"John, this is stupid." That was the only word Sherlock could think to use. John was dragging his companion from their flat to go to a lame Christmas party that Lestrade had invited them to.
"They're our friends, Sherlock." John groaned, he had listened to Sherlock complain all day and it was starting to get on his nerves.
"Anderson and donovan will be there, they are not our "friends"." John couldn't help but roll his eyes.
"Even Mrs. Hudson was invited. At least pretend to have a good time." The cab was already packed with all the presents John had bought earlier that week and all that was left to add was the two of them. After another small fight, John managed to force the taller male into the cab, following in after him. He was wearing an obnoxious- as Sherlock put it- Christmas jumper and plain blue jeans. The most festive John could get Sherlock to dress was a tight red button-up shirt and black dress pants-paired with his infamous black coat, of course.
"I don't see why you couldn't have just gone without me." Sherlock complained as the cab took off toward Lestrade's flat.
"Because Greg invited both of us, so we're both going. Honestly, Sherlock, can't you just pretend to be a normal human being for once in your life?" Sherlock scoffed and turned to stare out the window. Noticing that the conversation was dropped, John sighed and looked out the other window.
"You're not going to have any friends left if you continue to act this way." He remarked, but Sherlock didn't respond. The two sat in silence the whole rest of the ride.
Lestrade had definitely outdid himself in his decorating that year. Brightly colored holiday lights were everywhere you turned, leading to an overly decorated Christmas tree. The lights were almost painful to stare at and Sherlock was really beginning to wish he could have just stayed at the flat. John abandoned him once they reached the front door and he strode off to greet everyone. The first person to come and greet Sherlock was Molly, chipper as always.
"Merry Christmas, Sherlock!" Sherlock gave a nod and a small, incoherent mumble as a response, but it didn't seem to dampen her good mood. She suddenly grasped his hand and pulled him into the already packed living room. Everyone was cheerful and giving him warm welcomes, which he seldom returned. It wasn't long before everyone realized it was best to just leave him alone. He had been sitting on the sofa in a comfortable silence when Lestrade came over and took the seat next to him.
"Come on, Sherlock. It's a party, try to enjoy yourself." Sherlock scoffed and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I am quite comfortable sitting here on my own." He stated, causing Lestrade to sigh.
"Don't you do anything besides fantasize about murders? Can't you just give up the act of not having emotions for one day and have fun?"
"It's not an act." The simplistic answer caused Lestrade to sigh and give up.
"Whatever, sit alone if that pleases you." He stated and stood, leaving to rejoin the party. Once he was alone again, Sherlock begun to survey the room. The tree was full of presents all brought by the attendants of the party (John bought for them both). He studied each, deducing what was in each, when his eyes settled on one. He quietly stood and crept over to pick up a small package.
'To John, From Sherlock'
Sherlock had gotten John the gift, obviously, but something boiled in his blood that he had brought it to open it them. The present was the sole reason for Sherlock's sour attitude the past few weeks. Panic was what it was. The present was personal and would surely show his flatmate that he had feelings, but what the feelings were about was deathly private. The package was just a letter, but John would read it out loud. Then Anderson and Donovan would laugh, and Lestrade too. Molly would be horrified, and John… What would John do? WOuld he flush with embarrassment? Oh god, what if he laughed?
"Getting a little eager there with the presents, huh?" Sherlock jumped to his feet and spun to see Mrs. Hudson grinning. He was so lost in his mind that he didn't notice that he had nervously unwrapped the present and was holding the letter in his hands.
"what's that?" Mrs. Hudson asked, strolling over and plucking the letter out of his hands to skim over it. But the smile wore off her face and her hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh Sherlock…" Sherlock immediately grabbed the letter back from her and he begun to rip it up.
"No, Sherlock, you have to give it to John!"
"Give what to me?" John asked as he walked in the room with a bottle of beer in his hand.
"Nothing." Sherlock stated simply, tearing the letter into tiny pieces.
"What's that?" John asked, walking over to get a better look at the torn up piece of paper in his hands, but Sherlock quickly tossed the pieces into the lit fireplace.
"Sherlock!" John crossed his arms over his chest. "I am getting sick of your attitude these past few weeks." He sounded as if he were telling off a young child. Sherlock stormed off past him, only to have John follow behind him.
"Tell me what was on the paper, Sherlock." Sherlock stopped under a doorframe and sent a glare to John, who stopped with him and stared up at his friend.
"It's none of your business, John." Though it was, he wouldn't admit that. Suddenly, Anderson started chuckling. Sherlock sent a glare his way.
"what are you laughing at?" He asked, only to have Anderson simply point up. Sherlock looked up to notice that they had foolishly stopped right underneath some mistletoe.
"Go on, Freak, kiss your boyfriend!" Donovan laughed, causing Anderson to laugh harder. Sherlock's hands clenched into fists and he stormed over, his fist colliding with Anderson's jaw. Everyone was frozen in their spot until John's voice broke through the tension filled air.!" His voice was angry. No, more than angry. It held an anger that Sherlock had never heard from him, even after everything he'd done since they've known each other. He rushed over to Anderson to make sure he was okay.
"You arse!" John yelled, glaring up at Sherlock. "I have put up with you for so long, but this is the last straw! You can't even appreciate what you have before you lose it! And I'm done." It sounded real, he sounded serious. While everyone was watching John in shock, Mrs. Hudson was watching Sherlock, waiting for his next move. Sherlock just stood there for what felt like an eternity but in reality was a few long seconds before he stormed out of the room, grabbing his coat and leaving the flat, slamming the door behind him. That was more than uncalled for, John's words. Anderson had it coming, he shouldn't have been the one thrown under the bus. As he was walking, lost in his thoughts, he was pushed aside as a man ran by. Sherlock almost dismissed him if his eye hadn't been caught by a recently fired gun.
"Hey!" SHerlock yelled and sprinted after the man. The man turned and Sherlock gasped as the gun collided with his cheekbone, knocking him clean off his feet. His head collided with the ground with such a force that everything around him began to fade and all he felt was blood running down his cheek before everything went black.
With a groan, Sherlock slowly forced his eyes open. His head was pounding and his cheek throbbing. Once he was fully awake, he begun to survey his surroundings. It was obvious to tell that he was in his bedroom, but something seemed different. It was dark and empty, it felt lonely. He slowly forced himself out of his bed and to his feet. He was no longer in his clothes from the previous night, but a pair of plain white pyjamas that he didn't remember having. After throwing on his blue robe, he strolled out of his room.
"John!" He called, walking into the living room in search of his companion. To his surprise, there was no evidence that anyone else lived in the flat. He traveled throughout the whole flat, but there was no John. Even his bedroom was completely abandoned. His head spun as the door to the flat opened, but frowned when it was only Mrs. Hudson. But she smiled at him as she walked in.
"HEllo dear." Sherlock flopped down on the couch, mumbling a hello. "You better start getting ready so you won't be late. I picked up your suit and hung it up in your closet." Before Sherlock could question where he would be going, she started walking to the door.
"And at least pretend to be happy, for his sake." And with that, she left his flat. He decided he would figure that bit out later, he needed to figure out what was going on. He noticed a piece of paper by his violin: sheet music. He made his way over and picked up his violin to play the song. It sounded like a waltz… When would he ever have a reason to compose a waltz? As the song came to an end, he set down his violin and picked up the sheet music, only to have a small piece of paper fall from the pedestal. When he picked it up and caught a glimpse of what it said, his heart stopped.
'Dr John Hamish Watson and Miss Mary Elizabeth Morstan request the pleasure of your company at their marriage'
He couldn't read anymore and he dropped to his knees. John was getting married… That's what the waltz was for, it was from them… He was too late…
The wedding was beautiful, as Sherlock had feared, and John looked happy. It wasn't until after the service and before the speeches that John had even acknowledged that Sherlock was there. And by the way he did, it didn't seem like they had talked in awhile.
"Hello Sherlock." John greeted as he walked over to where Sherlock was standing alone. "I would say you're looking well, but that would be a lie…." He was right, of course, his eyes were permanently bloodshot, showing he had either cried a lot or taken drugs more than he should-and honestly, he didn't know which was true. He lost weight as well, a lot of weight. If he had to guess, he was getting close to one hundred and twenty pounds.
"Well, you do look well." Sherlock commented after a long moment of silence. "You're practically glowing…" John smiled slightly- obviously forced- and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"So you're the mysterious Sherlock Holmes I'd heard about." John's new bride, a peppy blonde named Mary, came up behind John and she grinned. "A pleasure to finally meet you." Sherlock nodded as John pulled his hand from his shoulder.
"Likewise. You look… lovely this evening." Her face lit up like a Christmas tree.
"Well aren't you a charmer?" John couldn't help but laugh.
"Sherlock? Never. You should be lucky, he's never complemented anyone like that." At the arrival of his old army captain, John left his old friend and new bride alone together.
"So, Sherlock." She spoke up. "I only know so much about you, tell me about yourself. Do you have a girlfriend?" Sherlock shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"No, girlfriends aren't really my area." She thought for a moment then nodded.
"Well, I have many single friends here, maybe I can find you a date." She grinned then looked around. "Anyone you find attractive?" Sherlock's eyes landed on John for a moment, but he force himself to look away.
"No." He finally answered. Mary looked up at him.
"Come on, Sherlock, you're an attractive guy. You could date anyone in this room." Once again, his eyes found John.
"No, I couldn't. I'm not anyone's type." Mary gently nudged him in the side with her elbow.
"Oh stop it. You've just never taken the chance. I think that you love someone, but you've never told them, am I correct?" After a few moments of silence, he nodded. "Tell them!"
"It's far too late for that." Sherlock mumbled.
"It's never too late." Sherlock turned to look her in the eye.
"Believe me, Mary Watson, it is."
It was far too late. All the signs were there. Mary was pregnant. John had a wife and soon would have a child. He had all of these wonderful friends who supported him, Sherlock fit nowhere in that mix. He sat alone, staring as John and Mary dance, the only thing between them was love. He waited too long to give him the letter, now everything was wrong. He lost John, his partner-in-crime, his best friend, the only man he ever loved… After sitting alone for a good hour, Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't just sit there while John lived his life out with someone else. He stood and walked over. He had to stop this, he needed to tell John how he felt. But he stopped, frozen in his tracks. John was in love, it was plain to see. He had a permanent smile plastered on his lips, a smile Sherlock had never seen, a smile that would never be directed at him. John didn't love him, and he never would. Sherlock quickly turned before the happy couple could notice him and he practically ran out. It was all dawning on him. John could never love him, no one could ever love him. He was a freak, a machine, he was unlovable, and that would never change. He didn't run far before he dropped to his knees underneath a tree and for the first time, Sherlock cried. Sure, he had cried when he was hurt or as a kid when Redbeard died, but this was different. The tears were tears of loss and defeat. They were tears of pain and fear. They were because he loved too hard, but lost too deeply.
"Sherlock." A voice called. It was John's. Sherlock looked up, but his companion was nowhere to be seen.
"Sherlock?" As he heard the voice again, the lights from the ballroom begun to darken more and more until he was in complete darkness. And the voice got louder.
"Sherlock, can you hear me? Wake up." Wake up? Everything was so dark and so cold… His cheek throbbed in pain, maybe if he tried to open his eyes… Sherlock slowly forced his eyes open to see a very worried John staring down at him.
"Thank god you're alright." John sighed in relief. Sherlock's eyes trailed around, trying to figure out where he was. He was outside, laying on the pavement. Blood was dripping from his cheek and staining the concrete below. Finally, his eyes went back up to John.
"Are you okay?" Sherlock didn't hear him. He couldn't wait any longer, if he waited, he could never get this chance again. Sherlock pushed himself up until their lips were pressed together. The kiss was quick and Sherlock forced himself to pull back almost immediately. John's eyes were wide and his jaw hung in shock. Well, he already did that, might as well get it all out…
"I love you." Sherlock mumbled, his heart pounding in his chest in few of how he would reply. But to his shock, John simply grasped his face and pulled im in for another kiss .This kiss was long and full of their once overt passion. Neither wanted to pull away, but the need for air became too strong and they reluctantly pulled back from the kiss, cheeks flushed and panting softly.
"Oh my god!" They heard Molly exclaim but Sherlock ignored her, figuring she saw them. But his deduction was proven wrong by her next proclamation.
"It's snowing!" And she was right. Sherlock's dark curls were lightly coated with little white flakes, which he and John had both neglected to notice. Soon, the entire contents of the party had exited the flat and were marveling at the sight. John helped Sherlock sit up so they could examine the beautiful snow floating down to earth, and no one noticed them grab hands and entwine their fingers together.