John.
The name sparked so many emotions, some unwanted, some that settled in his icy heart, dripping away the isolation that his cocaine addiction had brought onto him.
John.
His pressure point.
Sherlock was a man who you'd think had no pressure points at all due to his cruelty and coldness, but he has more pressure points than a lot of people.
Mrs. Hudson.
Irene Adler.
John.
John.
John.
Panic overwhelms Sherlock when he hears John is in danger.
You can see it in his eyes, wide and fearful. Not noticing the fact that he is letting himself slip.
He would kill for John, die for John.
And he has done both.
But not yet.
Because it is now, in the old days where it was the Detective and his blogger, sprinting around London. It was cozy and warm. Familiar. Sherlock, robustly throwing on his mysterious black coat and the lovely blue scarf that brought out his eyes. John and his warm tan sweater, the bickering and boredom.
Sherlock sees a light in John, a warmth he has never felt before. He doesn't understand why he has let John in. He has always worked alone, why was he different?
But he ignores the flame and goes on whining and bickering. Because sentiment is for the losing side. Sentiment doesn't solve cases. Sentiment doesn't bring back the dead. Sentiment doesn't help find the kidnapped child.
He only subtly notices the doctor's kindness, the warmth John brings in his chest. The lingering pain in his eyes after Sherlock has insulted him yet again. But he never leaves.
John feeds off of the excitement and danger, while Sherlock ( more secretly) feeds off of John's compliments and charm.
Watson brings out the human in Sherlock.
But it's all gone.
Sherlock's standing on the roof, his plans in order in his painfully bright mind.
He can follow through, he can do this.
But he sees John.
He hears his voice cracking over the phone.
The slight warmth in his chest is replaced with a burning sun.
A painful burning sun.
Because Sherlock doesn't want to jump anymore.
He sees John reach his hand out and he does the same.
He wants to touch John.
He wants to hold him.
Now he's tearing up and that rarely happens because he knows that it will never be the same between them.
He tries to tell John it's a magic trick.
But as he expected, John is too dim to see.
Too beautifully, wonderfully dim.
And Sherlock is so horribly bright.
But he has to do it.
He has to watch John cry.
Because he has to make sure John lives.
He drops the phone.
He spreads his beautiful black velvet wings.
And Sherlock flies.
But now John is at his grave, his voice choking.
Sherlock stops himself from reaching his hand out.
" Don't...be...dead."
Sherlock wishes John knew it was for solely him.
He wishes a lot of things.
But he walks away.
Only for John.
John.
It's years later and Sherlock is desperately hoping they could have what they lost.
Those comfortable moments at 221B.
But somewhere deep down, he knows he's in denial.
John must be different.
It hurts like hell.
He enters the restaurant.
He cleverly creates his disguise.
But then he sees him.
He feels like collapsing.
It's not his John.
But he pushes himself forward, he needs to hope he's in there somewhere. That John will notice Sherlock's bruises and cuts from the torture. That he'll wrap his arms around him and express how much he missed him.
Maybe even loved him.
But he felt a hard fist connect with his face and felt himself falling backwards.
He was gone for too long.
He hurt him too much.
He never mentioned his torture, and the overwhelming pain he felt when he was hit in the same places.
He deserved every punch.
For not realizing his feelings for John sooner.
But John is so long gone now...
John asks him to be his best man.
His heart breaks.
He needs to write a speech good enough.
But what he wants to say just won't come out.
He can't admit himself on their wedding day.
They are so beautiful together.'
So happy and warm.
There is no feeding off of each other.
Only sharing their selves.
But the pain is so much.
Because now John is holding him.
And like Molly said.
He looks sad when he thinks John can't see him.
He hides the pain in his eyes as he wishes the happy couple well.
He has to leave early.
There is nothing left for him.
He finds out what Mary is.
What she has done to John.
All of her lies...
He hopes for John to realize it and treat her like all of his other female companions.
He wants John to come back with him.
He wants the duo back together.
Because Sherlock would never truly leave John.
Not on purpose.
Not for good.
But goddammit.
He forgives her.
Because he's John. Only John could forgive someone who had done things so horrible.
John forgives Sherlock.
She is so lucky, to have him.
Now he is flicking John's nose.
This horrible man.
With so much power because he has no pressure points.
The type of man Sherlock used to aspire to be.
He is flicking John's nose.
The only way he can save John is to save Mary, Sherlock knows this now.
So he feels the gun in his hands.
He feels the words slip through his lips.
He feels his finger on the trigger.
He feels it all slip away.
It's all he can give to John now.
He gives him his life.
But it all leads up to this moment.
They are finally alone.
Sherlock is awaiting his death.
These are his last words.
They small talk.
He wants to tell him.
He recites it in his mind.
" I love you."
It's all he can seem to think of as he stares into John Watson's eyes.
They are the only words he wants to come out of his lips.
And all the pain he's been feeling collides at once.
He knows what he's losing.
He was so selfish in the beginning. When he had John Watson all to himself.
Tears well at the bottom of his eyes.
When he had all the time in the world with him.
He's going to say it.
But something stops him.
Before Sherlock dies, he wants to see John smile.
He wants the warmth of his angel, his sun, his doctor, back in his chest.
He knows, that if he tells John he loves him, he won't smile.
He will be shocked and walk away.
It's too late to tell him now.
He wants to memorize the image, store it in his mind, remember what he'd been fighting for.
Remember why he was dying.
Remember that he was dying for the most beautiful soul to ever exist.
So he said the words, clearly and at a moderate tone, so John could hear perfectly.
" Sherlock is actually a girls name."
John cracks a smile and Sherlock can't help but smile back.
He memorizes his smile.
He stores it away.
He holds out his hand, he wants to hold John.
He wants to hold him tightly and never let him go.
But he knows it'll make the pain worse.
He has lost so much already.
Goodbye.
He's on the plane and looking out the window.
He regrets everything.
He almost feels the tears spilling over when Mycroft rings.
Moriarty may have torn them apart from each-other, but now he has brought them back together.
Though Sherlock knows, John will never really be there.
Wow! Thanks for reading.
Please review!
Sherlock may not want you to inflict your opinions on the world,
but I do.