A/N: this is just something random that popped into my head. During a "drugs bust" the Yarders find a journal with poetry in it and assume it's John's. In truth, it's Sherlock's. I still don't own Sherlock.
When Donovan held up a little black journal and said, "Hey, what's this?" Sherlock felt like he had been hit by a truck. He had been so busy with the case that he forgot to put the thing back where it belongs. In a safe under his room. Where no one and nothing can get to it. Said book would completely ruin his image as a high-functioning sociopath. As John would say, this was 'a bit not good.' Donovan opened the book and gave a short, disbelieving laugh. "It's poetry! Listen to this:
Over the roaring in my head
over the words that others said
sounds your voice
Loud an clear
bringing the echoes to a stop
clearing the way to the light
and everything's fine
as long as your mine
more than a brother
less than a lover
you mean everything to me
so don't you ever leave
'cause I would surely die."
Because Sherlock's day wasn't bad enough, John chose that moment to make his presence known. "You really shouldn't be reading something that doesn't belong to you. It's rude." The Yarders had enough sense to look bashful. Sherlock was sure his face was flushed and that at any moment John would tell the Yarders that the journal wasn't his but he didn't. Instead he said, "That was the polite way of saying GET OUT!" John barked the last two words. He was angry but Sherlock wasn't sue if it was because the Yarders were nosy or he was embarrassed. That question was answered when John added, "I am sick of these fake drugs busts. Stop making up excuses to get in Sherlcok's business, if you need to know, he'll tell you! I am a soldier, I'm used to having personal space invaded but this is ridiculous! Get Out!"
Sherlock felt extreme satisfaction in the way they all scurried to obey them but absolute terror at being alone with John. Sherlock slipped out the back while John was watching the last of the Yarders leave.
...
Sherlock waited until long after John should have been asleep before he returned to the flat. He told himself that it wasn't because he was afraid of John's reaction but because he wanted to give John space. He failed at convincing himself. Sherlock crept up the stairs, skipping the squeaky steps, and heading straight to his violin. On the top of the violin was a note that read:
It's nothing complicated
nothing overly sweet
I just thought you ought to know
you quiet the storm
early in the morn
and I could never leave you
you are my heart
my piece of mind
and I will always love you
not as a brother
or a lover
always and only you.
Sherlock smiled and played his violin until long after the sun rose the next day.