Moriarty had escaped. John looked nervously at Sherlock, who was sitting next to him in the cab home. Both of them were sopping wet, thoroughly saturated. Sherlock's curls were weighted down with chlorine and hung down, which just made him look more frightening.
John was scared. More scared than he had been when he had a bomb strapped to his chest. Because Sherlock looked angry.
Normally, after a case, Sherlock would look just a bit smug as he explained how he had figured it out. And John would be good-natured and laugh and praise Sherlock's intellect. But not tonight.
Tonight, Sherlock didn't speak. Not one word since they got in the cab. After the bomb went off, and they ended up in the pool, Moriarty had run off and taken his snipers with him. Sherlock had dragged John back onto the ground, heaving him up onto the cement floor. They had both gasped and coughed up water, then Sherlock stumbled to his feet, pulling John up with him.
"Come." He rasped as they made their way out. Sherlock had hailed a cab, and now here they were.
Sherlock's face was pure anger. He glared out the window, and John swore he could see plants withering as they passed. The cab dropped them off at 221B Baker Street and Sherlock pushed open the door, leaving John to pay.
By the time John had convinced the cabbie to accept the damp bills, Sherlock was already well inside. Sighing, John headed into their flat, a feeling of dread welling up inside him.
He had good reason. When he opened the door, he was met with a tear-stained Mrs. Hudson.
"John, what's happened?" She asked, voice quavering. "He's so mad…"
He told her to go back to her room. "I'll handle this." He said. Hanging up his coat, he heard a loud smash. Then another.
Running up the stairs, he saw Sherlock hurling a lamp at the wall. He had taken off his coat, and his wet clothes clung tightly to his body. John yelled at him, hurrying up and wrapping his hands around Sherlock's wrists.
Sherlock just looked at him. His face was still wet, but it was just dry enough that John could distinguish the tears that were glistening in the detective's eyes and running down his cheeks.
"Sherlock…" He said in amazement. "It's okay. We'll catch Moriarty some other time. He's bound to make a mistake."
Sherlock wrenched his hands away. "It's not the escape that bothers me!" He whirled around, going into the kitchen.
"Then what is it?" John pleaded. "I've never seen you like this before!"
Sherlock started to boil water for tea. He ignored John. The doctor grabbed him by the arm. "Sherlock! What's wrong? It's something huge, else you wouldn't have so little restraint."
Sherlock looked at John then, turning his whole body to face him. "So little restraint…" He repeated, staring at John.
"Well, you broke a lamp and several other things." John reasoned. Sherlock blinked once. Then he leaned forward and captured John's lips in a fierce kiss.
John stumbled backwards, surprised, but Sherlock held him by the waist, never letting up. The kiss was sloppy and desperate and John could feel Sherlock's anger and fear at seeing him so close to death. Even though he was shocked at the event, he opened his mouth when Sherlock ran his tongue along his bottom lip, granting access. Sherlock's eyes were closed, and John closed his, too, letting Sherlock kiss him and even kissing back slightly.
Sherlock broke the kiss, wrapping John in an embrace. "I was so scared. You were with him, Moriarty, and he could have blown you up and I was mad at myself, for letting him get to you. And that fact scared me even more, because I didn't know why I felt so… AFRAID for you. And when the gun went off all I could think was, Please God let John be okay. I thought of you. And I realized why I did and I'm so stupid, I'm so thick because I'm in love with you. I hadn't realized it even though it makes perfect sense when I go over the signs. I love you, John."
John stayed perfectly still as he listened to Sherlock's confession. Then he returned the embrace. "Sherlock, it's okay. I'm not hurt. Moriarty didn't kill me. You got there in time."
"But I was so SCARED. I hadn't deduced his next move and my failure to do so resulted in your kidnapping." Came Sherlock's sniffles reply.
John gave him an indulgent smile. "You care for me. I never thought you would. What was it you said? "Not much cop, this caring lark?" I think you were wrong. You had quite a lot of cop, if I have any say."
"Do you think so?" Sherlock raised his head to look at John, who nodded. He managed a small smile. "Thank you."
"I think," John said, holding Sherlock out to look at him, "that we could be the greatest couple in London, if you agree."
"London?" Sherlock snorted. "I'd say all of Europe."
"Let's make it the world, then." John grinned. "And I'd be satisfied." Sherlock grinned back.
"I love you, too, you know." John told him. "You're a right bastard sometimes, but you're a great man. And I think you're even a good one. And maybe we're both idiots, because neither of us knew the truth until now."
"But we know it now." Sherlock pointed out.
"Yes, we know it now." John leaned up to engage Sherlock in a proper display of caring.