John is running. Running and he looks terrified. He keeps glancing back to make sure Sherlock hasn't caught up with him. Sherlock is trying to run after him but he can't get his legs to move fast enough. He shouting after John, trying to get him to come back, please just let him explain. But John keeps getting farther and farther away, into a blackness where Sherlock can't follow. He looks down at himself and he can't even recognize his own body. There's no shape it's just white noise. There's a hissing noise that seems to be emanating from what is supposed to be his body. He tries to brush the white noise off, away, but it's already consumed him. The hiss gets louder and louder until he's screaming to try and drown it out.
Sherlock jerks awake and sucks in a huge breath. He lets it out slowly, shakily. He's still here, he's still calm, still in control of himself. He rubs his eyes roughly, taking another deep breath. Just a dream. He gets out of his bed quickly, his heart still racing. Sherlock stalks in to the bathroom and splashes cold water on his face, willing his body to calm down. He looks at himself in the mirror. His face is tired, shows signs of stress. He hates it. He hates looking so haggard. He takes a deep breath and watches as his face slides into a cool mask. There. That's better.
The floor creaks above him. John, rolling in his bed, dreaming. Nightmare? No. He would've heard John cry out. Sherlock glances at his reflection again, a tinge of red on his cheeks. Did John really have that much influence over him? How? Sherlock spins and rushes out of the bathroom. He pauses before reentering his room. His body moves without his mind's consent and he spins around again and creeps towards John's room.
John's door is open. Sherlock slinks silently in. He sees John tangled in his sheets. He looks peaceful, younger. This isn't the first time Sherlock has stolen away into John's room in the middle of the night. Watching John sleep relaxes him. Concentrating on all the contours of John's body quiets his mind and he needs that when the rest of the world is asleep.
John shifts in his bed. "Mmm. Sh'rlock." John whispers.
Sherlock steps closer. Is John dreaming about him? About what happened earlier tonight? He sits on the floor right next to John's bed. He watches the gentle rise and fall of John's chest as he breathes. He finds it hard to comprehend how beautiful John is to him all the time. He needs to study John more closely. He needs to posses John. John is his. John will be his forever. John is a mystery that needs to be solved. He needs to study John more closely. He needs to posses John. John is his. John will be his forever. John is a mystery that needs to be solved. He needs to study John more closely.
These thoughts continue to repeat in Sherlock's head. This is usually what sitting in John's room at 4 in the morning turns into. Sherlock vaguely thinks that this may not be healthy, but then what part of his lifestyle is?
Sherlock sits in John's room for another 25 minutes. He leaves 15 minutes before John's alarm goes off. John has work at the surgery in an hour and 45 minutes.
Sherlock glides down the stairs and settles himself on to the couch. He steeples his fingers and presses them against his lips. He thinks upon last night, marveling over how much control he can have over John. But what was it John had said at the restaurant? That he has to open up? How was he supposed to go about that? What did it mean exactly?
"Morning, love." He hears John say as he walks by to get to the bathroom. Sherlock has let time slip away from him again. But then something strikes him. Sherlock's head snaps in John's direction. Love? That single word added to John's usual greeting, oh well is simply made Sherlock's heart soar. He couldn't understand it. What was this man doing to him for God's sake?
Sherlock listens to John take a shower. He debates going in there with him. He doesn't think John would object, other than the fact that he has to work and might want to spend his time doing more intimate things. But then, John is attracted to him, right? Maybe it would be nice surprise to just pop in and help him wash his hair, oh yes he did want to do that, or kiss him while the water surrounds them. How does John look soaking wet? Sherlock decides he needs to gather this data and, he notices uncomfortably, his groin seems to agree. Sherlock sighs. He knows he is physically attracted to John. He knows John is not the first person he has been attracted to, but so far this particular attraction was persistent, not the casual pining for a few touches and then being done with the person. There was something different about John, but what?
Sherlock stands to go to the bathroom but stops short when he hears the water turn off. Too late then. He will try tomorrow, when John doesn't have work. Sherlock is still standing when John comes out of the bathroom, toweling his hair.
John eyes him cautiously. "You okay?"
Sherlock looks at him with narrowed eyes. "You make my body do things I don't want it to." He tells John.
John looks at the floor and his lips form a small 'o'. Sherlock takes a step closer to him, knowing his eyes are burning. He wants to kiss those lips. The need to take John, feel how he is different after a shower, smell how he is different, taste how he is different, was overwhelming. Sherlock can't tell if the flush on John's cheeks are from the shower or the sudden pressure Sherlock has put on him. "O – Okay. I'm not sure if I should be flattered or offended."
"John," Sherlock whispers roughly, stepping ever closer. John's face has opened up. He almost looks nervous. Sherlock steps right up to him and puts his hands on John's hips. John's dressing gown is rough beneath his fingers but he pulls John close. Christ he smells like shampoo and clean and Sherlock just needs to consume him.
"This something you don't want to do, then?" John asks softly, bitterly.
Sherlock freezes. He hates it when John does this to him, surprises him like this. The mere fact that John can continually do so makes it entirely too frustrating. "What?"
"You said I make your body do things you don't want it to do," John pushes Sherlock's hands away and takes a step back. "And then you come up to me like you can't even help it." John folds his arms over his chest and looks at Sherlock sternly. "What do you want, Sherlock?"
Sherlock's insides have gone cold. John is angry. Angry with him? Why? What was not good? He didn't understand. "I … What …?" For once he can't find words and it's terrifying. John will leave. He will definitely leave and all because of Sherlock's stupidity, his lack of experience. He can feel the noise, the blackness, on the edges of his consciousness. It's coming in stronger and stronger.
"I told you last night," John continues. "That I won't let you have me if I can't have you. Is that what you want?"
"Yes," The answer slips out of Sherlock's lips before he can even think, but he finds the answer is true. "Yes, John, and then I asked you to be patient with me because I've never done this before. I've never wanted to do this before. I can't lose you over my own stupidity. I'm sorry I don't have experience. But I'm trying John, really I'm trying." Sherlock looks at John pleadingly. He can feel his knees going weak. John needs to understand. "I need you and it terrifies me because I've never needed anyone. You make my insides run cold when I think I've done something wrong. My body reacts to every touch, to every inflection in your voice John. I don't know what you're doing to me!" He shouts. He shouldn't be this worked up. His vision has gone fuzzy and his head it filling with all the small sounds of the flat, the road outside, people walking, Mrs Hudson downstairs. No. No. The noise is overtaking him.
"You bloody idiot." John says.
Sherlock's eyes focus on John's face. John looks amazed, blown away. "What?" He hisses.
"You're in love with me aren't you?" John asks quietly.
And just like that, John has made the noise disappear again. The black thoughts have edged away and have been replaced with confusion. "Am I?" He whispers. Sherlock has never been in love, never even had a crush. There's been lust before, he can identify that, but love?
"Sounds like it to me, yeah." John chuckles. Sherlock so thoroughly enjoys that chuckle, so happy and free. He wishes he could chuckle like that. "And that's really just great because, Sherlock," John looks Sherlock right in the eye. There's so much happiness there. Sherlock really isn't sure what expression his own face is wearing. "Sherlock, I'm pretty sure I love you, too."
The world goes silent. Sherlock cannot even hear his own breath. The world has gone blank except for John Watson's face. "No." He whispers.
John's face crumbles, devastated. "What?"
"You can't love me." Sherlock tells him looking away from that face, that horribly sad expression.
"Why the hell not?" John shouts at him. "You better have a bloody good reason for this or so help me –"
"I'm a monster, John!" Sherlock shouts back. "If you let me have you I'll consume you. All I want to do is posses you, make you mine, keep you. I need you happy for my own selfish reasons." Sherlock presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can feel himself falling, knees given out. This is all too much. He feels John catch him. "I need to memorize you because I know you won't stay. You can't possibly stay. Not with me. No one stays. I scare them away or I get bored."
"Bollocks." John says. Sherlock throws his hands away from his face and glares at him. "I told you I wasn't going to run away. I'm staying here until you don't want me anymore." They're on the floor, Sherlock curled between John's legs. John is holding him close, as though he almost lost Sherlock and can't bear the thought of that again.
"No no no." Sherlock turns and takes John by the shoulders. "The longer you stay the worse it will be. I can't let you into my head. The tearing thoughts, John. They'll tear you apart, too. I won't let that happen."
"Then don't let it happen." John tells him, as if it's simple. Oh, how Sherlock wishes it were simple. "You're in control of your mind aren't you?"
"When I'm not bored." Sherlock snaps.
"Maybe I can keep you from being bored. It's been working lately right?" John is pleading with him. John is scared. His face is strained, trying to understand, sympathizing. There are tears in those ocean eyes.
"It's been working because we've been trying. It was going bad before." Sherlock spits. He hates the scorn in his voice. Hates being so obvious. Hates having such an emotional reaction. He is so out of his element now. Never has he been so raw in front of someone, except his brother.
"Exactly, Sherlock!" John cries. "We just have to keep trying." John puts his hands on Sherlock's face, running his thumbs under Sherlock's eyes. "Please Sherlock. Let yourself have this. Let someone in, let someone make you happy. I think I can Sherlock. I want to make you happy."
Sherlock lets out short laugh that sounds more like a sob. "I can't have you. If I have you, I'll kill this light in you." Sherlock squeezes John's shoulders. "Don't you see? You're so selfless. You want to give and give. All I'm doing is taking. Always taking. I can't take the good out of you John." Sherlock is sure there are tears in his eyes now. He shakes John roughly. "I'll kill that goodness in you."
John releases Sherlock and spins away from him. "You're such a sodding fool Sherlock!" he screams. "I'm a doctor, have been for some time now. I've been an army doctor! I've been on the battle field. I've told you this!" John shoves a finger in Sherlock's face. "If you think you're mightier than the enemies I fought, mightier than seeing people blown to pieces, mightier than seeing people dying horrible diseases every single fucking day than that's brilliant." John is fuming. His face is flush with anger. "I've seen so many fucked up things and you think some time with you is going to change this 'goodness' that all that couldn't burn out?" John lets out a laugh that doesn't sound happy. It shouldn't even be called a laugh. "I'd really like to see you try."
Sherlock is speechless. He really hasn't thought this all the way through. He was not prepared for John's outburst at all, not prepared for such stubbornness. All he can do is look at the floor, marveling at the furious man in front of him.
Something in Sherlock has broken. He can feel something welling up inside of him, something he hasn't felt in years. Hope.