This is sort of a teaser for a multi-chapter story. Hope you enjoy this little nugget.
Sherlock is frightened.
Up until this day, he had never been frightened. He's been nervous, when his father had one of his drinking binges again and his words had started to blend into eachother, a tell-tale sign of his intoxication and a warning for him to make sure he got out of the room before his father got to the point where he'd get agressive.
He's been anxious, when he had been standing in a dark alley for hours, his hands freezing and his brow furrowed, telling himself that he would only have to wait, five more minutes, the man would surely come and sell him what he needed, he always did.
He's even been scared, although he would never tell a soul, when he saw John step out of that cubicle, grey-faced and wearing that horribly large parka, only to open it slowly and reveal the semtex-vest he was wearing underneath it.
But never in his life has Sherlock been as frightened as he is right now. Never in his whole life has he experienced such a paralizing, mind-numbing fear as he feels right now, staring at the copper numbers on that familiar door, which closed behind him three years ago, when he went to St. Bart's to meet Molly and ask for her help.
It's not the door, however, that is sending those icy shivers of fear down his spine. What he fears lies beyond that door, up those stairs lead towards the apartment he had to leave behind in order for Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson and John - John - to stay alive. Mycroft has been keeping tabs on the doctor for him, a favor which Sherlock will probably never be able to repay, and what he's reported over the past few years made Sherlock even more determined to reach his goal, to take out Moriarty's empire and assure that John would be safe. He knows he hurt John deeply by leaving, but at first, he hoped - expected- John to understand, if he would just listen.
But now Sherlock's standing here in front of their old apartment and finds himself unable to lift his hand and open the door, because he is frightened. Now that it's all over, now that he doesn't have to look over his shoulder again in fear of someone coming up to kill him and finish what Moriarty started, the thoughts he managed to push away for so long finally catch up with him.
What if John does not understand? What if he asks Sherlock to leave? What if he found someone and moved on? What if...
Sherlock shakes his head, willing all the questions and possible scenarios away. He has to do this. John deserves to know what Sherlock did and, most of all, why he did it. And if John does not understand, if John throws him out and never wants to see him again... Sherlock does not know what he will do if that happens, but until he opens that door, steps in and goes up to the apartment they once shared, he will never find out.
The detective takes a deep breath, steadies himself and reaches for the doorknob.
This was born out of a RP with High-Functioning Ginger (who is awesome btw, go check her out RIGHT NOW!) , me being Sherlock and her being John. It's still WIP, but will be updated as soon as it's finished. The title may change, the ratings may change, the summary may change, I have no idea now. Reviews are always welcome!