Blue
Grief is very difficult to deal with. When tragedy strikes, not many people know how to deal. Sherlock Holmes is especially one of these people.
Sherlock doesn't know how to deal with many emotions. As a sociopath, he often dismisses emotions as something he doesn't understand. Happiness, anger, sadness; it's very easy to say it's a blur to him.
John never expected he'd see Sherlock show emotions until that day. That's what John always refers to it as: that day.
It was early in the morning, around three AM. Sherlock's phone rang all through the flat, John heard it all the way from his room upstairs. He rolled onto his back and listened for Sherlock to get out of bed to get his phone, but John knows Sherlock's just coming off a four day case and nothing will wake him.
John sat up to get out of bed, because surely at three AM it was an important call, but as soon as he kicked his legs from out of the blanket, the phone stopped. He sighed and motioned to lay back down, but the phone began again. This time, John got right out of bed and stomped downstairs.
The flat was dark and empty, so the phone rang and vibrated loudly, and the screen lit like a fire. John walked to the coffee table where it was and picked it up.
Mycroft Calling, the screen read. John pressed the green button on the screen and held the device to his ear.
"'Lo, Mycroft."
"Ahh, Doctor Watson. I apologize for that late call."
John rolled his eyes. "What is it, Mycroft?"
"Could you let Sherlock know that our mother has had a heart attack?"
John nearly gasped. "Is she ok?"
"It's too soon to tell. Could you let Sherlock know?"
"Yes, of course."
"Thank you, Doctor." Mycroft hung up.
John stared at the phone for a moment, then set it down and went to Sherlock's bedroom. He could hear Sherlock snoring from the door. He opened it and went in.
"Sherlock, hey," John shoved Sherlock's shoulder. "Wake up."
"Mmmmm?"
"That was Mycroft on the phone. He said…" John couldn't really say the words that Mycroft asked him to repeat. He swallowed and finally said, "Your mother had a heart attack."
Sherlock turned over and looked up at John. "What?"
"Your mother had a heart attack. She's at the hospital now."
"Is she going to be ok?"
"I don't know," John took a deep breath. "What should we do?"
"I guess I should," Sherlock moved to get out of bed, "I should go to the hospital."
The cab ride was silent. They were both tired, yes, but Sherlock was thinking. He was wondering what to do now and what would happen if she died.
They finally arrived at the hospital and Sherlock calmly found Mycroft. Mycroft touched his shoulder, which was rare, and looked into his younger brother's face.
"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," he said.
John, behind them in the hall, buried his face in his hands. He knew how difficult it was losing a parent, he couldn't imagine what it would have felt like had he not been able to say goodbye.
"She said she loves you, Sherlock."
Sherlock nodded. "Thank you," he said.
"I'm going home," Mycroft said. "I'll call you about details later this week."
Mycroft left, but Sherlock stood in the hall silently. John went up to him and touched his arm.
"Are you ok?" John asked.
"Fine," Sherlock quickly said. He strode down the hall and John had to trot to catch up.
The cab ride home was even more quiet. Not even Sherlock's thoughts occupied the white noise.
When they got home, the sun was rising. Sherlock shrugged his coat off and hung it, then walked towards his room.
"Do you want me to—" John began, but he didn't finish his question because Sherlock slammed his door.
The next morning, when John woke, Sherlock was nowhere to be found. John assumed he found something to occupy his time, like a case or something, so John didn't search for him. But at around one in the afternoon, John heard Sherlock's phone ring from his bedroom.
John went down the hall and knocked on Sherlock's door. There was no answer, so John went in anyway. "Sherlock? You in here?"
"Go away," he got in a quick reply.
"Have you been in here all day?"
"Yes."
John went to the bed and pressed a hand to Sherlock's shoulder. "Are you ok?"
"Go away, John."
John sighed and went to the door. "If you need anything—"
"I won't."
The rest of the day was silent, and John went to bed without hearing from Sherlock again.
The next day was the same. John checked on Sherlock a few times and each time Sherlock told him to go away. John tried to get him to eat but he wouldn't. John couldn't get him out of bed for anything.
"When you're ready to talk about it, I'll be here," John said as he left Sherlock's room the next day.
The next day, Sherlock had to meet Mycroft to sort things out. Their mother's will was addressed and the estate was divided. Sherlock left John moping and arrived home later that night still moping. He went straight to his room and didn't say anything to John.
John went to bed not long after Sherlock got home. He knew Sherlock wouldn't need him. He quickly fell asleep.
Not long after, however, there was a knock on John's door. John sat up and rubbed his eyes. He turned the lamp on and checked the clock: 11:45 PM. John sighed. "Come in," he called.
Sherlock entered the room holding the sheet from his bed.
"What's wrong?" John asked.
"I'm," Sherlock cleared his throat. "I'm ready to talk now."
Sherlock slowly walked through the room to John's bed. Closer, John could see that Sherlock had dark circles under his eyes.
"Have you slept?" John asked.
Sherlock shook his head.
John threw his duvet back and patted the bed. Sherlock lifted a leg to get in, but John stopped him. "Are you wearing pants?"
Sherlock nodded. John nodded at the bed and Sherlock slid in.
John turned over to turn the light off and Sherlock snuggled himself into John's bed. It wasn't the first time they'd slept together, they had done so months ago after John was taken and beat by a few drug dealers. Sherlock had kissed him goodnight and John had let him.
John turned over to look at Sherlock and already Sherlock looked more at ease. He looked like he could finally sleep.
"How do you feel?" John asked.
"How do you think?"
"Awful. Empty. Tired. Alone. Helpless. Am I hitting any?"
Sherlock nodded.
"It'll be ok, Sherlock."
"It won't John. I'll never see her again."
"I know. And I'm so sorry, Sherlock. After my mother went, I felt horrible for about a year. Holidays sucked and that, but then I knew I needed to move on because she needed to make my mother proud, so I went to Afghanistan."
"I'm not going to do that, John."
"I know. You're so much stronger, Sherlock." John rubbed Sherlock's arm.
"I'm not, John. I'm weak like everybody else."
"No, you're not." John scooted closer to Sherlock. "You're not like anyone else. You're so much more, Sherlock. Stronger, smarter, better. You will get through this."
Sherlock closed his eyes. "Thank you, John."
John half smiled. "Go to sleep, ok? Tomorrow we've got to meet Mycroft for funeral details."
Sherlock nodded. John kissed his forehead. "Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, Sherlock."
The next morning, John woke up laying on his back with Sherlock on his chest. He took a deep breath and tried to move, but Sherlock pulled him tighter.
"Please don't move," Sherlock said.
"Jesus, Sherlock," John ran fingers through Sherlock's dirty hair. "Have you slept?"
"Yes. That's why I don't want you to move. I want to go back to sleep. I want it to go away."
"It's not going to go away, Sherlock."
Sherlock shook. John held him tighter. "Ok, ok. I won't move. Go to sleep."
They slept through their appointment with Mycroft. When Sherlock finally woke up around three PM, John got him to shower and eat something. It wasn't much, but John knew Sherlock needed something in him.
They went to the funeral two days later. John was there by Sherlock's side the whole time, Sherlock never let him leave. Sherlock slept with him each night and woke up after him each morning. John thought it was nice even though he shouldn't have.
At the funeral, Sherlock looked sad. That's the only way John could describe him, sad. John had never seen Sherlock frown so deeply before. Sherlock wasn't thinking and wasn't doing anything, hardly even talking, so John knew he was sad.
Sherlock didn't cry, though. Sherlock would never cry. John may have thought he was going to, but he knew he wouldn't. Sherlock did hug Mycroft, though. John knew that was the most emotion he was going to let out.
In the car on the way home, Sherlock turned to John.
"Thank you, John," he said.
"What for?"
"For all of this. For this past week."
"You're welcome, Sherlock. Anything."
Sherlock took a deep breath and looked out the window. He sighed again and looked at John, who looked at Sherlock, who reached across the seat to John and kissed him.
John didn't break away from Sherlock with shock. They'd kissed before, but this time it was different. When Sherlock finally let John go, he stared into John's face and John stared at him.
"Sherlock, don't," John finally said. "You're sad and vulnerable. And I've been the one to help you. That's why you're kissing me."
"No, John. I've been thinking a lot. About life and death, you and I. I'd be…" Sherlock sighed as if shocked by his own words, "I'd be devastated if something happened to you."
"I know, and I'd be devastated if something happened to you again, but I'm not going around kissing you."
"Why don't you?"
"What?"
"Why don't you kiss me?" Sherlock sat back. "Don't you…don't you feel for me…"
"Yes, I do, Sherlock." John scooted closer to Sherlock. "I'd do anything for you. You're my closest friend and…I could be with you forever, Sherlock. But when your grief fades, that's all it'd be. Grief feelings."
"I don't think so, John. I've been thinking very hard about this, and I'm ready to take our relationship to the next level. Slowly, yes. But I've been thinking about it. And I'm ready."
"Sherlock. I can't…" John took a deep breath. Sherlock looked out his window and pouted. "Hey, look at me. It's not a no, ok? Just not yet, ok? When you're done grieving, when you can think clearly, maybe after a big case, I'll ask you and you can decide then. Ok?"
Sherlock shook his head. "Just say no, John. I can take rejection."
John reached over to Sherlock and kissed him lightly. "It's not a rejection. But we need to wait."
Sherlock nodded. "Ok, John. My thoughts won't change, but I understand."
John released Sherlock and sat against his door. "You're amazing, Sherlock. You're handling all of this so well."
Sherlock looked out his window and began to move on.
*This is the first in a series of about sixteen fics based on this: 25 dot media dot tumblr dot com /tumblr _ m5mry 1KBUF1rnl2v3o1 _ 500 dot png remove spaces and replace dot to . I'll do each color and each word around the edge. You'll see what'll happen. Stay tuned!