How hadn't he seen this coming? How was it possible to love someone that much, so that every time he walked into a room, every time he spoke, smiled, laughed his heart would leap. That just knowing he was in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the living room was enough to send those fantastic, amazing, wonderful thoughts rushing through him, making him feel warm and loved. Yet when it came to it, when he'd said 'I love you', he'd rejected him. Tried to ignore his existence!
He had totally forgotten that John had kissed him and told him he loved him back, he imagined it was false and just another way to annoy him. He didn't, for one split second, believe it was real.
It was as if someone had ripped everything out of him that mattered and walked all over it.
'You're not the first person to fall in love and be rejected' he told himself rationally. But, for once, he didn't want to be rational. What was rational about being in love anyway? What was rational about offering yourself up to someone only to be squashed?
Sherlock thought he knew what love made people do, he had studied it for the whole of his professional life and had palmed it off as simply annoying and it got in the way. And here he was, lost and alone, the result of this passion.
He knew it was childish, to run away, but right now he didn't care. As long as he never had to see that amazingly sweet and understanding face of the man he loved again. He knew that if he did, he would make an even bigger fool of himself than already (how he couldn't say! He'd already confessed his love, burst into tears and kissed him. How could it get any worse!).
Sherlock didn't know where he was headed, which never happens to the omniscient detective, all he knew was, he was getting away from humiliation.
He turned off the main road into a side street. Leaning against the wall of the house on the side of the street, he bent his head down to his chest and started to cry. He slid down the rough wall until he was sitting on the floor, head in his knees, sobbing his eyes out.
He could have stayed there forever, wallowing in self pity, but at that moment he heard footsteps at the other end of the street. He went silent, wiped the tears out of his eyes so he could see better, and shuffled sideways until he came to a doorway in the wall. Crouching in the depression and trying his best to stay unseen, he leaned out of the doorway and looked down the dark, gloomy side street.
To his utter surprise, at the other end of the street, in the same position of misery as he was mere seconds before, sat the figure of the one and only John Watson.
Sherlock stayed there for three minutes, watching the bent over figure with amazement, it seemed that John was crying.
Sherlock had never before seen John cry, he always was too reserved and controlled for that. But here he was, bawling. Just as Sherlock had decided to go and see what was making him sad (he was too ignorant in love to believe it was him) he heard a faint muttering coming from John: "Why did you have to run away? Was it me? I can't cope with this any more! I'm going to have to move out. I can't live in a flat with the man I love but who can't get over his pride to love me back! I'm going to have to move."
Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. There was the only true love of his life, confessing his love for him, and Sherlock was too ignorant to have realised this before!
Carefully, slowly, and as quietly as he could, Sherlock got up from his hiding place and walked over to the hunched figure of the army doctor. When he was four foot away, John looked up and stared with bloodshot eyes at the tall figure of the dishevelled detective.
"Do you really love me John?" Sherlock asked, confused.
"Yes. Yes, oh God yes!" John shouted at the darkened figure.
"Thank God." Sherlock bent his knees and crouched in front of the doctor.
He reached out and carefully wiped a tear from John's cheek.
"There, that's better." Sherlock exclaimed and very slowly, but with certainty this time, reached his head forward and kissed him.
It started off slow but before they knew it, it was getting more passionate.
After about five minutes, John pulled away. "Does this mean we're, you know…?"
"A couple?" Sherlock prompted.
John gradually nodded his head in agreement.
"Of course! But… only if you want to be-!" Sherlock added tentatively.
"Oh yes. Yes!" John squealed and with a hug and another kiss, they set of back to Baker Street., hand in hand, and utterly blissful.
