises an eyebrow and gives him a confused expression. "I think you need to talk this through with him before planning future dates. Just think about it, talk and let me know. OK?" She kisses his cheek. "Want a lift home?" She says, hugging him.
That's all it takes. He relaxes into her and the tears start to fall. It feels like years in the making. I mean, it is, but he didn't realise how much he had held inside him. He squeezes her tight. "I'm sorry. I didn't do any of this on purpose. You know that, right?" He sobs.
"I know. It's alright. This happens." She whispers, running her fingers through his hair. "We would have been good but I think this thing with him could be better. Just see, or you may always regret it and I wouldn't want to be second best for the rest of our lives. If you decide that this is what you want, I'll be here."
He can't speak. He just cries into her shoulder while his brain squeezes out tears to make room for thoughts. He just nods and attempts a smile.
"Drink your tea and i'll drive you home."
As he calms down, they talk about Sherlock. About how they met and what they've been through since. She watches him and smiles at all of the extra bits of information he adds in about Sherlock being funny or cute.
"You're smitten. You know that, right?" She blurts out.
"I'm not. I'm not…." He can't say it. He's questioning it and he doesn't want to lie to her as well.
"What are you scared of John?" She asks quietly. He doesn't answer. "Rejection? Admitting you have feelings for a man? What's stopping you?"
"I don't… I have never…. I've never had feelings like that for him."
"Well, whatever the issue, you need to figure it out. You can't keep going around in circles. It's not fair on anyone. Let's get you home so you can make a start."
_________
Sherlock sits quietly at the phone, never looking at Greg, although Greg's been boring a hole into the back of his head for the past 20 minutes, watching his expressions change and go through the range of emotions. John's coming home. That means he has to admit the texts to Greg or own up to John that it was him. Either way it's awful. He skims back through them, knowing it's unnecessary because he can remember every word, but wanting something to do with his hands. What should he say to him when he comes home? Try to be casual, be open about how he really feels, or maybe he should talk to Greg, but opening up about his feelings has never been his strong point.
He puts the phone face down on the table and walks to the sofa, not needing anything but walking helps him to think.
"Everything alright mate? Is John alright?" Greg looks concerned.
Sherlock just nods, collects his paper and returns to the table.
"Sherlock, what's wrong? Don't tell me it's fine because your face says otherwise. Is he leaving, staying out for the night, coming home? What's going on? You look… odd."
"It's private Graham. No business of yours."
"You used my phone to do God only knows what, so I'm involved. Deal with it. Is John OK?"
Greg's suddenly getting more annoyed. "I'm going to call him." He snaps, trying to take the phone but Sherlock holds it to his chest.
He slowly turns the phone and hands it to Greg, really not wanting to admit the thing that's going to leave his mouth next, but he has no other choice. "I don't know what to do Greg. I've really messed this up and there's no going back."
He stares at the floor while Greg reads the messages, face becoming more surprised.
"Shit. Alright." His body language is suddenly very different. These two don't do feelings and especially not when it's as important as this. "Erm, OK. We can do this. Where do we start?"
They sit in silence, both wanting to ask questions and receive answers but the words escape them. Finally the silence is broken when Greg clears his throat and rasps out, "do you?"
Sherlock seems to have not heard him. "Sherlock, I said, do you?"
Greg looks at him, jaw clenched tight. He's heard but won't answer that. His eyes look heavy and his head hangs. Greg doesn't need to hear the answer because It's written all over his face. Why didn't he see this before? Why did it have to all go this wrong before anyone saw what was in front of their faces. "Oh. I see. How long have you…. known?"
Sherlock sits motionless. He's not expecting a reply so he continues. "So the girlfriends and the breakups were because of this?"
Sherlock shifts uncomfortably in his chair but says nothing. "Fuck. Why didn't you just tell him, or me? We could have avoided this by talking." He pauses but nothing comes from Sherlock. Do you think he knows now that you…." He swallows before continuing, dreading the words. "Love him?"
Sherlock shakes his head. It's barely visible, but he knows it's there. He slumps his shoulders further forward and brings his feet up, curling himself into a ball. He suddenly seems so small and frightened by the things he feels.
Greg doesn't know how to do this. He's had the training and if it was with John, no problem, but Sherlock. He doesn't want to fuck it up and make it worse.
"What can I do to help?" There's the tiniest shrug from his shoulders and his body curls in on itself even tighter. He thinks there may be tears but it's hard to tell. Time is ticking and he will be home soon.
"Do you want me to leave? Before he gets here, I mean." No sound, just the small shake of a head. He touches Sherlock's shoulder. "I've got you, it's fine. I'm here for you." He feels his friends breathing change and his movements, although small, become small jolts, throughout his body, as he silently begins to cry. His natural instinct is to reach out and hug him tight, but he's not always one for touch, on other people's terms. He doesn't care. He's going to do it anyway.
He leans forward, body laying along Sherlock’s back and wraps his arms around him tightly. "It's alright Sherlock. It'll all be alright." The sobbing becomes louder and his whole body moves with every jolt from Sherlock's. He feels every painful pull on his heartstrings, every tear, wrenching itself from his eyes. All he can do is hold him close and whisper that it's all going to be alright.
"Sherlock?" Comes a voice, filled with concern, from across the room. "What's happened? Greg?"
As Greg looks up, he sees John looking at them with no idea what is going on. "Is he alright?" He asks and Greg shakes his head, but one look at John's appearance tells him that John isn't either. He looks dishevelled and his face is puffy and blotchy. He's been crying too then. These two are clueless aren't they?
"Want me to go?" He whispers to Sherlock, feeling him shake his head. "I could make tea?" He feels like it's the proper British thing to do in moments like these. He hears a tiny, barely there, "thank you Greg," escape his lips and he smiles at the use of his name.
"I'll make tea." He says to John, walking away quickly, before he could be asked anything else. He flicks on the kettle and then goes to make himself busy at the sofa doing some invisible task or other.
________
John stands there, flexing his fists and rolling on the balls of his feet. A few times, he tries to speak but after opening his mouth, realises there's nothing there. He does what he always does in times like these. He walks to Sherlock, kneels next to him and places a hand on his leg.
He expects him to flinch but he just sits there, trying his hardest not to cry. "Talk to me, please. I don't know what's happening and it's scaring me. Is this about the car, Jenny, the texts? Has something else happened?" He looks to Greg who just buries himself further behind a magazine.
"Tea, Greg?" He says, reminding him of his task and mumbles "you're helpful, " sarcastically as he passes.
Greg gives him a look that says he's sorry but he can't.
"Sherlock. We need to talk. Do you want Greg here?" He shrugs.
"Mate, I can stay if you want me to. It's up to you. You and John need to talk and sort this. I'll go and make a call in your room. Check on the case, alright? I'm here if you need me. Either of you." He places a hand on both of their shoulders and gives them a squeeze.
"Thanks Greg. I'm glad you were with him tonight." He takes a big breath as Greg places down the tea on the table and walks away.
"Just us now." He feels the pressure like a house of cards collapsing around him. All these tiny lies and feelings, built up over years and finally unable to hold any longer. He stares at Sherlock's hands, gripping onto his feet for dear life, like a life preserver in the sea.
"Speak to me Sherlock. I don't know where to start. Was it you? On the phone. Was it you?"
Sherlock nods and John's heart sinks further. Fuck. "OK, let's start there." He breathes hard. "I'm sorry I said those things. She was filling my head with thoughts I'd never had, or maybe did but didn't realise. You mean more to me than anyone in this world and I'd drop anything for you. You know that, right?"
Sherlock doesn't move.
"You're not giving me a lot to work with here Sherlock. I need a little help." With shaking hands he reaches across and places a hand onto Sherlocks. It sits there, cold and unmoving before the fingers open to wrap around John's. They suddenly feel warmer, bigger than he remembered and right. Just the touch of them, helping to settle his nerves. He leans his head into Sherlocks calf as he melts into the floor, this evening catching up on him. "You know you're everything to me." He knows what they need to discuss.
"Sherlock, about the…. Love thing." He feels Sherlock tense and his hand starts to slide away, John not letting go. "I… I don't feel for you in the way that someone in love feels." He knows the right words are harder to find than he thinks. He holds tight to Sherlocks hand as he fights to take it away. Sherlock snatches it back and heads to the sofa, slumping down into a ball and covering himself in a blanket. John could slap himself. Why didn't he finish?
He follows him to the sofa, sitting next to him and placing a hand on his back. His voice is quiet and the words are barely audible, but he knows they are the most important words he might ever say.
His hands shake and his voice is no better. He hangs his head and finally allows himself to speak. "I don't feel about you the way love should feel, because I never knew how love felt before. It's not about lust. It's about that person that you would do anything for and that person that takes up your thoughts every second of your day. You're constantly there from when I wake up, to when I go to bed and you're even in my thoughts on my dates. I needed to take my mind off you for just a little while and I didn't realise why until now. I thought it was because I was your glorified babysitter, who was there to do your every bidding. I know now that it wasn't that and you were in my thoughts because you were all I wanted to think about 24 hours a day. I know that we are very different people, Sherlock. I know that there will be things I need, that you won't be able to give, and there will be things that you need that I won't be able to give, but if you want this as much as I want this, then we should give it a go. Unless this isn't what you want and I will walk away if it makes you uncomfortable, now that you know how I really feel. I'm an idiot Sherlock, what can I say? I went on date after date, with countless girls and never noticed that the reason was to distract from the real person I wanted in my life. That's you Sherlock and now I realise that it's always been you."
He didn't realise that your heart could feel this empty and this full, all at the same time. Sherlock doesn't move, doesn't speak, just lays there.
"Sherlock? Please say something. I've laid my heart bare for you. At least say something." He pulls the sheet back from Sherlock's face and sees the tears soaking the cushion. "Oh, Sherlock, please tell me these are because you feel the same and not because I've made the worst mistake of my life."
Sherlock mumbles something that John strains to hear.
"I can't hear you."
He mumbles again. John puts his ear near sherlocks mouth.
"I can't hear you."
"I love you too. Always have." He whispers, before pulling John into a very wet kiss. It's salty and wet from the tears on Sherlock's face. John lifts a hand to it, stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. He pulls away to look into Sherlock's eyes, wanting to wipe his tears and realises he has his own, running down his face. He swipes at his eyes.
"Is this real? You really want this?" John breathes. Sherlock doesn't answer. He just smiles and pulls John back in towards him, cupping his face in two hands, never wanting to let him go.