AN: Hey! I'm a HUGE fan of fan fiction. So one study hall I thought, "Hey maybe I should write my own stuff." So that's what this is. Sherlock is my most recent obsession, so this is what you get. I'm a fairly good writer but I do suffer from silly grammar mistakes. Constructive criticism would be much appreciated :) please note that I go to a very good and busy private school, and frankly, I get lazy sometimes, okay a lot, so updates might be random.
(I have no clue if this be a bunch of one-shots or if it will actually have a plot. I'm just having fun really :P)
I am so so so so so so sorry I if I get anyone's character wrong. I'm not a perfect person. Please don't burn my heart out.
Disclaimer- I do not own Sherlock Holmes. BBC does. I am not BBC. If I did, Johnlock would not be slash, it would be canon.
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With love, Rosie :3
"John."
"What now?"
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
"I just wanted to make sure you knew."
"Seriously, Sherlock. You've been apologizing for three days now." John mumbled before taking a sip of his tea. Sherlock continued to stare at the fire, his eyes fixed on the colorful flames. They did not talk about those three years much. At least not since Sherlock had come home. John did not want to remember the pain and grief, and Sherlock did not want to remember the feeling of being alone.
It was still a struggle for John. Was Sherlock really going to stay? Or was he going to run off again? John knew he should trust the sociopath more, but the doubt made itself known even then. But after leaving for three years and faking a suicide, it was hard to really know. The night Sherlock had come home; John had thought he was dreaming. He was pleasantly surprised in the morning to find Sherlock curled up in the bed next to him. So he just watched the maniac sleep for a while.
Was this real? Was Sherlock really in bed with him? He still had his clothes on. That was a relief. He was tempted to touch the man beside him, to make sure he was real, and not just a pigment of his imagination. He held back, terrified to know. So John just sat there in bed, watching like a mother admiring her newborn child.
Sherlock slept through most of the morning and into the early afternoon, his face soft and relaxed. His back moved with his even, slow breathes. It was mesmerizing. It was like watching a child sleep. Before John could notice anything else, Sherlock jolted up from his curled up position. His breathes were now jagged. His body was tense. His bright eyes searched the room for something to remind him where he was.
Sherlock's bright blue or maybe green met John's warm brown. Taking a few deep breathes; Sherlock reached his hand out, as if he was proving to himself that John was actually there. John gave him a small smile and nodded his head. He reached out and placed his hand over Sherlock's.
For a while it was silent. John's hand remained on Sherlock's. Neither man moved. They just stayed like that for a while. Sherlock wasn't even counting. His eyes wandered over John's whole being. He noticed his baggy eyes, and slightly grey hair. He noticed the weight his flat mate had lost. This John was not the same John he left three years ago.
This was not the same Sherlock John had known three years ago either. His hair was thinner, and blonder. His eyes looked duller and more exhausted. His cheekbones were a bit more prominent. It looked like he had not had a good rest for a while, or a meal on that note.
"Tea?" John quietly murmured. Sherlock simply nodded.
"And then you'll tell me why you left for three bloody years?" The soldier sharply requested, trying his best to not let anger seep into his words. It was not use trying to hide it. Sherlock looked down at the white bed sheets and in his quiet baritone stated,
"Yes."
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Thank you for reading! I know reviewing is a hassle but it would mean so much to me. Please be nice. PWEASE PAPA? It not that hard. Seriously.
I'll jump off a building if you don't. And I'll make you watch.
(I'm going to end this before it gets any weirder…)