John's upset about something, I'm not quite sure what (I couldn't think of anything good) . Silence affects people in different ways, and silences always make me feel guilty and awkward and bad. Meh. Enjoy.
Not too sure about the ending, though. Please R&R. Nattie.
Chapter Two - Tea Making
"Jesus!" John dropped onto his armchair. "That was fun."
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit."
"Shut up Sherlock. You enjoyed it. I meanwhile did not."
"That much was clear from your facial expressions, your movements, your-"
"I said Shut up!" John's voice rose, and then dropped abruptly. "Jesus," he said again, and got up from his chair and looked out the window. "Jesus Christ, what a messed up world." He ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up, deliberately ignoring Sherlock who stood behind him.
"John, I-"
"Not right now, please." John's voice was harsh.
Sherlock carefully took off his coat and scarf, and draped them behind him on a chair, and went into the kitchen, leaving John alone.
John took deep breaths, trying to calm himself, and worst of all, trying not to cry. He swallowed hard, and stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets, where they clenched into fists, almost automatically. John focused on the outline of London against the rapidly darkening sky. He jumped slightly when Sherlock touched him lightly on the arm, holding out a cup of tea. He took it from Sherlock, trying not to look him in the eye.
John opened his mouth to say thanks, but then stopped himself. He was enjoying the silence somewhat. He looked Sherlock in the eye though, hoping Sherlock wouldn't notice how his eyes were watering slightly. Sherlock did of course, John noticed how his expression seemed to change a little, but he did nothing. Wrapping his hands around the warmth of the cup, John turned back to look out upon the city.
Sherlock stood beside him, drinking what smelt like coffee, also watching the city.
John always imagined that silences meant something. Awkwardness, sadness, or some big emotion. What did this silence mean? He wondered, glancing at the calm on Sherlock's face, however, he realised it wasn't a bad emotion, this silence. It was understanding. He sipped his tea. It was sweet.
