John didn't know what to do. They just sat there, a little awkwardly, staring at each other across the table in silence.
What was Sherlock going to make John say? How the hell had John ever gotten into this mess? There was no way this was going to end well...
"Favourite case?" Sherlock finally asked.
Oh, John practically sighed out in relief. That was easy. John knew exactly what his favourite case was, and certainly had no trouble telling Sherlock so, "The study in pink."
John smiled at the memory of it. When he had first met that slightly bizarre man with beautiful hair and piercing grey eyes. Sherlock had captivated him immediately with his first question, "Afghanistan or Iraq?" Despite that though John honestly had no idea why he showed up at Bakers Street the next day. He almost hadn't. Thinking about it now John realised that it was probably only the dream he had the night before that made him go. The dream had not been about the war-like they usually were- or in any way bad. No, this dream had been about beautiful dark curls and stunning grey eyes that seemed to know everythingabout John.
Of course it wasn't just the man that made him love "A study in pink" the case itself was amazing. John had certainly never expected anything like it. A dead woman on the floor dressed in pink. Serial suicides. It truly had been fantastic. And of course it had solved his limp. Which John was grateful for but it had done more than that, it had introduced John to a new, excited way of life. Brought him back to a world where he could help again. A place where he could make a difference.
It had also been the day that he realised he was bisexual. The moment he saw Sherlock and the cabbie through the window and he pulled the gun without even thinking, that's when he knew. He had known as he squeezed the trigger he could go to jail for what he was doing. And he didn't care. Anything to save Sherlock Holmes. Anything at all.
Sherlock nodded bringing John back to the present, "ok," he leaned forward ever so slightly, propping his chin up with his hand, and staring John right in the eye "you're turn. Go on John, ask me a question, I promise not to lie."
John gulped. Wow, Sherlock was-for lack of a better word-sexy. And he didn't even know he was. It was frustrating, the way those black curls cast shadows over his perfect eyes that could look right into your soul and read everything that everyone else failed to see. And those cheekbones that stood out so profoundly. God how John longed to run his mouth along those lines they created; feel the cool, pale skin in his mouth.
He stopped his thoughts in their tracks. No point obsessing over what could never be and time to start working on what was going on right now. What didn't he know about Sherlock Holmes? What did he want to know?
"What's your favourite colour?" he finally settled on.
Sherlock snorted as if he thought it was a rubbish question but still he answered, as he had to, "red. Like blood."
Figures.
God, Sherlock was such a psychopath sometimes.
High functioning sociopatha voice in his head reminded him.
Sherlock plunged straight into his next question, without delay "Why is a study in pink your favourite case?"
John wondered if he could get away with not saying everything but still saying the truth. It was worth a shot. He just had to miss out the bits about realizing he was bisexual and falling in love with a man he hardly even knew. "It was our first case, the case that changed my entire life," he shrugged slightly; "It was the start of the rest of my life and not to mention how it started my relationship with my best friend." Good. He hadn't said anything about love or his sexuality or dreams about Sherlock. That was good.
Twisting his lips up, almost lazily Sherlock sat back in his seat, seemingly pleased with the answer.
"So," John searched for a question to ask the consulting detective. His consulting detective. No! Yes... John needed to stop thinking like that. Maybe if Sherlock could manage to make something like truth drug, he could make a not think about your flat mate in that way because it's wrong and bad and completely uncalled fordrug.
"What's your favourite case?" He said, trying desperately to shut his mind up.
"A study in pink," Sherlock surprises him in saying. Wow. For Sherlock that wasn't even a good one. No Moriarty or anyone really interesting involved. They'd certainly had better ones.
Before John could ask why Sherlock leaped in with his next question, "Why did you shoot the cabbie?"
Oh. Shit.
John could feel words coming into his mouth. Words that he defiantly shouldn't say. He couldn't stop them and he watched helplessly as they stumbled out of his mouth, "I didn't even think about it, I just did it. You were going to die. I couldn't let you die. I just couldn't. Even then you were-" John tried to stop himself from continuing but found he just couldn't, "-my everything," he finished, his cheeks heating up.
Shifting on his seat slightly Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable.
Please think I mean in a friendship wayJohn thought as he tried to distracted Sherlock with another question, "worst case?"
"The great game," Sherlock answered moving his face so he was looking out the window instead of at John.
"But you loved that one!" John cried out in surprise, "You met Moriarty on that case! How is it your worst?" John asked before he realised he'd broken the rules of the game. One question each way. No matter, Sherlock would have to answer it now, the drug would ensure that. And John really was curious how the one he would have pinned as Sherlock's best case would actually be his worst.
"You almost died," Sherlock said quietly, and then he dropped his voice even more, still not looking at John, "You're my everything too you know, and when I saw my everything wrapped in a bomb, when I thought my everything was really Moriarty even for that split second..." Sherlock stopped for a moment, "It was the worst moment in my whole life."
You're my everything too
Sherlock. John could hardly hear anything from how hard his heart was pounding. Obviously Sherlock was referring to John being his only friend but still...
You're my everything too
God, Sherlock.
They sat in silence for a moment before Sherlock cleared his throat and asked the next question, "Why didn't you run away when I deduced all those things about you. Or when you found a head in the fridge, or found that I was an annoying, selfish git? Why didn't you react like all the others?" Sherlock said it in a swift manor, as if he was just another normal question but his eyes gave him away. In that moment he looked...vulnerable. Christ, John just wished he could get up and kiss that look right off his face. He didn't of course. He couldn't really. He had to answer the question. The drug was forcing him to but honestly he didn't really mind.
"Because it was amazing. You're amazing. Those deductions, I still don't even know how you do it. It's fantastic. You showed me the world as it could be, dangerous, exciting and well, fun. I honestly don't get how those other people could react like they do when you are acting so damn clever. You're so amazingly intelligent it drives me insane sometimes. And the other stuff like heads in the fridge...Well I'm not saying I like it but I don't mind it. It's a small price to pay for the amazing life I live," John paused before adding, "The amazing life I live because of you."
Sherlock smiled then. A real smile. John loved it when Sherlock really smiled. He didn't do it often but when he did it made John's heart flutter in his chest. It took over his face entirely, making him look young and blissfully happy. It reduced the coldness and the hard extra; showing the perfect man underneath to the rest of the world even if it was just for a moment.
"What about me?" John asked slowly, "Why did you pick me? I'm nothing special, why aren't I just another Anderson?" It was a question John had wondered about for some time but never thought to ask. Why him.
"Because you're the only one. You see me. You like me not just the brain. And you're a mystery. I can't always read you like a can other people. You're unpredictable. You're a puzzle and the only friend I have ever had."
John gulped slightly, "I'm not unpredictable."
"You are to me," Sherlock answered softly.
God. Sherlock was alluring.
This game hadn't been so bad actually, John realised. Sherlock hadn't asked anything that made John tell him about how he really felt about him but they'd managed to reveal some things and because of it John just felt more comfortable and a bigger part of Sherlock. Yes this wasn't so bad. Wasn't so bad at all.
You're my everything to...
"What are you hiding?" Sherlock asked, softly, almost as if he was asking it to himself, instead of to John.
John's world came crashing down around him.
Oh. Fuck.
FUCK.
FUCK.
FUCK.
He felt the truth drug working its way around his body. He had to tell Sherlock. He was going to say it. And then he would have to leave. John stared blindly and Sherlock, realizing that this life would probably be over for him a few more seconds.
No more cases.
No more 221B.
No more Sherlock.
Was there a way he could get out of this? No, he could already feel the words forming in his mouth.
Please don't make me do this. Please stop. Just let me not say it.
"I-" John gulped his voice catching as Sherlock turned his eyes to look into his, "I'm-" Oh god no. This wasn't fair! "I'm in-"
"I'm in love with you."
Sherlock's eyes widened in shock, he sat up straighter, his mouth-those perfect lips-forming a small o.
Had John really just said that?
Oh. Fuck.
Fucking hell.
Sherlock seemed frozen and John just couldn't take it anymore. He stood up, his chair making breaking the silence as it scrapped against the floor. Sherlock's eyes followed John as he stood.
"I'm going to go and pack my stuff up and leave," John's throat felt dry, his voice sounded raspy.
"John," Sherlock called hoarsely as John ran to his room, John ignored him. Ignored everything. He needed to get away. He couldn't stand to be under Sherlock's stare any longer if Sherlock knew.
I'm in love with you.
What had John just done?