Me- Alright well, here's the next one. I have been working with Xivida on this one, most of this chapter is written by me with some changes by her. However, I haven't been in contact with her for a few days, I'm not quite sure what's happened…So for right now I'll just keep it at this chapter but if she doesn't contact me in the next couple of days than I shall begin posting the next parts I have.
Disclaimer- I don't own Sherlock.
Warning- They're gay.
On with the show!
John stormed into the flat, Sherlock trailing behind him saying,
"John, I really don't understand-"
"Of course you don't!" John whirled around, cutting off the detective's words. "You never do! You're supposed to be brilliant, but you can be so stupid sometimes! You think we're all idiots, but you're the one who's so bloody clueless all the time!"
"John, I'm hardly an idiot," Sherlock scoffed, surprised at how much that hurt.
"Not usually," John bit back, "But today..." He covered his face with both hands before crossing them in front of his chest, glowering at Sherlock.
Sherlock fidgeted under his gaze for a few seconds before speaking.
"Today what, John? I haven't got the slightest idea why you are so angry with me."
"Angry? Oh, I'm not angry." John's voice had gone dangerously quiet. "I am furious."
Sherlock swallowed nervously, realising he was in for it with the sinking feeling of someone who has discovered himself in the middle of a minefield, having breezed past all the warning signs.
"You jumped into a grave, Sherlock! And then you started going on about how the man was murdered and why and then you accused the son of murdering him!" John hissed.
"But I was right!" Sherlock protested.
"It doesn't matter!" John spat, eyes flashing dangerously. "It was a funeral!"
"Well, what you have had me do?"
"Not interrupt a grieving family! You go quietly to the police afterwards, not turn a funeral into a spectacle. While you were spouting your fantastic deductions, there were crying people above you trying to gain some sense of closure. It was disturbing to watch." John tightened his fists at his sides, as well as his entire posture. It was almost military, but there was something in the slump of his shoulders that suggested sorrow, almost desperation. "But you don't care, do you?" He was nearly in tears.
"You don't care that when you act like that you hurt people. You don't care that you pay no attention to others' feelings—in fact, you're proud of it! All you care about is being right, being the cleverest in the room. What you did today was completely inappropriate, to say the least! I don't usually mind how you act around others; God knows Lestrade and Anderson can handle it, but you crossed a line today. And Sherlock..." John paused before finding his resolve again.
"Did you ever stop to consider how I feel? Me, your boyfriend, your partner? You're constantly nicking my laptop and my mobile, you play violin all hours of the night, you conduct experiments and don't bother to clean up, and you can't even go buy new milk when you ruin it! Or how about when you go swanning off by yourself in the middle of a case and you disappear for hours? Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I want to go along with you, or that you worry me when you do that?" He paused, leaving his words to hang in the air.
"You know I can take care of myself, you don't need to worry," Sherlock stated calmly. He cringed as he saw the ex-soldier close his eyes and draw in a deep breath, knowing he'd said the wrong thing.
John opened his eyes, fixing them on Sherlock's pale ones.
"That's not the point," he said softly. Sherlock thought he detected a hint of...disappointment? Sadness? Both? But before he could question further, or try to deduce where exactly he had gone wrong, John spoke again.
"I am always considering your feelings. And I'm always sharing mine with you. I love you, Sherlock. And I know you feel the same but you could certainly stand to show it a bit more! I clean up after you, make sure we have groceries, generally take care of you since you don't do it yourself, let you do whatever you want around the flat and basically everything else too! I'm like your sodding keeper, and sometimes I don't even think you notice, you with your amazing habit of noticing everything. I don't think you've ever done anything in return, or even said 'thank you'. Caring about me should be second nature to you, Sherlock." John's words were weary now, devoid of rage, almost dulled.
Sherlock opened his mouth to say that it was second nature, but John shot him a look so wounded he shut it immediately.
"I need some time to myself," John whispered before grabbing his coat and walking out the door.
Hope you liked it. I should have at least the second chapter up by Wednesday, and reviews really do encourage me to work faster, so if I get a generous amount from you wonderful people, then maybe you'll have a third chapter as well. Shamrless plug now, if you liked this one then you should check out A Hot Sticky Mess, which is pure smut, and Call My Name, which is a sweeter one and I am particularly proud of Now, it's early morning as I'm editing to add this note, and I think I've yapped long enough. Off to take a stroll about nighttime London.