REPRESSED FEELINGS

Everyone say that bottling up feelings make them grow. At first I thought that was nonsense, that only weak people couldn't control their feelings as well as their transport. And I certainly wasn't weak.

But now, in front of the plane that would take me to an assignment that will kill me in six months if Mycroft was correct (which I had to admit, he usually was) I am forced to admit the truth of that statement, for I'm in front of the man that is responsible of these feelings that are burning in my chest, begging for release.

Stupid sentiment. Always coming at the worst time. Especially the worst of them: Love.

"I... I don't know what to say" You admit with a sheepish smile.

"Me neither" I lied. Because I could certainly think about one million things to tell you right now, John.

Memories flood into my mind palace. The first time we met. When you killed that cabbie to save me. When we laughed together at Buckingham palace. When you told me that you believed in me, because "no one could fake being such a prick all the time", as you said.

They were such a wonderful time. Just you and I against the world. But now, you're married to Mary, a woman that, as I said in your wedding, deserves you. Unfortunately.

I've never felt such a connection with someone before. No one was worth my time. But you, John Watson, wounded army doctor, with your hideous jumpers and your love for jam and your perfect tea, you are worth everything. You are special. Always have been.

You've made a high-functioning sociopath feel for the first time in ages.

As we talk a little about your baby (a daughter it seems), I try to remember how did I ended here.

Oh yes. I had shot Magnussen, the Napoleon of blackmail, in the head as a Christmas gift. Right.

There's silence again between us. The final silence, as something in me is telling me.

And suddenly I feel the urge to tell you. To take this out of my chest. My hidden confession.

I know that it's selfish to tell you now that I will be gone, probably forever. I know it's cowardice. But I'm a selfish man, you know that. Everyone knows that. So, this will be my last act of selfishness, in front of your pregnant wife and Mycroft.

"John" I started, taking a deep breath "There's something I should say"

I love you.

"I've meant to say always and I never have"

I love you so much it hurts. Can't you notice it? Isn't it obvious? Even Magnussen knew that you were my weakness.

"Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now"

This was it. My final confession. I took a deep breath but, just when I was going to say it, something in your eyes stopped me.

Trust. Sadness. Fear.

Love.

You where sad because of me. You had fear for my life. You trusted me, even before all the lies and pain I have given you.

You loved me. But just as a friend.

If I told you this, it would make you doubt everything we had shared, it would make you wonder if you were the cause of my false death, or the reason that I'm going happily to my own death. Yes, I know you've noticed my excitement for this trip, and I know that you suspect a more mortal ulterior motive to send me away to Eastern Europe instead of imprisoning me. As your military knowledge had taught you, if you spared a guilt person certain punishment, was only to apply one even worse.

And if I confess my feelings to you, and you discover my death, I know you'll blame yourself for it. You'd blame yourself for things that I doubt it would even exist. I know you're that type of person.

Did I was that selfish? Could I bring you that, just to get rid of an annoying weight in my chest?

I nearly laughed bitterly. Before you, I certainly could have done it, and not give a damn about the effect my words would have on someone. But you, John Watson, have the capacity of taking out the best of me, even if it's a tiny part.

Still seeing that sadness on your eyes, I instead allow myself for one last guilty pleasure.

I want to make you smile one last time.

"Sherlock is actually a girl's name"

There it is. That smile I love so much. You even laugh, which makes me smile.

"No. No it isn't" You say, still smiling.

"It was worth a try" I say.

"We're not naming our daughter after you"

We look at each other, and I feel that my time has ended.

"Goodbye John"

We shake hands (a handshake that I noticed that it lasted two seconds more than normal) and I climb into the plane, not looking back once.

"I hope you'd leart your lesson. We need you"

"Who?"

"England"

With that, the phone call ended, and I felt the plane turning around.

'Well, so much for all that angst of before' I chuckled to myself. Mycroft really knew how to spoil a good, dramatical goodbye.

But now, I am back (after only four minutes of being out), and it seems that Moriarty was alive.

"Four minutes out of the country and England gets in trouble" I commented, getting down the plane "Am I really that necessary?"

"Oh, shut up, you twat" You say, hugging me "Welcome back"

"I've only been gone for four minutes John. Hardly the time to miss anyone"

"Maybe" You smile "But relief of you staying it's a good excuse, and I'm using it"

I looked around. It seemed that even Mycroft was relieved.

"Well" I shrugged "So much for my dramatic goodbye" And I scowled at Mycroft, who smiled at me while the rest chuckled.

Was it strange to feel relieved to be here after, and I'll insist as much as I can, four minutes?

"Well" You say "It seems that we aren't finished with Moriarty yet"

I smile excitedly at you. A new challenge was always something to look forward to.

"What are we waiting then? Come now, the game is on!"

And, who knows? Maybe I'll have a better occasion to confess my feelings.

The future didn't seem boring at all.

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