Thanks to Catie501 whose wonderful ideas and kind words were the inspiration for this story :)

And I Will Wait

If you'd asked me a year ago if I believed in karma I probably would have laughed.

But maybe I've changed my mind, maybe I believe now.

Karma comes after everyone eventually. Sooner or later we all get what we deserve and perhaps this was it.

The consequence of my betrayal.

The bottom line is you never see the big moments coming, and even if you do theres no way to prepare yourself. Its not like you can just sit back in your chair and say 'Yep, I'm ready for my life to change now, thanks' because that's bullshit, no ones ready, not really. You just kind of have to meet it when it comes. It doesn't make it any easier thats for sure, but theres no other way.

And the truth is, I was scared. I was scared that if I threw open the door to Baker St and marched up the stairs that I would be too much of a coward to say what I needed to say. To say sorry.

Because I was sorry, Jesus I'd never been so sorry in my life. But what if it wasn't enough? What if I looked up at your eyes and saw disappointment; hurt?

I couldn't deal with that, I kind of hoped you might shout at me, tell me what a bastard I was, maybe take a swing or two.

Then perhaps things could be OK, I would be OK with that, I mean its not like I didn't deserve it. But I knew it wouldn't be like that. You know that old saying 'Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt', well maybe its right, because I could handle words, I was ready for whatever you could throw at me, but I was afraid you wouldn't say anything, that maybe you wouldn't need to because it would be written all over your face. And somehow that was a thousand times worse.

So here I was, outside the door, ready for battle and armed only with my guilt and the word sorry.

I don't know what else there is to say, why is it we only have that one word, the same word we use for everything? Sorry I'm late, sorry I forgot my wallet, sorry I ran your cat over.

Sorry I betrayed you in the only way which mattered.

Sorry.

I didn't even know how we had ended up like this, how things had got so fucked up.

I guess they were heading here from the beginning, I mean we had been living together for years, solving crimes, annoying Anderson, probably giving Lestrade more grey hairs than he deserved, but Christ it was fun wasn't it? Its like we were acting out the kind of lives you dream of when you're kids, the life of danger, mystery and adventure. The dreams you have before you realise that certain things are impossible, that fairytales don't play out in real life.

But somehow we had got lucky, things had never been better. Its such a cliche thing to say isn't it? Things had never been better, its pretty much like saying all the other times you've been happy were actually pretty shit. Whose to say this moment won't end up exactly the same tomorrow or next week when you decide something else is the best thing ever. What is it about our need to compare every single thing, is it some sort of competition? Maybe. But if it is, does that inspire us to make our lives better each day or set us up for failure, remind us of all the things we used to have which are gone now?

I'm not saying you didn't annoy the hell out of me most of the time, because you did. You can be so pretentious , I think its mostly that look of superiority you get on your face when you solve the puzzle. Most people just look at you in awe, I usually just want to punch you in the face…and maybe look a little in awe as well, but mostly the punching. I know I'm not a detective genius with an overly elaborate mind palace, but seriously, do you think I don't notice when you use the toaster for grilling animal body parts or that you replaced the relish Sarah gave me for Christmas with that toxic smelling goop you had bubbling on the the stove for a week?

If Mrs Hudson ever sees what that did to the wallpaper behind the stove we'll be living on the street I guarantee it.

And so that's how things were, we went to crime scenes, you annoyed everyone, solved the puzzle, we went home, I shouted for a bit about something you'd done, you pretended not to hear, then we got Chinese and laughed about the time Anderson got head-butted by a goat when we were investigating the farm murders.

Then came that stormy Sunday evening. We had spent the day wading along the shores of the Thames and it had been bloody freezing. I was wearing three jumpers and drinking my weight in scalding tea while you lay on the couch in your blue dressing gown and complained that the murderer had been far too obvious. And I was staring at you, your long legs curled up beneath you, hair still damp from the shower, dripping down your neck and soaking the top of your thin shirt.

I think that was the moment I realised that I was in way too deep, that some how I, John Watson, was in love with Sherlock Holmes. To be honest the thought scared the hell out of me and I sat there for ages trying to convince myself otherwise, maybe this was all a side effect of the cold, maybe I was imagining it, but then I realised that none of the symptoms of hypothermia included sudden feelings towards your decidedly not female flatmate.

Well shit.

My internal monologue of 'Don't be an idiot, he's your best friend, you're going to ruin everything, get your shit together John' was interrupted by you saying my name. I guess I had missed a comment that demanded a response so I took a shot in the dark and just nodded "Yep." Sometimes that works and you can get away with a lapse in concentration, I'm sure I gone whole conversations without actually listening an just interjecting a few nods and 'yeahs' into the gaps.

But this time you frowned.

"You weren't even listening were you?"

"Sorry"

You sighed dramatically as if I had missed out on something of great importance "You probably wouldn't have understood anyway"

Probably? Wow, that was almost a compliment.

I realised I was staring again and decided to excuse myself for bed, you just shrugged and went back to texting.

And that was that.

It wasn't like my internal revelation of love was a tiny drop of water that I could sort of blink away and then carry on, I had jumped right into the entire bloody pool and now I just had to deal with it.

When you decide you love someone but know you cant have them then suddenly everything they do is like they're taunting you, reminding you what you can't have. Were your eyes always that colour, your shirts that tight, your jawline so perfect, your voice so enticing?

I could feel you watching me sometimes, trying to figure out what was wrong. My only solution had been to try and distance myself from you, I went on fewer cases, I spent more time at the hospital and less time with you. I knew you were worried, that you didn't understand and I also knew what I was doing was unfair, but what else could I do?

However silences don't protect you. For every word unspoken the underlying truths fall further away and my absence had made things worse not better. I was being selfish, I didn't stop to think how this looked to you, maybe I didn't care, I was too caught up in feeling sorry for myself.

Besides this selfishness was just the beginning, the tip of the iceberg, in hindsight it wasn't that bad was it? Not in comparison to what would come later.

Then there was the day I came home from the hospital late, I had been sleeping there lots, picking up extra shifts, coming and going at Baker Street when I knew you would be out. But you were home this time, standing at the window, violin in hand, but not playing. Just standing there, staring out at the dark sky and quiet street below us. I dumped my bag on the ground and headed straight for the fridge. Empty. What a surprise and suddenly I was angry, irrationally, unexpectedly.

It was everything, I missed being here, I missed being with you, I missed how things had been before I decided to ruin it all. In that moment I wished we had never met, then this would never have happened, I would never have to be constantly around the one thing I wanted, but the one thing I couldn't have.

"You know it wouldn't kill you to pick up some groceries"

You looked around surprised, surprised that I had spoken to you.

Christ, had I really been gone that much?

You lowered the violin onto the seat and just kind of looked at me, still trying to deduce me, trying to figure me out. I was glad that I was one of the few people who still seemed a bit of a mystery to you. I slammed the fridge door shut aggressively "Just one trip to the bloody shops Sherlock, I'm sick of doing everything"

I wasn't really, I didn't mind, we worked well like that together, we had a kind of rhythm, a routine that just worked.

Your face darkened, you weren't deducing me anymore, maybe you had figured it out, or maybe you had given up, who could blame you. "Why don't you just go then?" you said quietly.

I glared up at you "That's exactly what I mean Sherlock, I shouldn't have to all the time, you're not a child you know, you are capable of buying a loaf of bread"

"I don't mean the supermarket John"

I didn't like how you said my name, it was cold somehow, detached "I mean leave here, Baker Street"

Now I was confused "What the hell does that mean?"

Were you asking me to leave? Didn't you know how much I wanted that, to walk away from you and this life, to try and forget how I felt. I wanted to stride out the door and be able to never look back, but the very thought caused me physical pain, I needed you, the world would be a mightily bleak place without you by my side.

"You clearly don't want to live here anymore. Whatever I've done to make you dislike me, its written all over your face. Don't bother trying to spare my feelings if that's why you're still here. You know it doesn't matter to me in the slightest whether you stay or go"

You said the words without a blink of emotion except distain. There was no underlying plea in your words for me to stay, no flicker of hurt in your eyes. I almost believed the words, almost.

But then I knew you better than anyone else in all the world. I knew how much it would have cost you to say those words in the unfeeling way you delivered them, each syllable like a knife stabbing into my skin. And I knew what I had done, that I had done this to us, my fear of rejection, my selfishness of needing to be near you but simultaneously pushing you away in every way I could. I had almost ruined everything.

"That's not what I want" of course it wasn't, how could it be, did you even know what you had done for me, you had saved me. When I came back from Afghanistan I had seriously considered putting my gun in my mouth. It was only bringing closer the inevitable, we all die, why drag it out unnecessarily?

But then you had arrived in my world and brought life back to me.

"Then what?" you asked and there it was, for an instant the real Sherlock appeared beneath the cold, genius exterior façade. You were confused, for once you didn't know what has happening next and it unsettled you.

It unsettled me that I had done this.

And before I knew it, before I could even think about it I had crossed the gap between us in a few strides, grabbed your shoulders so we were face to face and I could answer the question you hadn't meant to ask. "You Sherlock" and then I crushed my lips against yours. God, this was like the terrible cliché moment at the end of a badly written chick-flick where the guy realises he's been an asshole and does something dramatic to win the girl which inevitably causes a simultaneous 'awww' from every woman in the cinema who then wonder why their spouse seems so lousy in comparison.

Except there wasn't a lot of romance. There was no slow motion running towards each other, no stupid sad song in the background or sweeping camera angles of the convenient sunset.

There was you standing stiffly, shocked, disgusted, angry, I didn't know.

And me, claiming full bonus points, 10 out of 10 for how to fuck up friendships and ruin everything that mattered. I was the master, maybe I should write a 'How To' book, hold conferences, create a following of people similarly dedicated to doing the least appropriate thing in the circumstances.

I dropped my arms to my side and stepped back, despite the fact I had kind of just attacked you, the fact that my lips had actually touched yours made me ridiculously light headed. Your face was blank as if you were processing, loading the response like a computer programme. I thought about turning and running, but I needed to hear your rejection, I needed the pain, the conclusion to all of this. But most of all I needed to hear something that I could torture myself with, replay over and over in my mind while I wallowed in self pity and regret.

"John?"

I gulped, Ok here it was, prepare yourself, you can do this John. Your eyes were strange, unreadable. And then somehow we were face to face again except this time you were kissing me and this time it was right. Your lips were soft, curious, cautious, they explored mine gently. I felt for a second like I should pull away and make sure this was actually happening, then explain everything and try and redeem my weeks of avoiding you and in general being a total twat. But as I said, that thought was only there for a second, or maybe half a second, or maybe less, lets be honest here. My mouth opened under yours and I traced the perfect outline of your soft lips with my tongue, before dipping it inside your mouth.

I had dreamt about this (more times than I will admit to in order to retain at least a shred of dignity), but this was a million times better. I had never felt anything like this before, it was if a fire had ignited within me, a tingling warmth which spread to my toes. My hands were in your hair, those soft unruly curls, I clung to them, pulling your face closer to mine. I pushed you backwards, clumsily, stumbling until you were against the wall and I could press my body against yours, I needed to be closer, we were fused together, your hands on the side of my face trailing down my neck wrapping around my shoulders, pulling me in tighter. I gasped, my heart pounding wildly as we broke apart. Your pale skin was flushed, your light eyes bright and we looked at each other for a moment.

Then there was nothing to do but laugh, laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, of what had just happened, of how it had taken us this long to arrive here. I have never felt relief so great than at that point, where I knew that we were OK, you and me. That things could go back to normal now, different perhaps, but in a way I could cope with, in a way that would not cause the very foundation of my world to crumble beneath me.

And so all was well.

Until it wasn't.