Only once before had Sherlock cried. He was just a child; he had his bee collection taken off him for revealing his Father's affair to the rest of the family during Christmas dinner. But this, was different, every emotion he had squashed down was becoming back up from the deepest recesses of his mind and washing over him. All because of that stupid John Watson.
After John had left the bathroom in a hurry, Sherlock had quickly locked himself in his room to avoid his flatmate. Instead of torturing his violin for hours to annoy John, he sobbed into his pillow. He cried for being so being so dense as to think John would even want him in that way, he cried for failed past lovers, he cried until he just didn't have the energy left.
Morning soon turned into night, night into the next morning. The dull ache Sherlock felt in his arm was nothing compared to the hole that had been torn from his chest.
7am: John was moving around in his room. Sherlock could imagine was he was doing by the pressure and sounds of the floorboards. John was pacing. The thought of facing Sherlock after the events of yesterday was almost too daunting for him. Enough was enough; John decided now was the time to go down stairs, if he were to face Sherlock then so be bit. John's new found confidence was wasted, Sherlock hadn't come out of his room yet, John let out the breathe he had been holding since bounding down the stairs. John had to go the surgery, the approaching awkward face to face moment with Sherlock could wait. Draining the rest of his tea, he hurried to work.
After a busy day dealing with mundane people at the surgery, John made it home soaked from the rain. His limp had slightly started again, almost like it knew there was tension between Sherlock and him. John hoped those 17 steps to their door were longer but he had already walked slower than normal in an attempt to prolong the time before seeing Sherlock again. With hesitation John pushed the door opening slightly, checking for the lanky pale man. But there was no sign of him.
John's eye went to the coat hanger. Sherlock's coat and scarf were still there. Damn,John quickly thought, Sherlock was here meaning the long overdue 'chat' was coming as there was no excuse to elude any more.
Shuffling into the room, there was still no sign of the detective. The television was off, there were no ongoing experiment in the kitchen and the kettle had not been touched since that morning. John didn't need to be the worlds only consulting detective to tell that Sherlock had not left his room for over 24 hours.
"Right, come on John. It's just a little talk about what happened. Nothing more. You are still straight" whispered John into the growing darkness.
Tapping three times on the wooden door, John waited for a response. Nothing.
"Sherlock, you in there?"
Still nothing, not even a sound from inside the room could be heard. Normally this wouldn't of worried John, Sherlock was normally in his mind palace during most of the day, but after yesterday's actions maybe Sherlock was too hurt to even look at him.
"I'll break down the door if I have too, Sherlock. Please just let me see you. We need to talk" pleaded John though the door.
"Piss off" Finally; there was a sign of life from inside Sherlock's room.
"Look Sherlock, we have to at least discuss what happened.. I'm not gay" counteracted John. With that the door was yanked open, crashing into the side wall and out came Sherlock who flew straight at John, with balled up fists aiming right for John's face. John had to admit his reaction times were getting a bit slower now he had been out of the army for so long now, but he just did not expect Sherlock to react like that. Slamming into John, Sherlock had toppled him onto the floor. They soon became a mess of fumbling limbs each trying to attack the other while defending themselves.
"You liar, John Watson. Liar!" Sherlock wailed. John instinctively wrapped his arms around Sherlock's frame and hugged him tightly, rocked him gently and wiped away the falling tears from Sherlock's colourless face. John muttered his apologies softly, while still holding onto Sherlock. They stayed in that position until both their heart rates had calmed down, and the heavy breathing had ceased. With a grunt Sherlock pushed himself off of John and stumped back into his room and shut the door with a quiet click.
John didn't see him for the rest of the night.
End of Chapter 2. I promise it will get better for Sherlock! Keep reading :)
Kt x