Note: I don't own any of the characters from the Sherlock BBC television series, nor any of the characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. This is my thoughts on 'what if John's orientation so far is heterosexual?' Any similarities to other authors' stories are unintentional, I did not check what stories are out there on this subject. If you feel like hurting or killing yourself please don't do it, speak with someone, for example you can call a crisis line!
Please note: I WILL ONLY POST ch. 1 to 5 ON FFnet because after that the rating would be MA on FFnet, which one is not allowed to post on FFnet! - This story is rated E on archiveofourown, where you can look at the tags to see whether you may want to read it. In addition to ch. 1 to 5, chapters 6 and up are already posted at: archiveofourown dot org then paste /works/3968104/chapters/8901034 after org (I'm Cyclamen on Ao3) There's a button called "Chapter Index" in the top row. A few chapters have trigger warnings!
Chapter 1: Realizing
"So, Sherlock, I have a date tonight, after work!" John casually mentioned as he put his coat on - early-in-the-fall mornings could be chilly - getting ready to leave the flat. Smiling, clearly looking forward to this, Sherlock noted.
"Hm? What's her name?" He assumed it was a female since he had seen John ever only go out with females. "When and where did you meet?"
"Hold it, Sherlock. Her name's Jamie Marsden. She's quite sweet." Sherlock rolled his eyes at that. "We just met at Tesco's the other day. Her little daughter had bumped her head falling out of the shopping cart, and I offered to help, being a doctor ..."
"Hm." Sherlock sighed. "I was planning to do research for a case tonight, downtown. If you'd rather help me with that you know you're welcome to."
"Thanks for the offer. But I think I'd really rather go on a date at this time. It's been a while. Besides, Jamie already arranged for a babysitter. She's a single mom, looks forward to having a break ..."
Sherlock got the hint. "I probably won't be back till later. Have a pleasant evening, John."
"Thanks! See you later, Sherlock." And with that John was off. For some reason Sherlock felt slightly sad as the door closed behind his friend.
ooo
Sherlock tried to find things to do during the day. Sitting at the kitchen table, peering through his microscope, he tried to concentrate on his experiment, but caught his thoughts returning to John going to be on a date with to-him-yet-unknown Jamie Marsden repeatedly.
Trying to play his violin didn't go much better: he'd start playing something, but then he'd have to stop because he actually 'forgot' how the piece continued. Obviously distracted, annoyed with himself, he felt miserable and restless. Eventually he plopped on the couch.
He was relieved when it was finally time to go do the 'research' for their latest case; he'd made it sound more important in hopes of getting John to come along. Not wanting to wait until he was properly introduced, if he left a bit early he could go by John's work and maybe catch a glimpse of John's date if they met there, or follow John to where they'd meet. He'd be discreet, of course, he just wanted to know what she looked like, make his deductions, and then go meet his contact ...
John was off at 4.30 PM today. As Sherlock's cab got closer to the clinic where he worked John was already standing outside with a pretty looking woman. Her open blond hair reached down to her shoulder blades, Swedish-flag-blue skirt covering her knees, white blouse, oatmeal cardigan draped over her left arm, flat shoes, skin not tanned much, not much makeup ... John and her smiled at each other, no other skin contact ... unpretentious, honest, natural, normal ... then Sherlock's cab had passed by and he turned his head back quickly from looking at them. Hopefully John hadn't seen him.
ooo
Having left early, Sherlock called his contact, Peter Barnes, from the cab asking if they could meet earlier, which would work fine for both of them. He gave the address of the pub and soon paid the driver. It was a small place, off the main roads. Since it was only late afternoon there weren't many patrons yet.
They'd met several years ago when Sherlock had been addicted to cocaine and needed a place to stay trying to hide from a nasty creditor. Since Peter was homeless at the time he had let Sherlock stay with him at a secluded spot in a deserted underground tunnel, looked out for him when he was strung-out, introduced him to other homeless people. When Sherlock eventually surfaced in search of obtaining more drugs it hadn't taken Mycroft too long to find him, settle his debt and drag him off to rehab.
In retrospect Sherlock was grateful that Peter and his group of friends had helped him during that difficult period in his life, and in return he liked to help them whenever he could. In retrospect, he had to acknowledge, that he had to also be grateful for Mycroft not letting him kill himself with drugs. If he'd died then obviously he wouldn't have met John.
After waiting several minutes at the counter of the pub Sherlock saw Peter walk in. He was as tall as Sherlock, but even skinnier, dark hair as well, but longer and in a ponytail, tanned, clothes slightly worn, fingernails dirty and hands calloused from his latest job maintaining greenspaces in the city. They nodded in greeting at each other and then made their way to one of the tables at the side of the room. Sherlock wasn't hungry himself but offered to buy Peter supper, which was gratefully accepted.
"Here's the information you asked for," Peter said shoving a thin folder across the table at Sherlock, putting another forkful of his supper in his mouth, savoring the taste. "Something on your mind? You're so quiet. Not like you." Normally Sherlock would ask Peter about how things were going for himself and other people they both knew. Sherlock debated with himself whether he should mention anything about his situation with John.
"What would you do if you had found someone you get along well with?" he ventured.
"What d'you mean by 'get along well'?" Peter hadn't ever heard Sherlock express romantic interest in another human being before, only seen him alone. Back then Sherlock had been very abrasive, rude, full of himself, miserable, not someone anyone would want to be around for long.
"Well, ..." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders not quite sure how to proceed. "As I've mentioned before, I have this flatmate, Dr. John Watson. He works as a doctor. And helps me with cases. He's out on a date with a woman right now. And ..." Sherlock trailed off. He hadn't looked at Peter at all while he said this, just at his folded hands on top of the table, then closed his lips and raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Oh. - Are you saying you want to be together with him?" Peter asked hearing between the words and beyond.
Sherlock shrugged his shoulders again. Peter put his fork down, looked at Sherlock's tense face. He didn't have that much experience with relationships himself. Sherlock clearly cared about this one person, otherwise he wouldn't have mentioned this.
"Well, if you think there's any chance he may return your feelings you could be honest with him. Life's too short not to let someone know that you love them." In the past year alone a couple of their mutual acquaintances had died of various causes. Yes, life here on Earth is finite, Sherlock had to concede.
Sherlock looked at Peter. "Any further advice?"
"You said he's out with a woman right now. Do you know whether he's bisexual?"
"No, actually I do not." Sherlock sighed. "He was in the army. He's said several times that he's not gay, usually when people assume that we're in a relationship, which happens quite a bit." A small fond smile appeared on Sherlock's face remembering various such instances.
"So, if you don't know whether he's bisexual or has had some sexual experience with the same sex, you can't know whether he'll want to be intimate with you."
Sherlock swallowed hearing that. He knew that usually romantic relationships, if not at first, eventually included some form of sexual contact between the partners at times, but this conversation was becoming quickly uncomfortable now. He was glad Peter was open to talking about it with him, though.
Sherlock rubbed his forehead and made a face. "You're right. I just don't want to lose him."
"I'll be thinking of you. If you want to talk, you know how to get a hold of me."
Sherlock knew that 'thinking of you' meant that Peter would be praying for him regarding this matter. As he had when Sherlock had been addicted to drugs.
"Thanks, Peter." Sherlock sighed again, paid the bill and left for Baker Street.
ooo
Since John wasn't home yet, back at Baker Street Sherlock automatically made his way into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He sat at the kitchen table, lost in thought, pondering his options. After clearing his few dishes he decided to go lie on his bed instead of the couch, on the off chance that John might bring Jamie back to the flat, to give them more privacy. Hopefully John would notice and appreciate that, for once, he did not 'interfere' and scare off his date with deductions.
Exhausted as he felt Sherlock managed to fall asleep. He came to when he heard John calling for him.
"Sherlock, you home?" Sherlock realized he'd fallen asleep in his coat, so it was possible John assumed he had not returned because he didn't see his coat hanging by the door. He kept quiet.
"I guess he's not back yet," he heard John say. Obviously Sherlock's theory was right. "So this is our flat. What do you think?" Not alone then, most likely Jamie was here as well.
"Would you like some tea, or coffee?" he heard John ask politely.
"Tea would be fine." The sound of the tap being turned on and off, mugs being sat down. "Does he play the violin? What's with the skull on the mantle? And the smiley face? Are those bullet holes in the wall?" Jamie voiced some of the easy observations of their flat. So John had mentioned Sherlock to her, on their first date, he hoped this was a good sign.
"Want to come sit on the couch?" Sherlock heard John ask, and froze. John was going to carry the mugs with tea from the kitchen to the living room, and he and Jamie were going to sit on the couch where normally Sherlock sat with John. He blinked, processing that picture.
"Yes, Sherlock plays the violin, very well. He's been known to carry on conversations with that skull. And yes, those are bullet holes. He was very bored, which can happen, in between cases. I mentioned we help the police at times, often when they're stuck. He's a brilliant detective. In fact he's the most brilliant man I've ever known." Sherlock lay still, soaking up every word of John's praise, hoping. He was grateful that John left out the part that Sherlock was not always easy to live with, he did know that about himself.
The conversation in the living room was growing quieter. Sherlock had to strain his hearing trying to make out what was being said without having to resort to actually putting his ear against his closed bedroom door. He did not want to do that.
"Thanks for inviting me out, and for showing me your flat, and the tea. That's very nice of you, John."
"You're welcome. I had a good time. And I'm sure you could use a break from looking after Lucy. You're doing an admirable job raising her on your own. It can't always be easy."
"Yes, it can be a challenge to make her a priority and work full time. Luckily my extended family also helps to look after her, they're great support."
There was a small period of silence, presumably tea was being sipped while how to carry on the conversation was being pondered.
"May I kiss you?" Sherlock heard John ask, and his hands shot up to his head grabbing his hair.
It was then that Sherlock fully realized that he wanted to be the one kissing John and the one being kissed by John! He was glad his bedroom door was closed so he did not have to physically see John kissing another human being than him, Sherlock. He hoped very much that kissing was all John and Jamie were going to do. He was not at all sure whether he'd be able to bear witnessing any other 'activities' with any of his senses!
The quiet grew longer, Sherlock frowned, but there were no loud noises, just a few very little ones. Surely John would take it slow on a first date and not let himself or his date be carried away.
Finally he heard John chuckle "That was good...," even Jamie seemed to laugh softly "Yes, thanks! Hmm."
"Would you like to go out again some time?" John's voice.
"Yes, I'd like to." Jamie's reply. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, fists grabbing the duvet he was lying on, and felt like cursing. "Maybe next week? I'll have to make arrangements for a babysitter again," - Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Until next week would give him some time. - "which reminds me, I should get going, have to be up early, I apologize."
"I understand, no need to apologize. Let's call you a cab and wait outside for it." Splendid! Sherlock began to feel a little more like himself again as his brain started to try to think of how to proceed from here.
ooo
He heard their apartment door close. After a few minutes it opened and closed again. Then he heard the shower start up. He was pretty sure John would not be happy to find out that Sherlock had heard their conversation and kissing. So he took this break to get out of his bedroom, open and close the flat door, hang up his coat.
"John, I'm back," he hollered, put the folder with the information he'd picked up on the coffee table and sat himself in his chair, knees bouncing.
"Be right out," John hollered back. Emerging a few minutes later he was greeted with an impatient "How was your date with Jamie?" right away. John narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"Calm down Sherlock. It went very well! We both had a good time. She really is a nice woman... I invited her for tea after and showed her our flat. We might meet again next week." All truthful, leaving out the kissing and little noises parts, Sherlock noted starting to look serious.
"By the way, I do appreciate very much that you didn't show up at the restaurant or try to scare her away, thanks! And you even remember her name! You're brilliant!" John beamed at him. Sherlock swallowed.
"Did you have something for supper? Want to watch some telly? I'll just get changed, be right back." And with that John wandered up the stairs, to reappear shortly after in his PJs, getting comfortable on the couch. He put his feet up on the coffee table, klicked the TV on, as if nothing else had happened on that couch.
John patted the space beside him. "Want to sit here, Sherlock? How did it go with the case? Did you get what you needed?"
Sherlock swallowed, moved over to the couch, and gave John the folder to look at. John glanced over from the folder to ask Sherlock another question, but found his friend sitting with his eyes closed, lost in thought.
Feeling John's gaze on him Sherlock opened his eyes, bit his lip. "What's on TV? And, ah, yes, this information will be useful, I'll drop it off with Lestrade tomorrow."
"Okay." John yawned. "I think it's just a rerun of Supersize vs Superskinny. Want to watch that?"
"Please spare me." Sherlock didn't need a visual reminder of how little food he managed to eat at times in a week, especially during cases. He didn't care what was on, he had to think how to broach the subject of wanting to be in a relationship with his so-far-only-flatmate/friend.
He turned to lie down on the couch, lifting his feet above John's lap. "May I?" asking John's permission to put his feet down there. 'Yep, something's definitely up,' John thought and simply pushed Sherlock's feet onto his lap.
Sitting/lying like this was not uncommon for them. John didn't mind having Sherlock's feet in his lap, and this way Sherlock could stretch out and think, he presumed about things relating to The Work. Since it was a rerun he started flicking through the channels but soon turned the TV off in favor of picking up a medical journal from beside the couch.
"I have a short shift at A&E tomorrow." John had his name on a list of doctors helping out at certain hospitals in case someone called in sick or they needed extra help. He did find the quicker pace, variety and often greater urgency of what patients were dealing with interesting. "Should be back by 2 PM, if nothing major comes up."
"Hm," was all Sherlock remarked to indicate that he'd heard. He just lay there with his eyes closed, very still, feeling John's belly moving against his foot as he breathed in and out, steadily. It was calming, lying here like this, knowing that John was his friend: in deed, caring, reliable ...
ooo
After John had gone to bed Sherlock had stayed up yet. Maybe the browsing history on John's laptop would yield a clue about his orientation. Sherlock retrieved it, feeling slightly guilty. His perceived need to know whether John also found men sexually attractive overrode his knowledge that John would not approve of him hacking into his laptop. A weak password, as usual, allowed for quick access. After a few minutes of thorough search Sherlock concluded that John was most likely, at least at this time in his life, heterosexual. There was no evidence of John having looked at anything related to homosexual sex. Sherlock felt his hope squashed, some.
John himself had told him "it's all fine," meaning if Sherlock had a boyfriend. He had never heard John make a homophobic remark, ever. And yet ... Would the fact that Sherlock had a male body influence John's decision whether or not to have a relationship with him?
Trying to compare himself with unpretentious, honest, natural, normal Jamie Marsden was futile. Sherlock was Sherlock, unique, obviously! Of all those characteristics surely John would value honesty the most. If he wanted to impress John and have any hope of gaining his beyond-flatmate/friend-affection he would need to be honest with the man. Which did not come that natural for Sherlock. Decision made, honest he would be, as best he could.
He felt tired, emotionally and physically, made his way to his bedroom. Lying down there he thought of John upstairs, longing to study the marks on his face.
ooo
They were quietly sharing breakfast in the kitchen the next morning, John reading the newspaper, humming occasionally - in a good mood then - while Sherlock marveled at the sense of peace he felt.
Sherlock cleared his throat. "John, I need to speak with you about a matter of a private nature. Would some time this afternoon be suitable?"
"Hm, you were saying?" John put the newspaper down far enough to look at Sherlock over its top edge.
"I need to speak with you. About a private matter. Would this afternoon be okay?"
"Yes, that's fine. What's this about, Sherlock?"
"We'll talk then. You have to leave soon ..."
ooo
John had left the flat at 7.47 AM. 6 hours and 13 minutes, hopefully less, until he'd see John again, get the opportunity to speak with him! Sherlock could hardly wait in spite of wanting to prepare for it to the last detail. But how could he possibly predict John's reactions and responses?
Lying on the couch in his thinking pose he spent some time running various scenarios in his mind, trying to calculate the outcome if he asked John this way or that, or included certain information as variables, whether different levels of honesty would influence John's answer ... which got him really nowhere, only frustrated with his own limitations. The only two constants he was sure of: one - John was his friend, and two - John valued honesty.
Some of the scenarios he ran did come up with a negative answer, usually when one of the variables was John being 100% heterosexual. Sherlock tried not to let that worry him, John had surprised him in the past. Maybe John's sexual orientation was f‿l‿e‿x‿i‿b‿l‿e, his presumed heterosexuality not set in stone?
Sherlock tugged his hair, checked his watch: 4 hours and 7 minutes. He'd best get ready to go out, drop the information regarding their case, which was not even quite a two, so boring, off with Lestrade.
He spent some time in the bathroom cleaning up, shaving, fussing just a little over which way his curls fell today. After putting on an Alice blue shirt and a stylish night blue suit he took a good look at himself in the mirror and wondered whether John found him attractive. A Jamie Marsden he was not.
ooo
"Oi, Sherlock, are you going out somewhere?" Lestrade queried from behind his desk startled by Sherlock's dazzling appearance. It was still before noon, usually people looked like this going out to a restaurant or gala, not for merely dropping off case information at NSY.
"Hopefully I'll be going out with John. That is if he agrees. I'm going to ask him out." Sherlock smiled looking quite pleased with himself.
"I thought you two were together ... You're saying you're just going to ask him now?"
"Obviously not right now! When he comes back from his shift at A&E." Sherlock was still smiling, trying to feel confident. "I know people assume we're together. I'm surprised you as a police officer hadn't figured out that we weren't." Sherlock's smile was starting to fade.
'He's not sure whether John will agree,' Lestrade realized and the part of him that wanted to see Sherlock, former drug addict turned valued detective, happy and not hurt scrambled to find something reassuring to say. If John declined he could only hope that Sherlock would be able to deal with the sense of rejection he'd no doubt feel.
"You're right, I should not have assumed. Look, I wish you all the best. I hope he'll say yes!"
Sherlock nodded and turned to leave.
ooo
On the way home he stopped by Barts to pick up a few body parts Molly had texted him about: four eyes this time, two from a seeing person and two from a blind person. Molly nearly dropped the small tray she was carrying, containing clearly a pair of smoker's lungs Sherlock noted. He wrinkled his nose slightly at the sight wondering how much his own lungs had cleared up in the years since he hardly smoked anymore.
"Um, Hi Sherlock! Nice to see you! Are you going out somewhere?" Molly remarked with wide eyes.
"I'll be asking John out when he gets back from his shift at A&E," Sherlock said with a tender expression on his face, holding himself upright.
"You mean to go out for supper?" Molly asked for clarification.
"First I'll ask whether he wants to be in a relationship with me. Then maybe supper later, yes." Sherlock smiled.
"Um, I thought you were in a relationship ..." Molly looked sad.
"I know people assume. But assumptions are just that." Sherlock didn't elaborate further.
"Well then ... I, um, hope things will work out between the two of you! John is a nice man. And, um, good for you to want to ask him out... finally!" Molly smiled a little nervous. The slight blush on her cheeks and looking at the ground instead of him at the last sentence told Sherlock that Molly still hoped he'd ask her out if things didn't work out with John.
"Thanks," Sherlock said politely, replacing 'I'm not interested in you,' with "I can't see myself with someone else." He felt slightly surprised to hear himself say this truth out loud.
Molly had put the tray with the smoker's lungs down on the counter and went to retrieve two small plastic containers out of the fridge, one labeled 'seeing', the other 'blind', put them into a small brown paper bag before handing that over to Sherlock.
"Here. I wish you all the best! If you need anything else, just let me know." Molly sounded defeated, having gotten the hint.
"Thanks for the eyes," it was practical to have her get him body parts for experiments at times, "I appreciate it." And with that he strode off, brown paper bag with contents in hand.
ooo
One more patient to see, then John could head home. He looked forward to spending the afternoon with Sherlock, and maybe ringing Jamie to see how she was doing. John took the patient file labeled 'Robert Ferrer', quickly absorbed the sparse information - 41, single, nothing unusual beyond the flu and a sick note for work about two weeks ago, presenting now with a 'hurt wrist' which he hadn't let anyone else look at - and stepped behind the partition.
"Hello, Mr. Ferrer. I'm Dr. Watson. How can I help you?" John said warmly looking over the slumped man sitting in a green plastic chair: slightly unkempt brown hair, jeans and a faded blue t-shirt, red Converse runners with a little blood spatter on them, some dried blood on both hands, green towel wrapped around the right wrist. His face was drawn, John's presence only acknowledged with a nod.
"May I have a look?" Silence. John stepped closer and gently took the man's arm, removing the towel. The still bleeding gash along the base of the wrist definitely looked self-inflicted.
"Can you tell me what happened?" John asked wrapping the towel back around for now, getting Mr. Ferrer to hold it in place with his other hand while he went to pull supplies out of a drawer.
"We were together for about half a year... And then this morning I was let go from my job. They just marched me to the door, didn't even give a reason, it was so humiliating." Mr. Ferrer hung his head.
John thought something like 'So she left you, on top of it you were laid off, and you thought to try to end your life would solve your problems?' when Mr. Ferrer said "I really loved him," and John was very grateful he'd kept his mouth shut! The man in front of him looked so not-homosexual, John gave himself a mental kick that he must stop assuming about people's sexual orientation.
"So this was not an accident then," John stated the obvious. "Were you trying to kill yourself?" He remembered how desperate he himself had felt often because of his discharge from the military, before he met Sherlock.
The man shrugged his shoulders. "Who cares?" 'I don't matter' being implied. John blinked at that. He wanted to say 'I care. As a doctor. As a fellow human being. That you hurt so much that you thought of ending your life.' But he didn't.
After having checked that the nerves and tendons in the hand still worked he carefully disinfected the wound, administered a painkiller and then proceeded to close it with several stitches. Finally he wrapped a bandage around the wrist.
"People do care about you," John emphasized, which was only received by more silence, shoulder shrugging and possibly further slumping. John felt like shaking this patient.
"Are you having any thoughts of suicide or hurting yourself now?" John had to ask.
Headshake 'no'.
"Can you please talk?" John tried to keep his voice level.
"No. - I don't want to have to stay at hospital..."
"I hear you. I'll refer you to our assessment and brief treatment team. They'll speak with and listen to you, explain possible treatment plans, give you a card with contact information... also get you in touch with people to help you find a new job. You're not alone in this, Mr. Ferrer," John pointed out.
"Is there someone who can come pick you up after? Do you have someone who can stay with you for the next few days, or who you could stay with?" John really didn't like the thought of this patient being left by himself with his own thoughts and feelings during the upcoming weekend.
"I moved here not even a year ago from Birmingham to start that job, haven't made too many friends... but I guess I could ask Stephen and his wife..."
John was relieved to hear the man had at least some social contacts. "That's good. I'll have someone from Mental Health Services speak with you. Please wait here. Your hand should be fine. I trust you'll get the support you need."
"Thanks, Doctor!"
John nodded acknowledgement and stepped outside, made his way to the phone, dialed Mental Health. "Hi, it's Dr. Watson. I'm referring a patient: slashed-wrist..."
ooo
Approximately 53 minutes until John's return. After he had hung up his suit jacket, Sherlock opened the fridge door to store the two little plastic containers. At least they were labeled, so John would probably not accidentally open them.
John had strongly suggested in the past that non-food items and items needed for future and/or ongoing experiments should be kept on one labeled shelf, two max, if Sherlock could manage that. The logical place was the bottom shelf, this way if something spilled it couldn't drip down on food for human consumption which would be situated above. John's suggestion was both logical and practical, so Sherlock wrote 'non-food-items only' on a label, attached it to the bottom shelf and then retrieved all such qualifying items from their various locations in the fridge. Surely John would notice and welcome this change.
Next he fetched a plain looking glass vase from one of the kitchen cupboards, filled it with water, unwrapped the flowers he'd bought, cut the stems under running water, arranged them in the vase, which he then placed on the mantle.
Of course, as a detective, he was familiar with 'the language of flowers'. It might come in handy at a crime scene some day, possibly giving clues as to motives or relationships. So he had settled on three roses to illustrate his feelings for John: one yellow - for friendship, one orange - he found John fascinating, one deep red - for romantic love. He hoped John would notice them and understand their meaning.
Maybe Mrs. Hudson had some scones left over that would lend themselves for an afternoon snack with tea? Sherlock made his way downstairs to inquire. ...
ooo
On his way home to Baker Street John's thoughts returned to Mr. Ferrer. There was no way for him to have known that this man was homosexual, or possibly bisexual, come to think of it. Hearing about a breakup people didn't normally ask 'and the sex of your ex-partner is/was?' or 'you were together with a man, or a woman?' Human nature apparently was to assume. And did it make any difference? Heartache was heartache, and broken relationships were just that, broken, regardless of the individuals' identifications or orientations.
Meeting this patient had reminded him clearly how depressed he himself had been back then, that he had definitely thought of ending his life, often. And why hadn't he? What had held him back from pulling the trigger? From letting himself find relief from the torment he'd felt. Had he been too depressed to follow through? Afraid to meet his Maker? Hoping against hope that something would change, even though at the time he often had felt so hopeless?
He had survived, somehow, somehow resisted the temptations to end that misery. And then Sherlock had entered his life, given him purpose, making him feel needed and valued. Friendship had grown between them, and John was grateful for it. He'd have to let Sherlock know soon that he valued him as a close friend. Life was too short ...
ooo