A/N: This is not my usual 'verse, so please bear with me! It's just a little something I've been writing to help me think out a few things, and I thought you guys might like a look in. Sorry if the characters are a bit OOC – this isn't exactly an exercise in accuracy. Of course, I would still love to hear what you think…
Does that name read 'Stephen Moffat'? No? How about 'Mark Gatiss'? Then I guess I don't own it.
Chapter One
My breath catches in my throat at the sound of uneven footfalls on the stairs outside. THUD thud, THUD thud, THUD thud… I suppress a shiver, even though there's no one else here to see it. I don't need to look at my watch to know that it's exactly half past six, but I do anyway. Anything to distract myself, however briefly, from the rapidly approaching ordeal.
Half past six. That means he missed the first bus home after work, which he leaves at half past five on a Friday. Is today Friday? I think so, but I couldn't be sure. That means he'll be tired, and tired equals emotional. I feel myself tense at the implications of that thought and force my muscles to relax, just a moment before he pushes open the door to the flat.
He shrugs out of his heavy, rain-sodden coat and deposits it on the floor beside the stand. I ignore this with some difficulty, rising instead to my feet and forcing myself to approach my flatmate with a sympathetic smile. The expression sits uncomfortably on my face. He turns up to look me in the eye and I see his frown smooth out slightly, the corners of his mouth relax a little. It makes me sick to the stomach, knowing what I do.
Experience tells me that he won't want to talk about his day, so instead I ask if he wants to hear about an experiment I've been conducting. I know that the theory behind it often goes over his head, but it's been a long time since I stopped trying to simplify my explanations for him. Somehow, I just can't bring myself to care that much anymore. There was a time…
I realise that he isn't really listening, so stop talking. "Alright?" I ask instead, more because I know he appreciates it than because I want to. Things really have changed. He nods, but the white knuckles grasping the arm of the sofa say otherwise. In silence I move over to sit beside him, laying my head on his shoulder. To me, the sensation screams of awkwardness, but again, he seems to feel otherwise.
"Work?" I just have to ask, and I feel his muscles tense beneath me before he responds. It takes longer than usual. "Yeah," he manages, wearily. "You know the elderly woman I've been treating?" Of course I know. Even if he didn't share these things with me, I would still be able to find out from the bug in his computer. I nod. "Turns out I was right," he says simply, and I understand. After all, I've read his notes on her.
"I'm sorry," I say, because it's the accepted response in these situations. He sighs heavily, slipping down in his seat to nestle against my side. Every point of contact between our two bodies crawls, but all I can do is wrap one arm around his trembling shoulders. "There was nothing you could have done," I add. This is not true, but it's a lie he needs to hear.
His muffled sobs are the only response. I rub his back and wonder what to do with my other hand. His fingers grasp at my shirt and I wrap mine around his comfortingly. At least, I assume he finds it comforting. I hope so, because I certainly don't. But I'm being selfish. He needs my affection, now more than he usually does, so I hesitantly place a kiss to the top of his head. His hand tightens around mine. Even after six months, I can't get used to doing this sort of thing.
Sitting upright, John meets my concerned gaze with watery blue eyes. Red-rimmed, wet tracks streaking down his cheeks. "Thanks, Sherlock," he whispers, forcing a smile to his lips. I don't deserve his gratitude. If he only knew…
"Of course," I reply, my tone carefully manufactured to betray nothing of my true feelings. "Tea?" He does smile then, humming his approval. I extract myself from the embrace with no little feeling of relief and head for the kitchen. My face falls the moment my back is turned. This cannot go on.