oh i have no idea where im going with this now. lol. i think i had original intentions but those have gone out the window. Trying to keep the characters' actual personalities but with this kind of story that's clearly going to be impossible, if not extremely dificult. err...no action really, in this part..kinda fluffy angsty friendshipy kinda thing. lol. some suggestions would be lovely, as i really honestly have no idea where im going with this.
John heard a gun cock...click-click...The blood ran from John's face, "you cant be serious...?"
"Oh i am," Moriarty pointed the gun at Sherlock. "Your own pride is going to get your beloved killed."
"No wait, let me-"
"NO SECOND CHANCES!"
BANG!
John felt unsteady as if his knees would give out at any moment. He had just watched his best friend die right in front of him...again. Of course he still could only make out just the shadows still, one clearly slumped over, unmoving...dead. Dead. John mustered all his will power to not lose his senses and he reached back into his waist band and grabbed hold of his old, trusty friend. John was going to make sure Moriarty was dead for good this time. Oh yes, he'll make sure of it. Yet half way through the drawing of his pistol, he saw something move in the corner of his eye.
The dead silhouette jumped up, "Wait, John!" Sherlock's voice. Sherlock's not-dead-voice. "Don't shoot."
The gun dropped out of John's hand and his arms dropped to his side. He felt as if he had just been part of some kind of...Surely Sherlock wouldnt... "What?"
just then the two figures walked out into view. It was still very dark but John could make out the face of his still living flatmate and his brother.
"Mycroft." John breathed. It was neither a question or a statement, just a verbal observation and realization of the situation. John could see where this was going; he stood up straight, arms back, chest out, heart guarded. Army John.
"You can relax, John," Sherlock stated walking a little closer to his hardened war doctor. "Let me explain."
"Actually," Mycroft cleared his throat. "I'd rather not be here for that. I think it would be rather unpleasant to see how your stupidity has destroyed something else."
"Destroyed?" Sherlock questioned his brother who was already half way to his car. "What could I have possibly dest-"
"Sherlock." John's voice was sharp, even, and quite calm." The two brothers looked at him.
"Sorry, John," Mycroft mumbled as he closed the door to his car. It pulled off and suddenly John and Sherlock were standing there, alone in the ally way.
Sherlock looked back at his colleague but couldn't come to any conclusions as to what he was feeling. "John?" The soldier didnt move. He didnt let any emotion cross his face nor did he move from this stiff, army stance that screamed silence in body language.
"John." Sherlock stepped closer. He was now only inches away. While Sherlock was clearly looking down into the rigid man's eyes he felt as if John was the one looking down on him. His eyes were so hard, so cold, and so, so dark.
"Care to explain, Sherlock?" John's voice held no no shake nor emotion; his mind couldn't comprehend what emotion to signal out anyways.
Sherlock cleared his throat a little, "John, I was-"
"If the word 'bored' utters out of your mouth I'll pick this gun up and blow your bloody head off," His voice was quiet, deep and seemed surprisingly serious.
Sherlock was silent for a moment. John was really angry this time. But why? Why would he be this upset? "You're angry." He stated.
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Listen to me..."
"I am." Yes, John was all ears. He wanted to hear what his good old friend has to say. "Just tell me why."
Sherlock stepped back a bit and looked John straight into his eyes with that piercing gaze of his, "Data."
"Data?" John snorted. He finally broke his military pose and folded his arms around himself and balled his fist up. "What kind of data?"
"Human emotions," Sherlock started. "Sentiment stuff."
"Right, well," John sighed. "What data did you load into that hard drive of yours?"
"You care about me," Sherlock's mouth twitched a little as he said this. Sherlock always figured, always came to the conclusion that yes, John did care but he still needed more proof.
"Really?" John was starting to lose his composure. "Thought you might have figured that out a long time ago."
Sherlock stepped closer again, "I had to be sure."
John was astounded at the fact that Sherlock was still unsure of the fact that he at least cared about him. But this was Sherlock. He tried to relax a little; Sherlock would never understand what true friendship really is. Yes, he might have faked his death and put his own life at risk for John, but it was probably only because Sherlock would miss the praise that he always received by him. But that was probably it. He knew this was the case for a while, he knew that he would probably never get Sherlock to understand how much he did care, let alone be cared for by him. Yet these silly little emotions ran wild in John's heart anytime he was around his consulting detective. He knew these little crush like feelings were stupid but really, all he wanted was to at least be acknowledged as a true friend by Sherlock.
"John?"
"I just need to know one thing," John said, finally starting to loosen up. "How? That was clearly Moriarty's voice."
"No it wasn't." Sherlock huffed. He started walking back toward Baker street. "Come on then, John. It's getting a little cold."
"Then how?" John asked, falling into step with him.
Sherlock grunted a little bit annoyed at the fact that it was not obvious to his partner. "With your condition and the added trauma that Moriarty added on time after time, you simply just believed it was his voice."
"Oh, ok." Then it clicked, "Wait..what?" He stopped and glared at Sherlock who also stopped and turned to look at him. "You used my PTSD? You used my disorder, my pain in this little experiment of yours?" Somehow this made what Sherlock did seem so much worse.
"Well, yes," He curtly nodded. He didn't see any problem with this of course.
"Moriarty was wrong," John whispered after a moment.
"What?" Sherlock didnt know what he was talking about.
"Moriarty," John repeated louder; he was almost yelling. "He always called me your pet. But no, Sherlock, I'm not even that. I'm your lab rat." He always kept Sherlock entertained, constantly giving him his insight, and always, always being apart of his experiments. Whatever his heart felt toward Sherlock, love, adoration, friendship, whatever it was it had all been in vain. "You just wont ever get it, will you?" He was completely shouting now, hands thrown up in the air and everything. He didnt care what Sherlock read on him anymore. "I'm waisting my time." He sighed, turned the opposite direction and briskly walked away.
"Jonh?" Sherlock was confused. Why was John acting this way? He didnt see him as a pet or a lab rat; not exactly at least. He partner was still walking away. "Jonh!"
Jonh kept walking; he was tired. He wasnt going to waist his feelings and 'sentiments' on someone who wouldnt care or didnt even have the capability to returning such things.
Sherlock just watched him walking away, still really not getting it. He simply thought John was just being childish and he'd let it go after a while. He finally started walking back to his flat believing that John would come back by morning.
How wrong he would be.
