Sherlock sniffed the air, searching for one smell in particular. He could barely see a thing and shuffled about, slowly. He eventually found the door and pushed it open; it was even darker than the rest of the building. The room smelled like stale old paint and Sherlock entered, he couldn't see a thing so he ran a hand along the side of the wall.
"John," he called and heard the other man's footsteps enter the room.
"Yes? Where are you?"
"Over here, help me find the light." They stumbled around the room, unknowing exactly the state it was in. The wall was cracked and Sherlock suddenly came to a sudden realization. "Be cautious of open spaces in the wall, there could be exposed wires." Sherlock warned him. This was silly. He couldn't believe he had forgotten his torch earlier that morning, it was staring him straight in the face and he walked right past it without a second thought. Only when they arrived to the abandoned warehouse had he realized his mistake.
He noticed something was off about himself and he couldn't help but to do some mind surfing to figure out what; nothing came to mind. For months now his common sense has been clouded and he had been making mindless mistakes that he always regretted later.
"Sher- I think I found it." Sherlock traveled to the sound of the voice.
"Don't touch it." Sherlock held his arms out so he wouldn't run into anything and as a mechanism to find his companion. He felt John's jumper and he clutched a fist onto it. "Where?" he asked.
"Here," John abruptly grabbed Sherlock's hand off of his jumper and gripped onto his fingers slowly showing where he thought it was, careful and weary of exposed wires. Sherlock coughed awkwardly and John let go.
"I don't think there's any exposed wires but have your mobile on hand."
"Careful," John's stomach was in a knot and the other man swiftly switched up the light and pulled his hand away. John hated how Sherlock would do anything for his job, even risk his life. He never turned down an interesting case no matter what it involved.
The light did not turn on at first but after a few seconds it began to twitch above them. After the first dozen flickers, it stayed on and made a soft buzzing noise; they looked around their surroundings. The walls, celling and floor were all white with something scrawled across it in red paint. John and Sherlock both took hesitant steps forward to examine the words.
"I. O. U" John sighed when they both realized what it said.
"Not again," John said and turned away, I just got you back.
"Don't worry, he's dead," Sherlock tried his best to sound indifferent, but the Doctor wasn't so naive and picked up on the shakiness in his voice, there's a bit of confusion.
"Then who wrote that?" John was nearly yelling now and he leaned in towards Sherlock. This time, if Sherlock was going to leave him he was going with. No matter the outcome.
"It was probably a joke, a trick."
"Who else knew about the I.O.U thing? I thought we took out all of his men."
"We did," Sherlock said in a hush and turned his head to the side to send a quick glance the Doctor's way.
"Could it be Irene?" John felt like grabbing onto Sherlock and not letting go. He couldn't risk being so alone again.
"Doubtful, this is a man's handwriting."
"Is it Moriarty's?"
"No, I never seen it on anything but an apple, but this is more stressed. The lines are a little zigzagged, indicating he wanted to get out fast. Moriarty would stay around because of his ego complex." Sherlock bent down to examine the wood to see if there is any shoe tracks.
"We should leave, I still don't like this. Sherlock- please."
"John, this is the job. If I die, I die for a reason." John flinched. Sherlock took out a pair of tweezers from his pocket and pulled up a slice of wood before placing it in a folded napkin.
"What about the paint? Your little friend should know what kind it is."
"Brilliant John, but I doubt that matters. Take a picture anyway." Brilliant, John thought, Oh, my God, he just said something nice. As John was pondering this, Sherlock was doing the same. He just complemented John without thinking and he knew that John would be taken back by this and by how long it took for John to take the picture proved his deduction.
John began taking other pictures of all the I.' scattered about the walls, celling and floors. When Sherlock was finished he called Lestrade to inform him and John sent the pictures his way. As soon as John hit the send button, Sherlock popped up at his side.
"You're really on top of your game today," Sherlock said in this odd, deeper than usual voice that sent chills up John's spine. John didn't know what to say so he just smiled. They stood there until the phone said 'sent'. John tucked back into his pocket and stared at the I.O.U in front of him, a concerned look plastered on his features.
"I won't leave you," Sherlock decided in his head that he couldn't do this to John again, and he would fight as hard as he could to stay alive for him.
"What?"
"I said I won't leave you, not again. It was torture being away from you but I can't imagine how bad it must have felt for you to think I was dead. I can only imagine if our places had been switched and it was you doing the falling and crashing into that concrete." Sherlock comfortingly put an arm around his companion's shoulder, squeezing a little. "Moriarty's is a masochist and wanted you to suffer more than me, even if he wouldn't be around to witness it."
John felt like he had the air knocked out of his lungs and instead of talking, he made a noise of contentment and leaned into Sherlock's grasp, his head on Sherlock's bony shoulder. After a few seconds of just standing there like that, looking at the painted threat in front of them they came to a decision.
"Let's go home," John said again, but not because of fear. He wanted to go home with Sherlock and watch a movie or even just sit in comfortable silence together. Their silence was never awkward, it was nice.
"I could never agree more," Sherlock beamed as he walked away with the other man, arm in arm to go hail a cab.
When they had got up the steps of Baker Street and into the familiar, friendly atmosphere, they collapsed on the couch. John had been more at ease when Sherlock said he would not allow himself to be killed, it might happen, but the chances grew slimmer. Sherlock then did something that shocked him, he leaned into John and snuggled his head in the croak of his neck.
John's arm was being squished and he took it from under Sherlock's frame and tossed it around Sherlock's shoulders. Sherlock's breathing slowed down and he kicked off his shoes and tucked his legs onto the couch with them. If John had seen two people sitting together on a sofa like they are doing, he would think they were lovers. This thought sparked a new interest in him.
"John?"
"Yes?"
"Could we do this forever?" his heart skipped a beat and Sherlock could tell because his ear was places right on a pulse point.
"Forever is a long time," Sherlock attempted to get up then and go sulk in his room, but John pushed him back down into position. "What we are, right now, is nice and all…"
"But?" Sherlock asked, mentally crossing his fingers.
"But is this all we'll ever be?" Sherlock leaned his head back then, kissing John's neck and smiling to himself.
"You tell me," Sherlock teased John and he got the reaction he wanted. John leaned away a little bit before kissing Sherlock's temple and continued the trail of kisses right before he reached his lips.
He pulled away for a second, giving his lover a acknowledging glance before cupping Sherlock's checks in his hands, pausing a little before rushing in and placing a kiss on Sherlock's lips. It was quick and awkward and Sherlock's eyes were wide. He didn't imagine that John would go as far as kissing him for the first time, Sherlock was pretty positive he would have to make the first move.
"You're full of surprises, Doctor." Sherlock cooed and arranged himself so he was face forward leaning against John. Sherlock seized him by the top of his jumper, closing the gap between them in a soft kiss, John's eyes slowly closed followed by Sherlock's. Sherlock couldn't believe that he could ever feel like this when it comes to another person. He couldn't understand why they waited this long for a moment like this.
He always considered himself a soulless machine, never understanding feelings. He never knew exactly what love was until it hit him one day.
Sherlock always hated when John went away, he would have a longing for his company. He knew he couldn't be just merely lonely because Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade were always by, especially when John went away.
When John was around, he always felt like the weight of the world was lifted off his shoulders and he always did silly things, like leaving the torch in the flat. John always seemed to be his rising sun, and he felt ridiculous for not noticing this before. If missing a person this much and having your heart skip a beat when they do little things for you doesn't explain love to him, nothing will.
Sherlock deepened the kiss, running a hand up the back of John's layers of shirts as John ran a hand through the dark thick curls of his lover.
He couldn't believe his luck.
John sat up and for a moment they fought for dominance. Sherlock pulled away for a spit second and John turned around the role, pushing Sherlock onto his back. They didn't kiss again; John propped up his weight with his good arm and brushed Sherlock's hair behind his ear with the other.
"I'm not good with words."
"I know," John said, in a soft loving manner, lowering himself and pecking the taller man on the check.
"They've never done me justice."
"I know."
There was a long pause.
"No word out there can describe this."
John ran his thumb across Sherlock's lower lip.
Sherlock then realized how painful it has been for him, loving John in silence.
John is his heart, his only exception, all of the clichéd things and more.
This was Sherlock's moment of clarity.