A.N This is my first fan fiction so reviews would be highly appreciated! This was written while suffering from post-reichenbach depression (still am really!) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned Sherlock, would I be sitting here writing fan fiction?
"Well it's over!" John exclaimed as he walked in the door. Sherlock sat in his chair staring at the wall not paying attention to his flatmate. "Sarah and I are over, Sherlock! She dumped me!" His flatmate didn't move. "Do you even care a little? I mean it's all your fault!" Sherlock still stared at the wall his face unresponsive. John stood for a few seconds waiting for his flatmate to say something or even acknowledge his presence but nothing happened. His face remained its usual impassive state. His gorgeous striking grey eyes fixed on the wall. With a start John realised what he had just thought and Sarah's words came back to him.
"No one will ever live up to him in your eyes. You love each other. Everyone can see it. Except you and him."
Those had been her parting words. He had sighed and said again those words that seemed to appear in every conversation. "I'm not gay." But no one ever believed him. Even he was starting to doubt it. No, don't think like that. You're not gay. He sighed and busied himself making two cups of tea. If he had looked up he would have saw the small grin on the consulting detective's face. One of his rare genuine smiles.
He couldn't believe his luck. John and that Sarah woman were over. Finished. Done. He gave a silent gleeful chuckle. Then he realised that there would always be a Sarah. Someone else that was important to John. Someone that would take John, his John, away from him. His musings were interrupted by the abrupt arrival of a steaming mug of tea. He glanced up at John and tried to figure out what made him so appealing. Was it the sandy brown hair? The way John's smile made him want to burst with joy? The unwavering loyalty and trust? The ability to make an amazing cup of tea? He shook his head. John Hamish Watson was the one mystery he would never solve.
"So why didn't you like her?" John's voice brought Sherlock back to earth with a bump. "Sarah, I mean." He frowned, as numerous answers jumped into his head.
She distracted you from our work.
She didn't like me.
She had you. I wanted you.
You liked her.
She was creating a gap between us.
You should've have been with me.
I was jealous.
He lifted his head and looked his flatmate straight in the eyes, for the first time that night, and said "She was an idiot." John's face twisted into a look of displeasure before he stalked off to his bedroom, proclaiming he was tired. Sherlock let out a groan and cradled his head in his hands. Why did it have to be so difficult? It was just three little words.