Times when there used to be no cases, my seven percent solution normally took effect. Now that John is here, I haven't dared touch it. I wonder what he would think of me, if he knew what I was perhaps a decade ago. I imagine his face blurring out of my vision after I've injected the drug. Taking approximately three minutes to take effect. And then the ringing in my ears continuing, drowning out his pleas.
He wouldn't plea with me. He would take care of me. And then when I woke up, that was when I'd really get it. Wouldn't I John? But can you see what I used to be? Lying on tile floors, draped across my bed sheets. The euphoria doesn't really last anyway.
I recall him being so very surprised when Lestrade came to 221 B for a drugs bust. Yes, John. I did drugs. How you had already thought you knew me so well. Just because I'm a genius doesn't mean I don't have vices.
You're the only vice now.
The telly's blue light glows against your skin. I can tell he's nervous. He keeps tapping his foot up and down as he watches the screen. I can't imagine what he wants to tell me. I don't know if he wants me to speak first or not. I do anyway, I don't like waiting.
"What is it?" I ask.
"What's what?" Don't play stupid with me, John.
"You obviously want to inform me of something. Or ask me a question. It's been on your mind for a while, since you've been tapping your foot all evening."
"Oh…right," his voice trails off. "I suppose I'm just. Angry, Sherlock."
Angry, angry about what? What have I done now? I'm fairly certain I haven't let any insult slip out. I've been quiet most of the day, looking at the Spencer case my brother gave me. What is there to be angry about?
"Why might that be?" I keep my eyes on the telly. Not because I'm bored, but because I don't understand the emotion.
"You lied to me, for a very long time."
Oh. That. That happened three months ago. He's still upset. But, thinking back. I suppose, though I explained most everything, that we hadn't really talked about it. I turn towards him.
"You know it was necessary. And you broke my nose. I figured we were even."
"Sherlock, I know it was necessary, but did it ever occur to you how much pain you caused me?"
I pause. I actually don't know what to say next. "And then you just come back. And now everything is normal again. Except, did you really think I was going to be alright?"
I stare at him. John, you were always going to be fine. Why on Earth would you need me?
"Yes, in fact I did think you were going to alright. Do you wish I hadn't come back?" I ask.
John sighs. He shakes his head, laughs a bit. I wish I understood empathy.
"How could you think I wouldn't want you to come back? Of course I wanted you back. That's what I'm saying, Sherlock. Every day you were gone I wished for you to come back. Every day."
"I'm sorry," I say, turning away from him. "I wanted to."
There is a brief few minutes of silence. We both stare at the telly but neither of us are watching. It's dark. I want to touch him. But I won't. Not ever.
"Did you ever get lonely?" John asks me.
I feel as if that is not the question. I feel as if what he is really asking is 'did you ever miss me?' and so that is the question I answer.
"Yes. I missed you terribly."
I feel embarrassed. I suppose I shouldn't. But I feel as if I have revealed something that I shouldn't have. I feel weak. I despise emotions. And John is made of them.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. I shudder. I turn back toward him, and he smiles at me.
"I missed you very much too. I guess that's why I've been so angry. I just missed you. Very much. I don't ever want to miss you like that again."
I feel my mouth drop open a bit. I want to hold him. Him, the only person I've ever felt that for. The only person I've ever really wanted to hold. I don't know what to say. I hate when I don't know what to say.
"I was only protecting you. Friends protect you, isn't that right?" I give him a small and quick smile, and then turn away again. I want to say 'you won't have to miss me like that again' but I don't want to reveal myself any further. Would only lead to chaos.
"Yes, yes they do." He removes his hand from my shoulder and removes himself from the couch. "I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight," he tells me.
I only nod.
He leaves the room, and he hasn't the slightest idea what he's done to me.
/
Why John, why bring this up again now? I thought we were done discussing. Have I not correctly estimated the matter? If he has brought it up again it can only mean two things: 1.) He did not fully grasp the situation. Meaning, he did not understand what all I did and why I did it. Or, 2.) John is still not over the situation. He is still harmed by it.
The first option does not seem correct. John's mind is not necessarily the brightest but he is most certainly not dull. He understood what I was doing for three years. I told him how long I had to work with brother to undo Moriarty's web. To kill off every last assassin, so that he would not die. So that none of them would die. Certainly he understood.
So, the second option must be correct: John is still hurt. Why should he be? I'm back, I'm alive, acting as I always have. What hasn't been resolved? Should I leave this, or should I speak to him? Would speaking to him more help? John went upstairs over an hour ago. But I've assessed our situation incorrectly. I should speak with him. See, John? I think I do have some empathy in me.
I take the stairs quietly up to John's bedroom. It's much warmer on the second floor. John's light is still on and his door is cracked open, as it usually is. I stand at the door for a few seconds, then knock. He simply wants to talk, he's upset. Emotions are something I struggle with, but I don't want him upset.
"Yes?" John calls from the other side of the door. I let the door swing open, and stand in the doorway.
"I've disappointed you."
This feels familiar.
He gives me a slightly confused look. No, John, I have. Don't waste time. We already wasted three years.
"How d'you mean?"
"You were angry, because I hurt you, and I haven't let you state your mind on the matter. I obviously did not think my actions through. I regret this very much."
"Right again, as usual."
He gives me a small smile, and puts his book down. I'm not sure what else he wants me to say, but something is just not right.
"Are you still angry?"
"No, no I'm not."
I inch my way closer to the bed, and then sit down. He sighs. I like being this close to him. With John not everything has to be reasoned. With John, my mind is quiet.
"Good. I never meant to hurt you."
"No, I knew you didn't. It was the fact that you thought I'd be okay. How could you think that? That I'd ever be okay without you. You're my best friend Sherlock."
I smile at him. He's my best friend too. And I so love him in this moment that I nearly hate him for it.
I stand up to leave, but John grabs my hand. I close my eyes.
"Oh, before you go. I forgot to tell you. I'm bringing Mary round tomorrow, after she gets off work. I want you to meet her."
Meet her? Why would he want me to meet her? Doesn't he remember all the others that I chased off?
I laugh.
"Are you sure about that, doctor?" He laughs too.
"Yes, I don't think you'll quite take the piss out of this one. I've warned her. And, I think she might be round for a while. So it's important you meet one another."
I may have stopped breathing. Quickly, Sherlock, pull yourself together. Just a minor setback. Which will only take a minor adjustment. No need to panic. Though, what would be the point in panicking anyway. Not as if John knows. Not like he could…don't do this to yourself.
"Well then, I look forward to it."