John? Please come back. I didn't mean it like that. -SH
Don't talk to me, Sherlock. -JW
What did I do wrong? I don't... I don't understand. -SH
And I rarely say that. -SH
You don't understand? I can't believe you Sherlock. You went through my personal files on my computer. I don't mind that you use it, but really, Sherlock? You had to look through my things? -JW
Well you were behaving oddly! I had to know what it was about. And you aren't usually a secret-keeper. What is so important that you couldn't tell me? -SH
You read it, I saw the file open on my computer. -JW
You won't even say it out loud. -SH
... No, Sherlock, it's embarrassing! -JW
What's so embarrassing about researching the laws of homosexual matrimony? They're just facts. -SH
I knew you wouldn't understand, Sherlock. Just... forget it. -JW
Well, I'd rather not. It upsets me that you're upset. Plus I need tea and I'm not in the kitchen. -SH
I'm halfway across town. I'm not coming home to get you your tea. -JW
But Jooohn -SH
Sherlock. No. Not now. -JW
Fine. I'll say it. -SH
I'm. Sorry. -SH
For? -JW
For breaching your privacy and upsetting you. -SH
And giving a cause for mistrust. -SH
... Forgive me, John? -SH
John looked down at his phone, and flipped it over. The bartender came by. "Trouble with the wife?" he joked. John smiled softly. "Yeah, something like that..." he muttered, "But... we're not married." he said, moving his ring finger.
The bartender nodded. "Sorry, mate. Wish I could help more. Next drink's on me." he smiled, pouring John another beer.
John was on his third beer when he decided to be adventurous and ordered a shot of vodka. The bartender looked up to warn John about the dangers of mixing drinks, but decided against it. He had recently been divorced, and knew what John was probably feeling.
Sherlock leaned back into the sofa cushions and propped his feet up on the arm. He placed his phone on his chest and closed his eyes, his hands together against his lips the way they always were when he was thinking. He took a deep breath and mapped out Castle Watson in his mind palace. Sherlock calculated how long John had been away and recalled his usual patterns of coping with anger or sadness and came up with two possible locations where John could be. He was either at St. Barts or the bar, and seeing as he was probably in the mood for a drink, decided to find John at the bar. Sherlock hailed a cab on Baker Street.
Sherlock walked in the door of the bar and shuffled his feet a little to dry the soles before heading straight for John. John didn't see him coming up behind him and almost dropped his drink when Sherlock spoke in his ear. "John. Please come home. Don't hurt yourself."
John set down the shot, turning to Sherlock, "W-what are you doing here? How did you know I'd be here?" he shook his head, "Don't answer that one."
"That's beside the point. Come home before you pass out. You need to get some rest." Maybe he'll not be able to make it upstairs and will need to take my bed, Sherlock thought to himself. That wouldn't be too bad.
John pushed Sherlock away. "I don't want to talk to you right now... I came her for a reason..." he mumbled, taking the shot, and slamming it down on the bar, empty. "Go away..."
Sherlock glanced at the bartender in panic, trying to communicate his problem without words. He nodded and took action. "Hey man, we're gonna be closing soon anyway. Maybe I can get you a cab?" Sherlock silently thanked him.
John looked up at the bartender, "You know what, fine. Fine! I'll fucking go back home with you..." Sherlock noticed how John always became more vulgar the more he drank.
The bartender came around and helped John out of his seat. He walked with him to the door and hailed him a cab. After the door shut and the cab drove off, Sherlock got a chance to talk with him. He offered a hand and smiled. "Sherlock Holmes. Thanks for the help." He could tell that the bartender was expecting for him to explain who he was to John, so he went along with it. "You asked him who he was talking to earlier, yes? Well he was talking to me." The bartender stopped grinning and nodded his head.
"You know, I've seen many upset men come into this bar and the one thing that would fix that one's frown would be a ring on his finger, you know. You should tell him," the bartender said. "My name's Carlos. Let the staff know next time you come in. I'll get you a beer, on the house."
"Thanks." Sherlock said, deciding not to mention that he preffered wine as he hopped off the sidewalk into the next cab and shut the door behind him. "221 Baker Street, and quickly please." He sat back into the seat and contemplated his predicament. He could inform John of his feelings (the word itself made him twist up his face in disgust) or he could go on pretending that they could never be more than friends. John certainly didn't want any more than they already had. He probably hated Sherlock right now.
John was staring out the window of the cab as the rain began to fall, he laughed to himself, thinking of a joke he shared with Sherlock. He turned to tell him what he thought, but he stopped mid-laugh. Sherlock wasn't there. He bit his lip, he shouldn't have gotten so angry with his flatmate... he should have just come home when Sherlock asked him to. John thanked the cabbie and went to pay him when the cabbie smiled,
"Your boyfriend already paid."
John frowned, "We aren't..." he paused, "thank you." he grabbed the key out of his pocket and fumbled with the lock. He groaned; the key wasn't going in. He slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting. He knew Sherlock would be back soon, surely he would let John in.
As Sherlock's cab turned the corner onto Baker Street, he looked out the window to see if he could find John's cab. Had he already been dropped off? Was he inside? As he got closer he saw that John was sitting against the door. It was the worst he had ever seen John, and it broke his heart. "Here's fine," he said impatiently to the cabbie, tossing a few bills at him and jumping out of the taxi. He ran down the street. "John! John, are you okay?" he shouted.
John looked up. "My key won't go in the damn lock," he muttered, standing up. He was shaking. It was nearly 2 in the morning and it had begun to rain. "Are you going to let me in or are we going to stand out here all night?" he snapped.
Sherlock grabbed John and pulled him into a damp—yet strong–hug. John stiffened at the sudden and uncharacteristic surge of affection but relaxed into the embrace and dropped his head. Sherlock fumbled with the lock behind John's back as he tried to keep him standing. "I'm just glad you're okay," Sherlock whispered into John's shoulder.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you... I was being an arse..." he mumbled, hugging Sherlock tightly.
"It's fine John, just- just get inside and then we'll talk. Okay?" John nodded into Sherlock's chest.
"Okay... I can agree to that..." They moved inside, John leaning on Sherlock for support. He helped John remove his rain-soaked coat and his shoes, and took off his jumper as well. Sherlock removed his coat and scarf and took John's hand. He led him up the stairs. John couldn't help but notice how much warmer Sherlock was than he looked. John was still leaning on Sherlock for support when he stepped back, blushing, "Erm, I - I should go take these off... and probably get some sleep..." he mumbled.
"My room's warmer. You take my bed, I'll take the couch. No need for you to climb up those steps if you are about to fall over." Sherlock hoped his offer would be accepted.
John paused looking back at Sherlock, "You would do that for me?"
Sherlock blinked. "Of course I would. Why wouldn't I?"
John shrugged, running a hand through his wet hair, "Because I've been terrible to you."
Sherlock shook his head. "John, you should know that there have been loads of people who have been terrible to me in my life but you have never been one of them. Take the bed. I'll take the couch. Go on."
John paused, smiling at Sherlock, "Thank you." he went into Sherlock's room and stripped out of his clothes before going into Sherlock's shower. He draped his under shirt and pants over the air heater and prayed they would be dry when he was done.
After John had left the sitting room, he realized what he'd done. Shit. He hated the couch. How was he going to sleep tonight? He walked back and forth, trying to formulate a plan on how to sleep on a softer surface tonight.
When John finished his shower, his clothes were dry, thankfully, and he slipped them on. He was going to fall flat onto the bed when he thought of Sherlock. He went into the living room, finding Sherlock pacing the room. "I - I don't want to be alone tonight..." he lied. "Will you ... come with me?"
Sherlock didn't think he heard him straight. "Excuse me?"
John blushed, "Will you join me tonight? I don't want to be alone..."
"Oh, John," Sherlock said, rushing over to him. He wrapped his arms around John, holding John's warm body close to him with one slender hand on the back of his neck. "You'll never be alone. I promise."
John wrapped his arms around Sherlock. "Thank you. That... that means a lot to me, Sherlock..."
"I know, John. I know." He sighed and pulled John into his room by the hand and rolled into the bed. He lifted the covers next to him to invite John in, and he complied. John settled in close, snuggling in to Sherlock's long body. Sherlock laid his hand across John's chest and kissed the top of his head. "Hey John?" he asked. John looked up at the detective.
"Yes, Sherlock?"
"Will you... would you..." He took a breath, trying to find the right words.
"John, will you marry me?"