Author's note:
I have been recently ensnared by the sheer loveable-ness(?) of this pairing. They are so incredibly perfect for each other, don't you think? This is the first time writing for this fandom, and all knowledge I have of the show are from other fan fiction and second-hand knowledge from my sister, so please forgive me if I get something wrong. I don't know why I don't watch it, really.
Disclaimer:
I do not own Sherlock BBC. There, happy? I really want to own it though, can I buy it off with five dollars? It's all I have on me right now. No? Oh,well. At least I tried.
This is from John's point of view.
It does not hurt.
It does not feel like your chest has been cut open, not with sharp, clean cuts, but with gouges and shreds and pieces being torn apart with some kind of blunt, blunt object that shreds and rips apart with abandon, not caring for the messes it causes, as long as the wildly beating pumping heart beneath the soft layers of flesh and skin is exposed and can be taken apart.
Of course not. It does not feel like that. You have experienced that kind of hurt many, many times before, until you have grown accustomed to the sensation and does not think much of it anymore if it does happen to present itself.
This is more of an ache. It is not a sharp, stabbing pain in the chest, but an ache.
Like a wide, gaping empty hole somewhere inside your body, not centered anywhere, not centered in the heart, but maybe somewhere just inside. It cannot be pinpointed, because if you concentrate on any part of your body, it seems like the holes are everywhere. Like a vital piece of you has been taken and you know that while you can survive without it you can never live again.
But perhaps that description is too dramatic.
You can just say that you feel resigned and empty.
You see him, of course. It is hard to avoid him when you live in the same flat, after all. However, your attempts at avoiding him are awfully half-hearted, because you know that you are his friend, as he is yours, and even though it is hard to tell sometimes, you know that he cares for you, in his own way. From the very beginning of this cohabitation business, you have been pulled in, sucked into his black hole of genius and brilliance and mad chases across London chasing criminals. It seems too late to pull away anymore.
Your everyday life is full of excitement, because Sherlock dislikes boredom immensely, and when he goes off to crime scenes and looks at you expectantly as he goes through the door you cannot persuade yourself to not follow him to the ends of the earth. You feel useful when you run after him.
You hate yourself sometimes from being so pathetic, for hanging around like a dog waiting for scraps of food, for every bit of attention he throws your way. You know that he is married to his work, he said so himself, and he will never, ever look back at you like he reciprocates what you feel.
Okay, you lied, it does hurt sometimes. It aches the rest of the time, though.
You constantly berate yourself, wondering why you keep on being around him. When you make up your mind to leave, you see him curled up in the couch, fast asleep, his wild curls flopping down his face, his brows a little furrowed, as if even in his sleep he continues to think. It is an adorable sight. It is also heartbreaking, because at that moment you know that even if you manage to move out of this flat, you have already been chained down to this frustrating, idiotic, genius madman a long time ago.
You can just persevere, and hang on. Be by his side and convince yourself that is enough to just be with him and love him quietly, without any expectations.
Your attempts at getting over him were spectacular failures, after all.
( Mary, Sarah, countless other liaisons made in secret )
Too late now.
Too late to prevent heartbreak, too late to fall out of love.
Please read and review~!