The flat was quiet. Too quiet. He didn't know how long he had been laying on the couch, his hands steepled under his chin as was his habit when he was visiting his Mind Palace. All he knew was that he was no closer to solving his problem than when he started. And it was driving him bat-shit crazy.
He looked over at his skull sitting on the mantle. No help there. He tried talking to it earlier but all he got in return was an empty grin, as if it was mocking him of his troubles. He didn't know why he even bothers talking to it anymore. Ever since John moved into the flat with him, he had someone to bounce ideas off of that actually offered comments back. Or more specifically, either look at him like he was bloody brilliant or a perfect idiot. (He preferred the first, truth be told.)
Ever since John moved in he found that he was less and less bored than he was used to. Even between cases they had a comfortable companionship that seemed to lessen his need to be reckless. Whether it was going out to Angelo's, or ordering in their favorite Chinese and watching crap telly, Sherlock knew that he had found someone who was willing to accept him as he was and not try to change him. Oh sure, he still got lectures on his abysmal lack of social graces in a mixed setting and was regularly scolded about his never doing the shopping. And he rolled his eyes as he thought about the countless times that he and John had the "Solar System" conversation. (Seriously, will he ever let that go?!)
But John would always be John. Solid, dependable. Ready to drop everything for a case and follow him wherever Sherlock needed him to go. He was willing to fight at a moments notice; willing to kill for him if necessary. Yes, John was the perfect flatmate for him. Never judging him or his habits. Allowing him to continue experiments that would have others running for the hills by now (although he did apologize about blowing up the toaster last time. He even hid in his room while John cleaned up that mess because he started using words that he's never heard him use before and he thought it safer just to stay out of the way.) John never complained about being woken up at 3 in the morning by his violin when he couldn't sleep and just needed to think. More often than not, he would turn around and see John standing in the kitchen in his housecoat, his sandy blonde hair standing up at all angles, with a look of wonderment on his face. After a time, he began playing composing more and more, just to see if he could get to John to show up. And he wasn't often disappointed.
He remembered one night, not long ago. His problem had been weighing on his mind for some time now and he supposed that his composition that night was more melancholy than he intended. But he couldn't help it. He simply closed his eyes, drew his bow, and allowed his fingers to say the words that he didn't dare to say aloud. It was cathartic in a way, but for some reason on that particular night, he couldn't stop the burning in his eyes, no matter how tightly he had them shut. So he decided to keep playing until it passed. And play he did, until his fingers were sore and his head ached. It must have been hours. He was so engrossed into his playing that he didn't hear John enter. He was even more surprised to turn around and see him sitting in his chair with a cuppa, thoroughly enraptured by the soulful music. But what shocked him the most was that tiny glisten in the corner of John's eye.
No, it can't be….not John. John was a soldier! He's seen his share of horror on the battlefield. And God knows that he's seen his share of death and destruction on the cases they've been on. He had a tight control of his emotions. So why was he here staring at him like that? He felt he had to say something. But before he could, John beat him to it.
"Why did you stop?"
"I'm sorry if I disturbed you John. I know you have work in the morning and you value your rest."
"Don't apologize Sherlock. That was bloody beautiful. What is it?"
"Nothing particular. I was just playing aimlessly."
"That wasn't 'nothing' Sherlock. I've heard you play dozens of times and it's never sounded quite like that. If I didn't know you any better, I'd say that was the most emotion I've ever seen you display."
"Oh don't be stupid, John! You know how I feel about sentiment."
"Still….even though you call yourself a genius, you don't just come up with something like that without there being some kind of feeling behind it. Care to tell me what's on your mind?"
"Is my blogger trying to merge into the realm of Psychiatry now?" smirk "Better stick to being a surgeon John. Better men than you have tried and given up."
"No I'm not trying to be a Psychiatrist. But I've been your flatmate for almost a year now, and I do consider myself your friend. And as your friend I've learned to read a few things about you. And right now I'm sensing that you have something heavy on your mind."
"Well I thank you for your concern, however unwarranted it may be. I assure you, I am fine. "
"I also know when you are being stubborn."
Sherlock just gave a small snort in response. John was right, of course. He was the only one who had ever learned to read him in a way no one else could. Sometimes it was a relief but more often than not it was a burden. He was just glad that John hadn't learned to read people the way that he could. Because right now, that was the last thing he needed. No, he needed to stay guarded. This was his problem, and if he could help it, John would never know anything about it. So he went on the offensive.
"I'm stubborn? I'm not the one constantly going on dates with women who are nothing but boring narciscissitic idiots just looking for a free dinner."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized that it was probably the wrong thing to say. He watched as John's eyes narrowed and his shoulders slumped slightly. Damn. But before he could say anything further, he could see John's training kick in. Within a blink of an eye, he slipped on a passive mask, effecting hiding the hurt. But dammit he knew! He realized that John wouldn't acknowledge that careless remark. He'd been around him long enough to know that it wasn't intentional, it was simply his way of saying back off. Instead he watched as John slowly rose from his chair and approached him.
"All right, Sherlock. You win. We won't discuss this now. But you know that I worry about you. And as your friend, I feel it is my duty to remind you that anytime you need me, day or night, you know where to find me."
Sherlock just blinked. That wasn't what he expected at all. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to expect but that definitely wasn't it. For once, he was at a loss for words.
"Ah…oh…Yes I know. Thank you John."
"You're welcome."
As he spoke, John reached out and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. He assumed he meant it as a comforting gesture, so he attempted to take it as such. Inside his mind however, he was running in circles. It was all he could do to give John slight smile in return.
"Goodnight John."
"Goodnight Sherlock."
John then turned and made his way up the stairs. On the one hand Sherlock was glad to see him go because it meant he could relax slightly. But on the other hand, John had barely closed his door before Sherlock realized that he already missed him, which brought him right back to his problem.
Sherlock didn't consider himself a possessive person. He learned back in the days when he was using that people couldn't be trusted. They never wanted to truly be his friend but merely used him as a means to an end to get their next fix. Truth be told, he used them the same way so it didn't really matter. Even Mycroft only seemed to come around when he needed "legwork" done in some god-forsaken country. But not John.
John genuinely cared. He cared whether he ate or not. There have been many a nights where Sherlock was curled up on the sofa when John came in late and assumed that Sherlock had fallen asleep. He simply threw an extra blanket on him, turned out the lamp and crept quietly upstairs so as not to disturb him, relieved that Sherlock was finally getting some much needed rest. But more often than not, he wasn't actually asleep. He simply pretended. He had begun to crave those little moments of attention that John showed him. Whether it's a look that John gives him when he solves a case in just a few hours, or the occasional "Simply incredible" muttered under his breath at a crime scene, Sherlock loved it. He began to try and find new ways to impress John. And it wasn't simply because he enjoyed the flattery. He'd gotten that often enough from Lestrade, and of course Molly. But in a way he felt he'd gotten that from them because they wanted something in return. But not with John. With John, he felt appreciated. He knew John meant each compliment sincerely. All those years when he was called "Freak" and felt out of place because of his abilities…..simply didn't matter to John. It was becoming an addiction to him. And the more that he craved it, the more he realized that he had started to care for John in return.
And it scared the hell out of him.
A noise brought him back to the present. He looked over just in time to see John stumble into the kitchen carrying some shopping bags. Without so much as glancing his way, John when through his routine of putting the shopping away and starting the kettle to boil. Sherlock felt the corners of his mouth begin to turn up slightly as he watched John take down two cups instead of just his. Thoughtful John. He decided to make a show of stretching before getting off the couch as though he was sleeping the entire time he was out. He made his way into the kitchen just as the kettle begin to whistle and watched John prepare his tea just the way he liked it. When John handed it to him he accepted it with a slight nod.
"Any new cases today?"
"Nothing worth our time. Lestrade phoned me earlier today with something that was barely a 4 so there was no point in accepting it."
"It still would have been something to do instead of just sitting here doing nothing all day."
"Who says I did nothing?"
"Come on, Sherlock. When I came in you were in the same position you were in when I left."
"Doesn't mean that I didn't do anything at all today."
"OK so what did you accomplish today?"
"I managed not to shoot the wall again in boredom."
"Well yeah I guess that's something." John said with a chuckle. "By the way, they had a sale going at Tesco's so I got you some of those chocolate biscuits you like."
John then placed a small plate in front of Sherlock with a few biscuits on it. Sherlock accepted one and bit into it appreciatively.
"Well then I guess it's my turn to make dinner plans. How about Angelo's tonight?"
"I'd love to Sherlock, but I actually have dinner plans already tonight."
"Oh really?"
"Remember Sarah? She's been having a hard time with some personal issues right now and I offered to take her out for dinner to get her mind off of them for a while."
"I see. Well I hope things go pleasant for you tonight then." Sherlock said tightly. He knew that John had every right to come and go as he pleased. But ever since his problem started, he began to feel slightly upset whenever John went out on a date. He knew it made no sense. But it simply couldn't be helped.
"Yeah so do I, although I don't really consider this a date. Just being a friend. I shouldn't be out too late though. How about I call you on the way home and I can pickup some take-out for you?"
"That won't be necessary John. I'm sure that if I get hungry before you arrive home I can order something to be delivered."
"Alright then. Suit Yourself. I'm going to have a wash and get ready."
John then brought his cup over to the sink and rinsed it out. After putting it on the drying rack, he made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Moments later, Sherlock heard the shower start running.
He grabbed another biscuit off of the plate and made his way to his laptop. After logging in, he began to read emails, hoping for another case to work on while John was away. If he didn't find something to occupy his mind while John was away, he knew exactly what he would be doing. And he wasn't looking forward to it at all.