Waking up, John for once in his life gets his wish; he opens his eyes to sunlight. The doctor smiles and thinks about getting ready for the day. John should be thinking about getting ready to go to work but with his stress level through the roof, the idea of going to his mundane job is the least appealing it has ever been.
He rolls over not surprised that Sherlock isn't in bed next to him. They have been sharing Sherlock's bed for a few weeks now and John wakes up alone more often than not. He doesn't mind especially with his frequent wake ups during most nights.
Untangling himself from the sheets, wrapped around his legs, John makes his way over to the dresser where some of his clothes have made a home in. Gathering what he needs John goes to bathroom for a relaxing shower. Once clean and dressed in his most comfortable clothes, John leaves the bathroom finding Sherlock hunched over his beakers on the kitchen.
The man is dressed in sweats, an old shirt, and his dressing gown which is hanging off his shoulders. His hair is a mess of curls, evidently it had gotten a bit of attention with the typical hair fluffing.
"Did you get any sleep?" John asks going around to make some tea.
Sherlock grunts without responding but John is so use to it he just goes about his business. As he finishes John passes a cup to the silent man and goes to sit in the living room. A hand stops him from moving too far away.
"You had a dream last night," Sherlock says not looking up from his microscope.
John waits for him to continue but it seems that is all the man plans on saying. The doctor sighs and sits down at the only empty space at the table. "It was another one of those dreams."
Sherlock doesn't respond.
John stares at him but the silence is stretching, "You know those dreams." He tries, again failing to get an acknowledgement from Sherlock
"Damn it," John snaps balling his hands into fists, "Are you ever going to take this seriously?"
The other man still continues to ignore him.
"Sherlock!" John barks.
Sherlock groans heavily and stands up straight, "And what am I supposed to be taking seriously?" He asks looking lazily at John with a hint of his usual annoyance.
The ex-soldier grits his teeth to keep himself from yelling again, "My dreams obviously." He replies lightly.
"Your dreams," Sherlock repeats, "Your dreams that may or may not be true. Your dreams that can be so vague that they don't even accurately give us any information when we need it. Your dreams that you put so much faith in when they have never helped you in the past. Your dreams that only give you nightmares and scenes of death for all your struggle." He pauses for the aftermath of his words with a look of finality. "So to answer your question; no I won't be taking this seriously." Sherlock turns back to his microscope, letting his words linger, and going back to ignoring the other man completely
John stares at him with wide eyes. Of all the people in his life, Sherlock had been the first to believe in his visions and now...now he didn't know what to think. Sherlock had made it perfectly clear that he put very little weight into the visions.
Without a word John heads for the front door, grabbing his coat and his shoes as he leaves. Sherlock doesn't try to stop him.
The air outside is freezing and billows out white every time he breaths. John doesn't care, he barely feeling the sting of not enough layers, as he hurries to the closest pub. Alcohol wasn't a usual beverage for him but in this moment he needs something, he needs to be somewhere else.
Inside the pub, its dark, smoke filled, and the air is heavy with conversation but it feels like it's the best place to be. John takes a moment to breath it all in before spotting Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade at the bar.
"Dr. John Watson?" The Inspector greets, "I have never seen you in here before."
John manages a smile. "This is definitely not my usual spot." Greg is a good man as well as a decent cop and the doctor definitely doesn't have a problem keeping company with him
Greg returns the smile. "Well mate go ahead, take a seat, and tell me what's going on." He gestures at the stool next to him.
John glances at the other patron's, their sparse and a bit spread out into their own small groups. "I'd rather just sit and not think about it." He tells the man, taking the chair.
Lestrade orders a couple of pints, "And the thing that drove you here is...?" He asks clearly ignoring John's words.
"Sherlock, but we're not talking about him; he's already ruined the day enough," He replies and quickly changes the subject; "So what are you doing here?" John asks. Their drinks arrive at that moment stalling their conversation.
Greg take a drink from the new pint before responding; "Oh I come here often, just in case."
"In case of…?" John presses taking a drink as well. The alcohol burns all the way down and warms his stomach. He's not a drinker unlike most of his family, the alcohol opens his mind up and he has no control over the visions or anything else that floods his brain.
The Detective shrugs, "You never know with Sherlock."
John chuckles dryly, "Understatement of the year." He says drinking some more. John had only been drunk twice in his life and had regretted it but now he doesn't care, he needs to drown the ache in his chest before it explodes.
The next several hours the two drink through several pints letting the day go by. They speak quietly together the whole time but neither will remember the conversations. They laugh and giggle together making all sorts of loud noises, most of the patrons around them look rather annoyed but the two don't notice nor would they care if they did.
John hadn't had this much fun in ages and it felt good to let go. There is still lingering stress though it is pushed to the back of his mind for the time being.
"So what was it?" Greg asks with a noticeable slur.
John finishes off his latest pint. "What was what?" He's warm and his brain feels sluggish and open. Every mind in the pub is whispering to him but none loud enough to catch his attention.
The Detective gestures vaguely, "That thing, that Sherlock thing." He smiles wiggling an eyebrow suggestively.
John snorts into his drink, splattering the contents. "You know Sherlock and you know how he is…sometimes." He answers hoping that will end the conversation. Unfortunately it doesn't.
"I may have known Sherlock longer but that man is still a mystery even to me," Greg chuckles, his eyes attempting to focus on the other man, "You are the only one I've ever seen get close to him, he trusts you."
John stares at the him. True, Sherlock is a difficult man and most people can't stand him for long periods of time, most even considered him a robot or a psychopath, but seriously he does have a human side...at times. "Sherlock...is complex." He tries but even then that word isn't exact.
Lestrade snorts choking on the swallow he had just taken. After a coughing fit he's able to respond in a raspy voice; "That's one way to describe him."
John manages a weak smile and pushes his glass across the table, "Sherlock is the only person I've ever trusted fully and I thought he understood me, accepted me. When I need him to be on my side, he did what Sherlock does best; he shuts down, makes you feel like a fool."
Greg is silent for a moment before releasing a heavy sigh. "He'll come around," He insists, "He's Sherlock he acts like an arse but deep down…" He drifts off without finishing, waving a hand in the air.
John smiles at him, appreciating the other man. "I truly hope so, now I believe we are too drunk to be this emotional." He says gesturing for another round as he chugs the remains in his glass.
The Detective drains the rest of his pint. "No truer words have been spoken."