The Feeling Is Mutual

Oh, Sherlock knew, he just didn't want to admit that John could do such a thing. "You love her," Sherlock tried to get him to change his mind about this.

"I love you more," he countered.

"No, that's just the-"

"Don't tell me it's the depression or stress talking. I have had enough of that shit. Sherlock, I'm doing this. Don't wait up for me, but I will be back, and this will be sorted out," John said as he walked down the stairs.

"What will be sorted out?" he had to ask from the doorway. John paused halfway down the stairs and walked back up.

He looked at Sherlock with a yearning in his eyes, "Us, we will be sorted out. And we'll get cases and it will return to normal as everything will be forgotten," John declared and he wanted to believe this. It was so much easier when everything was simple and John and Sherlock were running around London, chasing a killer.

John shut the door behind himself and hailed a cab as he headed back to his home where Mary would be.


He had waited up for her, and she finally came through the door as he said, "Mary, I need to talk to you. And by the end of this, you will no doubt hate me. But this has to be done," he sat back down and looked over to his small bag of things he had packed from the house that was his. But after this, it definitely won't be.

"Don't be so sure," she said as she pulled her coat from her shoulders and sat down in front of her boyfriend, who was soon not going to be anything to her.

"Oh no," he decided to just come out with it, "You know that Sherlock has been haunting me, but I never told you the real reason it hurt so much. I never told you that I love him," he said.

Her eyes widened and her lips straightened, "Well, actually. I was about to ask you about him. I think we should break up," she admitted.

"Agreed," he said sadly. But she made him look at her.

"John," he tried not to let the tears fall, but hers fell freely, and he instantly regretted this, "I know how much he means to you. But if I have to give you up so that you can be happy, I gladly will," John was shocked at this.

"What?! But you-"

"I love you, yes. But it doesn't mean I'm selfish. I can tell that now that he's back, you want him more than anything. You want him to take you running again. And I will gladly let you," she smiled through her teary green eyes.

"I'm so sorry," and he grabbed his things and left before he could say anymore. He didn't want this to hurt anymore than it had to. He placed all the blame on himself, despite what he had told Sherlock about it being his fault. John knew this was his own doing and he would never forgive himself for today, but he had to do this, before he hurt the people around him by lying to himself and them.

He never was gay, but Sherlock somehow pushed past that boundary, and nestled himself into John's heart. He was there to stay and John hated it, but he needed Sherlock to be full. And he just couldn't love Mary if he wasn't all himself.

He couldn't give her half of his heart if it was already taken. She couldn't be his life, if he only had half of one to begin with. And as he recited his address for the final time that night, he felt everything click back into place and the only thing he was truly guilty of, was letting Sherlock rule his heart and his head.

Sherlock had his heart tied in bleeding knots and his brain felt like it hadn't had oxygen in years, God! He needed another high speed chase to get his blood pumping and make him forget things for a while. He would call Lestrade in the morning to see if there was a case they could work on.


Sherlock was pleased when the subject of a case came up, "Yes, that would be lovely. Perhaps something dangerous, and sends electricity running down your spine. Something that makes your blood run cold," he was smiling at this and John was getting a little creeped out, but then he laughed.

"Sherlock, you do realize that a normal person would run from situations like that, not to them?" he mused.

"Well, that's boring, isn't it?" he commented, actually serious. And John just laughed again. Sherlock loved John's laugh and he loved it so much more when it wasn't in his mind palace, when he could hear it for himself.

They were slowly turning back into themselves. Very slowly, well. Sherlock was already almost there, but John had a long ways before he could be considered John again. He had a twice broken heart to mend and his mind was numb.

"I'm going to bed, wake me when… I don't know. Maybe I'll just fall asleep and never wake up. Who gives a fuck?" as he ascended the four stairs to his room.

Sherlock stopped him with a hand to his arm, "John, I give a fuck. And I know it may not seem like it, but I do care. If you never woke up, I would die. For real," and he let go. But John couldn't move. He was rooted to the spot as Sherlock's words hit him. Mary had used those words on him two days ago.

He felt like he betrayed her. And he went to his room and curled up into his bed, he finally sobbed. For Mary, for Sherlock and for himself. Mainly the others, though. John couldn't help but feel as though he didn't deserve to be loved so much that people would sacrafice things for him.

He felt as though he should be hated and die. "John?" Sherlock peeked through the door and he let in unwelcome light as John rolled over away from it.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" he tried not to sound mean or as if he had been letting out emotions that he hated so much but couldn't help feeling.

"I want to sleep with you. Just sleep, I think it might help both of us," Sherlock added, just to see if John would give in. There was no reply, John still had tears running and he felt as if the knot in his throat would make him choke before he would ever be able to talk properly.

Sherlock took this as an answer and closed the door behind himself, inching closer to John. He stripped his blue robe and climbed in after his flatmate. "John?" he asked again as John decided to settle and let Sherlock cuddle into him.

"Hum?" he tried not to speak as the tears slowed, but still flowed.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. John felt that go straight to his heart as Sherlock's arms went around his chest and shoulders. This made the tears fall faster again and they hit Sherlock's arm as he realized just how much emotion John had been hiding. He knew it was overwhelming, but he didn't know it had been this much.

He rolled John over and put himself on top of his flatmate. He hips were in between John's legs as tears ran uncontrollably down his temples, and Sherlock's ran down the length of his nose and hit John's cheeks. John was surprised and through those wide eyes did tears still fall, "Sherlock?"

"I… didn't realize," he stuttered, J-just how much you were hurting. I thought you were my soldier, John? But then again, I thought I would be able to swallow my emotions, but I guess not," he chuckled and smiled through his tears and John tried.

But he couldn't. He turned away and his face was buried into his pillows as his back was turned on Sherlock. He decided he would let his soldier (my soldier?) cry and he settled down beside him. He was also on his belly and he had thrown an arm over John's back, and was stroking his side as they let tears fall and became exhausted and fell asleep.


John woke and to his surprise, Sherlock was wrapped around him in a way that was so comfortable, and taken out of context, people would get the worst idea of them. But wasn't that wrong idea being supported with the fact that Mary and John had a mutual break-up because John wanted Sherlock more?

John shook himself and in doing so, he stirred Sherlock, "Mm, John," he said.

"Yes, Sherlock," he sighed and cursing himself for raising the detective.

"I haven't had so much sleep in so long. Thank you," he sighed and rubbed his eyes as he sat up. John gave him a confused look and to avoid explanations, John rose, "Coffee?" Sherlock asked. John nodded and sighed as he slipped out of bed after his detective.

Their feet shuffled in the hall and down the stairs when Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen. Sherlock stopped John, "Did you tell her yet?" John asked, referring to the landlady in their kitchen. A smile played on Sherlock's lips and John took that as a, 'No, and I'm about to surprise her with it,' he smacked Sherlock's bottom lightly, "Go on," John taunted.

He jumped and stumbled, but John saved him from falling. He was careful not to hold Sherlock's chest, his ribs were still bruised and needed time to heal. John knew Sherlock was abusing them already, and he didn't want that to hurt him.

So he had grabbed Sherlock's waist and held him close as Sherlock said, "Sh," he grinned and shuffled on the carpet.

"John?" Mrs. Hudson's slight curls looked from the kitchen and she saw the man standing there, in his PJs, and dropped everything, shattering a coffee mug. John went to cleaning it up as their landlady hugged Sherlock extremely tight. He winced at the strain on his ribs, and John looked worried, but she released and it was okay.

The mug was gone from the floor and Mrs. Hudson finished making coffee and poured two cups and scuttled out of the flat, leaving John and Sherlock to have 'alone time'. They had already had this, but they enjoyed each other's company nonetheless.

"John," Sherlock started, "Last night, um. I wanted to say that I really am truly sorry. For everything," John consumed these words as his own were caught in his throat.

"No, I'm sorry," Sherlock was taken aback, and stunned. John is sorry? But he didn't do anything. "I doubted you, and I started hating you. Even though I know it's not possible for me to hate you," he smirked and kept his eyes on the table, "What I'm saying is, I shouldn't have doubted your ability to do what was right," he was nervously tapping his fingers to the table top now.

The one table, John smiled, with all Sherlock's shit scattered over it. "John, I don't deserve an apology," Sherlock said, all emotion gone, just his bored tone.

"I don't care, I gave you one and if you don't accept it, I won't accept yours," he threatened. Sherlock simply nodded and John took that as an accepting nod. John returned it, pursing his lips, and Sherlock stared.

He wondered, suddenly, if John's lips were as soft as his hair. Sherlock had felt John's hair before, for a weird experiment, but that aside, what do his lips feel like? He looked at them, deducing from the way they stood about his chin, that they would feel wonderful.

John caught Sherlock staring and the man blushed as John was confused. So, Sherlock Holmes, the great sociopathic detective, has feelings? Interesting…

Sherlock could feel John's eyes on him, now returning the favour of staring, but John's eyes, instead, caught Sherlock's. John's blue denim eyes bored deep into Sherlock's bluish grey eyes and they found themselves shivering at the raw emotion found. The depression that had plagued them for two years, the happiness of being around again, and the temporary sadness of losing someone close to them.

Sherlock then found himself repeating John's drum beat as their fingers tapped away at the cluttered table. Sherlock grew impatient and narrowed his eyes, deducing the rest of John now. He then stood and standing behind his soldier, massaged his shoulder, noticing that it was aching from the position they had slept in last night. Wow, take these thoughts out of context and it really DOES sound as if we were shagging….

Though, Sherlock never really cared what other people thought. John swore up and down he was straight, but Sherlock never answered the questions he was asked about John and him. He simply ignored everyone's stupidity, especially his brother's when he had approached Sherlock about his relationship with John.

Sherlock told him that he would leave that answer to his deductions and he had left it unanswered. Simply because he didn't care what people thought about it, plus, even he was confused as to what their relationship status was.

They were flatmates, best friends, but so much more. But they weren't shagging Yet. God, what is wrong with me?!

John's shoulder relaxed under Sherlock's magical fingertips and John thanked him. He hadn't even noticed it was hurting until Sherlock had started moving his fingers around. Then Sherlock got an idea, "Why don't we skip the cases today," he suggested, "I have a better idea that will help both of us," he said.

"Skip out on cases?" he turned, surprised at Sherlock, "What could be so much more important?" John's brows furrowed as he feared the answer.

Sherlock shrugged, "You," John gulped and Sherlock lead him from the kitchen chair, "I'm going to relax you, and with each relaxed muscle, you will tell me an emotion you are currently feeling," Sherlock told him as he laid him out on the couch, on his back first.

"Are you going to hypnotize me?" because that was what it sounded like.

"Nonsense," Sherlock kneeled, "I'm simply learning things about you and not prying. And later you will do the same," Sherlock admitted. John was so surprised at Sherlock that he just let him flex his fingers over John's body.

First and foremost, the knots in John's neck, from leaning over a computer and a desk all day. His fingers feathered through John's hair as well as he moaned in pleasure at this, "Tell me an emotion," Sherlock demanded.

"Endearment," John sighed as his eyes fluttered closed. Sherlock probed further down to his other shoulder. Sherlock demanded another emotion, "Abandonment," John admitted with another sigh.

Then it was right under his pectorals where anyone tensed up sometimes. Another emotion, "Anger," John whispered loudly. His fists clenched, but Sherlock wrapped his hand around one and he relaxed again. Then, his hip to the bad leg, "Melancholy," John admitted.

Then the thigh to his bad leg, "Delight," John smiled and Sherlock returned it as he made John lay on his stomach. He caught the one that Massage therapists always miss, in between the shoulder blades. I know, obvious, right? Which is why they miss it.

John sunk into the cushions as they smelled of Sherlock still, "Wonder," and Sherlock knew what he meant as he said again, "Curiosity," and Sherlock smirked. Then there was the small of his back and John let out, "Love," and Sherlock grinned as John chuckled a little with that one.

Then there was his feet, and with both hands he rubbed the soles of John's tortured feet. John's word drifted out over to Sherlock and the letters hit him and he didn't believe it at first as they spelled, "Lust…" John had hesitated with that one, but Sherlock knew why.

John felt refreshed as he jumped to his tingly feet, "Your turn," he beamed, excited that he could hear Sherlock's emotions float from his lips.

Sherlock took John's spot as John fell to this knees and repeated the motions Sherlock had taken to him. Sherlock had to say, John's hands revealed a lot that even he had no idea were there, and they flew out, "Resentment… surprise… desire… smothered… forgotten… happiness… shot…" and he surprised himself with repeating what John had said, "Lust…" but he didn't hesitate, it was just one of those things that came out and he regretted it moments later.

John smirked, "Why don't we just get a case…?" Sherlock started to pop up but John pushed him down and kissed him on the cheek. He didn't touch Sherlock anymore than resting his face against Sherlock's and they just waited for someone or something to make their eyes disconnect. (I was right, his lips are lovely). But they looked closer, and they could see all the emotions stated flooding through the colors, making them shine brighter.

Then Sherlock's phone chimed and John raced to get it, but Sherlock swiped it before he could read the text from Lestrade. He ended up looking over Sherlock's shoulder anyway: How R U, btw? U did just come back from the dead and all… -L

I'm fine, don't text me without a good case… -SH John laughed at how harsh that would sound, being a text and all, but he knew Lestrade wouldn't take it personally. This was Sherlock, after all. John hugged Sherlock from behind, careful of his chest. Even when he had massaged Sherlock, he took care not to hurt him.

Sherlock was thankful for this. But then his cell rang. He answered, knowing it was Mycroft, "What the hell do you want?" he was irritated as his hand brushed over John's, and John's heart skipped a beat. Even in his irritation, he was thinking of John.

Their fingers locked in a weird sort of backwards way, but he was happy as Mycroft bugged him, "I just wanted to make you settled well, and I didn't want to come over because… well, you know how reunions are between lost loved ones," Mycroft was assuming he And John were shagging, again.

"Yes, tedious. But you of all people should know that John and I are only friends," for now… they both thought. John wasn't disappointed, but he knew Sherlock would probably let his brother know as soon as John and him had gotten together (if). Not because he wanted to, because his older brother wasn't stupid.

Although, when it came to John and Sherlock, he seemed to be exceedingly stupid, "Oh well, happy trails, little brother," and he hung up. Sherlock almost threw the phone at the wall, but John took it from his hand as Sherlock faced his blondie blogger.

John threw it to the chair and pulled Sherlock into a hug, with his arms around Sherlock's neck instead of his torso. "Your brother is an arse, isn't he?" Sherlock rolled his eyes, "What am I? To you?" John had to ask.

"You are my…" he gulped down the word as he was afraid John would leave, "you understand me, and that is more than I could ever ask for."

"That doesn't answer my question. Who am I to you?" he pressed further.

"I would say my lover, but that's too boring. Oh! You're my partner in crime. Not my best friend, but we're not in one of those tedious relationship things," Sherlock's hands settled on the small of John's back. "We're perfectly in the middle," he smiled smugly at his reply.


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