That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore
A/N: This is my first work, so comments would be much appreciated.
Based on The Smith's song "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore" and I think I'm supposed to say I don't own the song or the characters, because I don't own them.
Jessica, John Watson's latest girlfriend, had stormed out.
That was 3 hours ago.
She'd shouted something about, "not matching up to the great Sherlock Holmes", but to perfectly honest, John wasn't sure. He'd stopped listening when he that realised he'd called her Angela and the proceeded to refer to Angela as, "The one before". He was still in a huff when Sherlock arrived home from the mortuary.
"Ah, I see another one left then?" said Sherlock, with an irritating smugness that was far too familiar to John.
"Sherlock, I don't need this. Not now. Just, I don't know, go and do whatever it is you do when you're not trying to piss me off."
"What did you do this time? Ask a poor orphan when you could meet her parents?" Sherlock taunted.
"Just leave it will you." John was getting severely irritated now.
"Told her that you liked it better when she was blonde but her hair was natural? Go on, indulge me."
"Sherlock, can you just leave it. I don't want to talk about it." said John, through gritted teeth. He was really going to lose his temper soon.
"Well, you must have done something. Women don't tend to get up and leave angry for no apparent reason. At least I don't think they do, I wouldn't really know, would I?"
"Is pissing me off fun for you? Do you get some kind of sick pleasure off it?" he was at the end of his tether, one more jibe from his flatmate and the final thread would snap.
"Or do you have you eye on someone else? So you sabotaged your relationship on purpose, subconsciously or not. Maybe you're still hung up on Sarah; maybe it's Mycroft's woman, what was her name? Anthea was it? Or maybe it's Molly. Shame if it is, you know she has eyes for me, she can barely remember your name." that was it, the thread had snapped. John's ship of calm had sailed, "You know Sherlock, for a genius, you're bloody stupid sometimes!" he raged. Trying to stop himself committing the very crime that fuelled Sherlock's line of work, he marched himself into his bedroom and slammed the door shut.
Sherlock Holmes, genius, high functioning sociopath, was baffled. What on earth could he be missing? From the way John had reacted he had definitely hit a raw nerve, so he must be right about him directing his affections toward someone but that begged the question, whom? Not Molly, Anthea or Sarah he knew that much from how little John's body language reacted to their names. So who? Obviously it was someone close to him, someone John couldn't confess his feelings to, someone who - it had dawned on him. In one fluid movement Sherlock rose to his feet and walked purposefully towards John's bedroom.
A few weeks ago, when John had received a phone call from his mother telling him that Harry had reverted back to her old ways; Sherlock heard a strange sound coming from John's room late at night. It was heavy, ragged breathing followed coughing and gulping for air. Sherlock had disregarded it and continued attaching the electrodes to the brain he was experimenting with, not really understanding what was happening with John and not particularly caring.
He could hear this same noise as a few weeks ago coming from the room, he now understood what it was, his friend, the unbreakable John Watson, was crying. Sherlock felt the harsh pangs of guilt and wanted nothing more than to remedy the situation. He placed his long, elegant, musician's fingers on John's door. "John?" he called softly, "Can I come in?"
John Watson took a moment to compose himself and rid the emotion from his voice, "No, piss off." he said flatly.
Ignoring the obviously forced emotionless answer, Sherlock pushed open the door and found his only friend in the world perched on the side of his bed, with his head in his hands, crying. And it was Sherlock's fault. He made his way slowly towards John and sat next to him.
"John please, I understand now. Please." Sherlock placed his hand on John's shoulder and he flinched.
"No, you don't understand. Because this is something your huge brain can't fathom. It's the one thing you've always been so bloody ignorant of."
Sherlock began to chuckle deeply. John's anger resurfaced, Sherlock Holmes was laughing at him. Here he was baring his soul and he was being mocked. He jerked his shoulder out from Sherlock's delicate touch. "Oh yes this is all one big joke isn't it! John Watson and his feelings are bloody hilarious! Well that joke isn't funny anymore, Sherlock." he said, unable to contain the rage bubbling inside him.
"No John, you're right. This is what I've been ignorant of." this caught John off guard, the great Sherlock Holmes never admitted he was wrong, or rather that anyone else was right. "Look at me John. Look at me, please." John turned his head further away. Sherlock reached out his hand and took hold of John's chin. He gently turned John's face towards him and said, "John, please forgive me." John was looking directly into Sherlock's eyes now and there was something in them, matched with the sincerity in his deep, smooth voice that told John to believe every word that came from those divinely shaped lips, "You must forgive me John, forgive my ignorance. I'm so sorry. You've provoked emotions within me, ones I wasn't sure I could feel, so you must deal with the emotional response."
Before John could really comprehend what Sherlock was telling him, Sherlock leaned in on him and planted a soft kiss on his lips. John had obviously been kissed before, and by women he thought he loved, but none of those kisses sent fireworks through his body like the one he had just shared with Sherlock. When Sherlock pulled away it felt as if an entire lifetime had just passed in a matter of seconds. The army doctor yearned for another kiss from the consulting detective, but he was frozen, in stunned silence.
Sherlock began trying to pull his cuff down his over hand. After a few moments of struggling he decided his shirt was far too snug and wiped away John's tears with his bare hand. At least he had stopped crying, even if he'd become a statue. Surely that was better? As he thought about it, Sherlock couldn't decide. He was considering fleeing 221b and returning to Bart's just to put an end to the awkward situation when John grasped hold of the lapels of his jacket and firmly planted another kiss on his lips.
This time it was Sherlock turn to be shocked, as John's lips collided with his own, his eyes grew wide. Sherlock's cheeks flushed at the energy John was displaying.
John pulled their bodies close and was surprised at the heat radiating from Sherlock's body. He couldn't work out why, but he'd always assumed that Sherlock's body would be as cold as everyone thought his emotions were. He couldn't have been more wrong, Sherlock's body as fiery as the passion behind the kiss.
Sherlock had begun to bring his hand up to entwine it in John's sandy hair when John pulled away sharply. Sherlock looked up at him, alarmed and dazed, as John stood up and bolted for the door.
"I'm not one of your bloody experiments Sherlock!" he heard John yell from the doorway. The flat shook as John slammed the door and
Sherlock was left alone. For a moment he stared at the door like befuddled child then, after what seemed like an age, the supposedly emotionless sociopath, became aware of tears streaming down his face and soon after became aware that he could do nothing to stop them.