Sherlock's face looked cold and stony as he gazed upon John's motionless body, but the turmoil going on inside him was faintly visible through his greenish blue eyes. John seemed dead; his pale face was slack and his eyes closed. Only the slight throbbing in his forehead proved him to be alive, if alive was any way to describe it.
"How did this happen, John?" asked Sherlock, his eyes shining. He stroked John's still hand lying on the hospital sheets, "Of course, I know." Sherlock looked a mess; he hadn't changed out of his purple pajamas for eight days, his curly hair was unkempt and his chalky skin ashen and waxy.
"Wake up, John!" he shouted. There was no sound except the regular beep of the machine that showed John's heartbeat and his own voice echoing around the room.
Eight days previously, they had just solved the case of the Red-Headed League, or so John had decided to name it. Sherlock hadn't really been listening; there was something troubling his mind. An odd feeling in the pit of his belly that felt like it had been there since the dawn of time, but he had only just noticed it. He tried to dismiss it, to logic it away, but it wouldn't go and still he couldn't fathom what it was. And on top of that was the feeling he'd forgotten something, but he never forgot anything. Not anything of importance anyway. He drummed his fingers on the door of the taxi, while John chatted away about something, perhaps a court case. Sherlock looked at the driver in the mirror. She had four children, each with different fathers, and she used L'oreal blond hair dye. She was vegetarian. She noticed him staring at her and gave him a flirtatious wink. He looked at her blankly until she grew uncomfortable and turned her eyes back to the road.
John was seeing another girlfriend tonight- Sherlock could tell from the laces on his shoes. Deducing this made the feeling ever more stronger in his stomach, and he fiercely tried to force it back away.
"Are you alright, Sherlock? You seem... tetchy." said John after a while.
"Me? Why would I be tetchy?" John sighed.
"I don't know." Remorse crept over Sherlock at seeing John irritated at him.
"Sorry." he managed to say. The word tasted like poison on his lips; apologising was too close to admitting he was wrong. Sherlock was never wrong. John stared out of the taxi window for a while.
"It's fine."
"Sure?"
"Yeah,". John turned to look at Sherlock when he said this, and was surprised at the intensity with which his eyes burned. Sherlock continued to stare at John as they got out of the taxi and entered 221B Baker street, long after John grew uncomfortable.
Sherlock winced as he recalled the next part.
They climbed the stairs wordlessly, somehow their eyes saying it all. Sherlock had realised the answer to his little puzzle now: he was in love.
His palms sweated a little as he watched John open the door to the flat. He looked away for a second to readjust his expression, heard an explosion and looked back to see half his flat blown away and John standing there with singed eyebrows. He ran to his love immediately.
"John! Are you alright?" he held onto John's shoulders tightly, scared to let go. John's kindly face was contorted in shock and fear, and he had no eyebrows anymore.
"What the hell was that?"
"I was expecting a visitor," muttered Sherlock darkly. He knew he'd forgotten something. Somehow, John was in his arms now, and his skin was warm against his. John leaned up towards him, and Sherlock's brain was in a frenzy, all logic rushing from his head out through his ears, and John was getting closer and closer, and Sherlock pulled him into him, and, and, and... A lump of plaster from the ceiling fell and knocked John to the ground.
The beeps were still continuing. Sherlock watched John. He seemed as if he was asleep, poised on the brink of waking up.
"Wake up John," he whispered, and pressed his lips lightly to John's head. He began to talk very fast.
"John, I wish I'd realised earlier, but I love you. Ha! The world's most clever man in love and he's the last to know it. Everyone knew, didn't they John? Forever assuming. Aren't those words beautiful, John? I love you. If only you'd wake up and then you could hear them. You're so much more than a replacement for my skull, or a colleague or even a friend. I love you John. Why won't you wake up?" He let his head fall to John's chest and wept, wept heartfelt tears for the first time since he was a baby. John's eyes fluttered open.
"John? John! Thank God you're awake. I love you John!" John looked around blearily, confused.
"What's going on? Where am I? Who are you?"
