Not His John
You'd think it would happen dramatically, in a moment of intimacy or danger-perhaps both. But it was actually a very normal moment when it hit him. He knew the complete truth of the matter in the time it took john to hand him his tea. One moment he was in a deeply committed relationship with The Work, the next he'd unintentionally met eyes with his flat mate and WHAM! He was emotionally cheating with an unsuspecting john. It was foolish, of course. John was straight. Obviously. Though most idiots thought otherwise, every detail of John, from his clothes to his demeanor, screamed heterosexual.
The Doctor cared about him, Sherlock knew, but not the way he suddenly understood he cared about john. The pain contained within that thought was intense. It felt like a gaping hole in his chest, and it burned with every breath. He felt himself panicking, but kept his mask of indifference on his face. It would not do to give himself away. Even if for the first time in his life, he wanted to reach out. He wanted to have someone help him work out these foreign emotions. But the only man he trusted with such vulnerability was the same one he could never tell. Which, naturally, only made the pain worse.
Because how could he risk it? John was the best and only friend he'd ever had. When John had walked into Bart's and changed his life, it had undoubtedly been for the better. He had brought warmth and laughter and tea with him. Things Sherlock had not even realized he wanted until they were suddenly there, wrapped up in a cuddly sweater, steady hands and kind blue eyes. And then he'd sealed it with a bullet. Sherlock's heart had never stood a chance.
He knew John would not think less of him for his sexual preferences, but he would be less okay with said preferences being directed towards him. John would not want to be bothered by it, and would soldier on, but still the damage would be done. He was not afraid of what his blogger would say, John was always tactful and kind. It was what would be unspoken that scared him. The awkwardness, the distance that was sure to follow any such confession and subsequent rebuff.
John was already on the hunt for a woman to 'settle down' with. Which meant leaving 221B and Sherlock behind. Nothing about the life they had now could be called 'settled.' And what if the two of them growing apart was the subconscious push that had John searching in true earnest? Watching John leave for the night for some simpleton in a skirt was painful enough-not that he'd ever realized why until just recently-but watching him leave forever would be unbearable. Except he knew that he would bear it. He would smile and congratulate and watch him go. And then once he was certain John was gone, he would self-destruct, safely away from those wonderful, watchful blue eyes.
He couldn't risk any of that. Even if keeping silent only bought him a few more years at the most. John was worth it. So he locked it all away. Deep in the dungeon of his mind palace. He found he couldn't push it all away, and that he didn't want to. After all, this experience was undeniable proof: Sherlock Holmes was not a sociopath. He was perfectly functional, so there. But the gaping wound had become a more manageable dull ache. Satisfied for the moment with this small mercy, he calmly took a sip of his tea. And if his eyes lingered a little longer than necessary on the sight of his John (no, not your John. Never your John) reading the paper, well, who would know?
A/N So yeah… a little angsty….
Usually I'm all about the fluff but every once and a while this kind of thing happens haha Not sure if I captured what I was going for here but there's only so many times I can edit my own work before I start to go a little mad
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