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What I'd do for You
Sherlock paced between the lounge and the kitchen, his mind racing. He was getting more and more anxious (anxious? Sherlock Holmes, a high functioning sociopath, the world's only Consulting Detective, anxious?). Where was John? He said he would be back 23 minutes ago. John was never late. Not if he promised he wouldn't. And on today of all days.
Brrrrrrring. Brrrrrrring.
Sherlock dived for his phone, his long fingers fumbling while trying to read his message.
Meet me at the George and Dragon in 10 minutes. John x
Sherlock wasted no time, only absentmindedly grabbing his coat and scarf. He ran down the stairs three at a time, wrapping his scarf quickly around his neck. He didn't wait for a taxi, darting in-between the pedestrians on the pavement, only half aware of where he was heading, only knowing that John was waiting for him at the other end. He ran in through the doors leading to the pub, and went straight to the barman, James.
"Have you seen John?" Sherlock asked, not waiting for polite courtesy.
"No. Well, not in the last 3 hours anyway. Why?" James replied, looking mystified.
"Why was he in 3 hours ago? He was supposed to be at work?" Sherlock snapped, worry worming its way back onto his face.
"Said he was sorting something out. Seemed important. Dunno more than that." James shrugged, tapping his fingers on the bar. Sherlock scowled. Why didn't he know what John was up to? Why didn't John go to work? Why had he been in to see James 3 hours ago? Where was he?
Sherlock groaned and sank down on a barstool. One question kept on coming back to him.
Was John leaving him?
No. He wasn't going to let that happen. He couldn't let that happen. John was his. John was the only person he had ever loved, and who had ever loved him back. He would not lose him.
Sherlock ran straight out of the double doors, not heeding James' cry of "Sherlock!" This couldn't wait. He wasn't sure on how to confront John if he really was leaving him. He couldn't have his heart taken away from him. His heart couldn't break. John had taken it a long time ago. But he had John's. He wouldn't cope if he lost that.
A sob burst out from his throat, startling him to a stop. He sat down on a front door step and buried his face in his hands, feeling a few tears eking out of the corners of his eyes. This surprised him. He had never cried before. Not even when John had been lying battered and bruised after a run in with Moriarty. John had almost died. But it hadn't seemed real then. John didn't die.
But John sometimes left him alone.
He only did so after a big argument, when neither man had been prepared to back down. But John had always come back. John had never stopped loving him.
Why now?
What had changed?
Was it because of him?
Why, John?
Why?
He brushed away those few small tears with his long fingers, and breathed heavily in and out, trying to steel himself for what laid ahead of him. If John was going to take his heart with him, he'd lock John's away from him. Sherlock had never been one to share.
After one last deep breath, Sherlock heaved himself up, holding onto the metal railing for support. He walked slowly back to 221b, trying to ease out the time left. He walked stiffly up the steps to the front door. He exhaled, and put his key into the door. It swung open, thudding gently against the inside wall. He stepped into the quiet hall, the silence overwhelming and deafening.
Strange. Never noticed that before.
After gently pushing the door shut, he turned and started up the stairs. He paused after every step, it took every ounce of him to carry on up, not to run away. He reached the door to the flat, and slowly pushed open the door.
John was standing there.
He was facing away from him.
He was wearing Sherlock's favourite jumper. Blue with black and cream zigzags.
Sherlock watched him stiffen and turn, obviously sensing Sherlock's presence. Sherlock could see concern, worry, fear etched on his face. Sherlock felt his heart constrict, however much he tried to talk himself out of it.
No point in feeling anymore. Just cut yourself off.
John strode across the room, and pulled Sherlock's head down to his shoulder, lacing his fingers in Sherlock's dark curly hair, stroking his head gently.
"Where were you? I waited, and when I got home, you weren't here. I thought you'd gone." John murmured, his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder.
"Don't John. Don't make it any harder than it has to be." Sherlock could feel the tears coming again, falling silently down his pale face.
"What do you mean?" John asked, drawing his head back to look into Sherlock's face.
"I know you're leaving me. Just go. Don't draw it out if you respect my sanity." Sherlock turned his face away, so John wouldn't see the hurt that lay in his eyes.
"Why would I..." John started, and then realisation dawned on his face.
"You're an idiot. You know that?" John said, then pulled Sherlock down for a kiss. Sherlock stayed still, not wanting to believe anything.
"I'm not leaving you. Is that what you thought? The world's only Consulting Detective couldn't work out what I was planning." John laughed lightly, his expression soft. He pulled Sherlock into another kiss.
"Sherlock..." John pulled back and got down on one knee.
"Will you marry me?"