DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock and I'm not gaining any money from this work of fiction.Please forgive the grammatical mistakes because this fiction in unbeta'd and English is not my first language.
A/n- This is a sequel to my earlier fanfic A sweet nightmare. It can be read as a stand alone but I suggest reading A sweet nightmare to get an idea about what Mary is saying. :)
Read on and review fellows! :)
This story is specially a gift to Ayno23 ,Ladybug and Dumbledawg who requested for a sequel. :) and all the reviewers and followers and favorite-ers (i don't think that's a word but whatevs :P) of A sweet nightmare! Thanks guys, it meant a lot as that was my first fanfic. :)
As for now, read on and review! Criticism appreciated.
It was about midnight, when John Hamish Watson entered his flat. Fumbling with the keys, he somehow slipped inside the flat while simultaneously taking two or three large gulps from his bottle of scotch.
John had started to find his solace in the company of drinks, months ago, around the time, he started having regular nightmares about Sherlock. 'Sweet nightmares,' his colleague Mary Morstan said when he discussed about it with her.
Huh.
Stupid woman.
But due to his inebriated state, John failed to notice, that there was something amiss about his flat. He usually kept it in a mess, ("It seems as if a hurricane happened here!," was Mrs. Hudson's daily complain and she refused to clean it) but it looked almost tidied up. As if someone with little experience of cleaning up had tried to do the job. John went to the balcony, along with his bottle, to enjoy the view of the night life of London, although, he could barely see anything. Everything is a blur, just like my life, John thought ironically. Just like how one day Sherlock seemed to be there annoying as ever and the next day he seemed to be simply gone.
Whoosh.
Disappeared.
Just as John was about to take another sip, the scotch slipped out of his hand and broke. For a few moments, John just stared at it with a dumfounded look in his face. Then he started giggling madly, thinking about how funny it would have been if the bottle had been Sherlock instead. Still giggling, he went back to the kitchen, to get another bottle.
Well, that's the advantage of you not being here, Holmes, I can store my liquor here instead of you shitty experiments, John thought almost savagely as he took out another bottle from the fridge. However, as soon as he took it out, someone snatched it out of his hands and threw it away. Whirling around quickly, taking the nearest weapon available that is,a knife, he tried to stab the seeming attacker. But the knife was knocked out of his hands, and he was pressed against the door of the fridge. As John struggled fruitlessly, the tall dark figure said quietly,
"That is quite unbecoming of you, John Watson."
Hearing that smooth baritone, John stilled. A chill went down his spine, as looked up and his own eyes somehow focused on those of Sherlock Holmes.
He still looked the same. Same brilliant eyes, behind which hid a millions thoughts and deductions going on in that brain, the same nose which was the perfect size, the same soft black curls which seemed smooth and messy at the same time tempting John to run his fingers through them, the same cheekbones which John wanted to slap until they broke, in anger against the injustice done to him, the same lips that now were curled up in a soft smile, which John longed to kiss.
Sherlock bent slowly, letting both his and John's forehead touch. Oh how he had missed this! Being with John, smelling in his scent, to look at John wearing his jumpers, the very atmosphere that only 221B Baker Street could provide?
In simple words, Sherlock missed home.
And his blogger.
And Mrs. Hudson.
And Mycroft too, but he would never admit that.
But all of it wasn't the same. His John would always smell of tea, milk and jumpers. This John however smelt of cigarettes and scotch. And judging by his behavior and fridge, he was now addicted to liquor.
It made Sherlock angry and jealous.
Just as he craved John; the sole reason for return to Baker Street, his sole addiction now, of which he could never get enough even if he tried, he wanted John to crave him.
He wanted to be John's only addiction, only priority and property and vice versa.
John stood silently for something. He let Sherlock soak it all; he let himself absorb it all. Then he stuck.
A tight slap right on Sherlock's right cheekbone.
Another one on his left side.
John then, pushed him away, and stood by the table trying control his feelings, breathing with short pauses. He felt widely awake now, almost on the verge of sobriety. Shaking, he turned towards Sherlock, whispering, "Why would you do this to me?"
"Do what?" even though, the detective knew the answer, he wanted to hear the words out of John's mouth.
"Do what?!" John exclaimed, laughing sarcastically. "Let me make this clear. Why would you make me feel for you and then leave me all alone for two, almost three damn years?"
"You wouldn't understand, John. I had to go. I had to destroy Moriarty's network." Sherlock said quietly, not meeting John's eyes.
"I do understand, Holmes. But why would I not know about this? Am I not worthy of the great Sherlock Holmes?" John said, almost crushing the paper pad in his hands.
Sherlock felt hurt. How could John even think that he was not worthy? Sherlock wasn't the one worthy of John. Yet, he couldn't deny himself his blogger, his only hope even if he wanted to. All this time, he could only think about John and how to get to him. Many a time he lost focus, thinking only about John, even desiring to abandon and run back to London , to John.
John. John. JOHN.
Sherlock strode towards John ,wordlessly took his face on his hands and kissed him. He tried to put everything in that kiss. All his pain, desperation and want. All of himself. And how he felt.
John too tried to put everything as he responded. To tell Sherlock what he had done to him. How utterly broken he was. He wanted to be so close to Sherlock, that it would be difficult to see where he ended and where Sherlock began. He wanted to be one. with him. And he wanted the world to see that.
Sherlock. Sherlock. SHERLOCK.
When they separated for air, Sherlock looked at the John. The question held in his eyes could be clearly seen.
"I'll never leave you again, John. And this isn't a dream. Just us against the whole world," he whispered.
Smiling faintly, John just pulled Sherlock's head towards him and said, "We are not alright yet. But for tonight this will do."
Sherlock carried John upstairs to his bedroom. Laying him on the bed, he was about to leave when John pulled on his hand and motioned towards the bed. Sherlock stood still for sometime but then, he opened his shoes and sat beside him on the bed.
"Glad to see you, Holmes," John said, sleepily as he turned his back to Sherlock.
"Glad to see you too, John." Sherlock said, draping an arm around his John, who soon drifted to sleep.
As John lay beside him, Sherlock realized that, yes nothing was alright yet. And yes, it would take some time.
But for now, Sherlock thought smilingly, they had all the time in the world.
Please review!
A review a day keeps a mad author gay ;)
Oh you know what I mean... xD
Sherlocked.