AN- Wow, it's been ages since I started this fic. This chapter is set about three weeks after the first one and is from Sherlock's PoV.
The song is 'Sorry seems to be the hardest word' by Elton John. A brilliant song.

Enjoy
x


Sherlock couldn't sleep. John had let him back into 221b with open arms but that didn't mean that everything had gone back to normal. They hardly spoke anymore. The doctor was out of his flat most of the day, at work. He came home, poured himself a cup of tea and went to bed. They didn't utter a word to each other for days on end. Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He crept up to John's room. The doctor wasn't there. He hadn't come back at all yet from wherever he'd gone to. It was driving the consulting detective insane. John could be dead but Sherlock couldn't search for him because if he did and John wasn't dead than the man would be angry with him for following him and then they would have a reason not to speak and John would take that reason, possibly by moving out for a few days or even forever and Sherlock couldn't live with that.

There were steps on the stairs and Sherlock sat on the bed, waiting. John walked through the door.

'Sherlock?' He said, startled. His flatmate stared straight through him.

'What is it?' The soldier asked, his eyes were dark and baggy, like he'd tried to sleep but couldn't and hadn't for days.

'What have I got to do to make you love me?' Sherlock asked. John blinked in surprise.

'What?' He asked. The detective stood up.'What have I got to do to make you care?' The doctor stepped forward.

'Sherlock.' He groaned softly, not wanting to have this conversation now. He was exhausted and he just couldn't cope with this right now. His flatmate, however; was determined to do this now. Sherlock stood up.'What do I do when lightning strikes me and I wake to find that you're not there?' He asked. John didn't answer him, looking down to the floor. The detective gripped him, not tightly but enough to get the man's full attention.

'What do I do to make you want me?' His voice seemed almost pleading. 'What have I got to do to be heard?' The doctor's hands found their way on to of his. 'What do I say when it's all over and sorry seems to be the hardest word?' John sighed and pushed Sherlock back gently so that they both sat on the bed.

'It's sad,' He sighed. 'So sad.' God, he was tired. 'It's a sad, sad situation.' Sherlock nodded, he knew what his friend was getting at, even though the man seemed to be repeating himself.'And it's getting more and more absurd.' John continued. 'It's sad, so sad.' He yawned, looking longingly at the why can't we talk it over?' Sherlock asked. John chuckled hollowly, no light behind his eyes.'Oh it seems to me, that sorry seems to be the hardest word.' He replied, standing up and beginning to undress, a silent order for Sherlock to leave. For probably the first time in his life, Sherlock conceded and left, closing the door behind him.


Back in his own room, lying on his bed, Sherlock tossed and turned. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.

What do I do to make you love me? He wondered sadly. What have I got to do to be heard? Since they first met, John had heard him. Not only that, he had listened. He had stayed. Now that seems to be gone. What do I do when lightning strikes me? Lightning was a good way to describe it, the sudden separation from everything he knew in one short blaze. The aftermath of this lightning was like a tree that had been hit, it could continue to live but the scars, the blackened bark, would be there for the rest of time. What have I got to do? John didn't trust him anymore. What have I got to do? He may never trust him again. When sorry seems to be the hardest word.

I'm so sorry, John.