Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, okay? I'm just using them like dolls to do what I want. Also, I'm not British, so they might sound a little American to you. Sorry about that as well.
Enjoy!
John paced across the living room carpet, following the familiar colorful patterns.
"It's okay John, I'll be fine," Sherlock said nonchalantly. He shook his head.
"No, you'll get into drugs or something-"
"John," Sherlock said, standing and wrapping his arms around John's waist. "I. Will. Be. Fine. Go ahead, you need it. Your family misses you, I'm sure."
"I just need to know that you won't do anything awful," John said, pressing his head over the taller man's shoulder. "You need to be safe." Sherlock pressed John's shoulders.
"I will be. Just go on." The army doctor separated and picked up his suitcase.
"Love you."
"Love you, too. Back in four weeks, right?" John nodded, feeling a little teary.
"Bye, Sherlock."
He left the flat. Sherlock wondered how he would survive without John.
Week 1
Sherlock only ate three times the entire week. One of which was due to Mrs. Hudson's scolding.
"I can't take care of you because John's gone! Sherlock, take care of yourself!"
"I am taking care of myself." Mrs. Hudson surveyed the kitchen, which had been victim to many experiments the past few days.
"Well, you aren't taking care of the flat or your stomach. You know what? I'm buying you some food. I'll just get you some groceries." Sherlock grinned.
"That's the spirit, Mrs. Hudson!"
"Now what I need is some money. From you." He looked confused.
"Money? But...I don't have money." She rolled her eyes.
"I'll just add it to your rent. And Sherlock, you have to promise you'll eat what I get you."
"Nope," he refused.
"Then no groceries for you," she said, leaving Sherlock there. He felt an obligation to eat something, so he had four large bagels and returned to his work.
"Bored." Sherlock sent a bullet through the wall and instinctively braced himself for a scolding from John. He looked over and saw his empty, depressing chair, nausea setting in. The skull doesn't talk back, he thought. I don't love the skull and the skull doesn't love me.
That was when he knew there was no replacing John. He was John, and Sherlock had never fully accepted how in love he was until now. It was a crushing realization. He felt weak, and yet John made him stronger.
Week 2
Sherlock was there, at a crime scene, with the blood and the thrill and the puzzles. But he felt nothing.
"What are you getting?" Lestrade asked, bringing him out of the clouds.
"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um..." He looked at the dead body. "I...I don't know," he admitted.
"What?!" Lestrade looked more shocked than angry. "Sherlock Holmes can't figure it out? Wow." Sherlock shook his head.
"I just can't focus. I don't know why." Greg patted his shoulder.
"It's fine. Just go back to your flat." No, that's exactly what I don't want. Then I'll have absolutely nothing to do.
"No, just let me concentrate." He tried going to his mind palace, to venture into an old memory. One of John. But it didn't work. He didn't have a John next to him, telling him he was amazing. He couldn't go home to a John, wake up next to a John. Sherlock shook his head. "I can't do it."
"Go home. It's fine," Lestrade protested.
"What would I do that? This is the only time I've been out since John left - " Sherlock winced, realizing what he just said. "And he's the only one who really gets me out."
"Ah," he said, smiling. "Then go to a museum or something. What do you do?"
"Museums are probably the most boring public areas in the entire world. I'll go to the movie theater."
"I thought you hated movies! You already know the end from the first word."
"No, to people-watch." He stood and blatantly walked out of the house, apparently to loiter at movie theaters.
Week 3
John was enjoying himself.
Somewhat.
It wasn't the kind of enjoying himself in which he was following a certain detective around and solving things and worrying about his own life and spending time with the man he loved. It was the kind of enjoying himself that involved a lot of smiling and knowing that these people loved him and lying about what he was doing down there in London because if they knew they'd never let him leave their house again because they loved him goddammit.
It was the kind of enjoying himself in which he was always slightly full, on account of the assorted sweet things and rolls and whatnot. It was the kind of enjoying himself that wasn't really enjoying himself at all.
Because he couldn't tell any of them about the most important thing in his life. He couldn't walk around, flaunting his beautiful, sexy boyfriend. He couldn't do it. Because John was afraid. Harry never came to family gatherings like these, because she wouldn't be welcome. Sure, she could come, but she would be judged and feared and there would be chatter about her behind her back. And John couldn't do that to himself. He needed his family to support him, even if they didn't know the full story.
And, sure, there were the usual questions about Mary and his love life, and he shook them off, saying he and Mary hadn't worked out and he was still single but not really looking for a mate, thank you very much.
Because I've already found one, he thought. I'm ready to get married any time soon.
Plus, he was constantly worrying about Sherlock. Had he eaten? Had he left the house? Was Mrs. Hudson checking on him? Had he gotten to solve a few crimes or ended up shooting the wall instead? John was distracted by these questions and often wanted to call to check up on him. This would be rude, he decided, and his boyfriend probably wouldn't answer anyway.
Meanwhile, Sherlock could answer the questions John was asking himself hourly easily. Had he eaten? Barely. Had he left the house? Once. Was Mrs. Hudson checking on him? Almost every day. Had he gotten to solve a few crimes or ended up shooting the wall instead? The latter. Unfortunately.
Sherlock looked forward to John coming back maniacally. He cleaned the flat several times, excepting, of course, his experiments on the kitchen table. He ate more often, hoping his boyfriend wouldn't notice that he had lost weight-in fact, he exercised too, doing a few sit-ups and push-ups every day. He was doing everything he could to look put-together when John got back. Like he could do this anytime.
But the fact was, he couldn't. He could feel himself falling apart. He could feel himself physically needing John.
And, likewise, John needed him
Week 4
Lestrade called Sherlock again the last week that John was gone. They were still working on the case from two weeks ago: undecayed body found in a large brick house in a forest in the middle of nowhere. There was no blood, and it appeared the man had died of a heart attack. Why was the body there, then? Who put it there? It was a puzzle.
Sherlock was reasonably excited about solving a real crime. He had to tell John he'd solved at least one while he had been away. But when he got to the house, and looked at the body, he found himself distracted.
"Look, Sherlock, this isn't any less important than any other crime you've solved with us," Lestrade said as the detective slumped on the body dramatically.
"That's debatable," he muttered. "Just...I'm distracted, okay? I can't think."
"You can't think?! Isn't that why you're here? Come on, do better," Lestrade scolded. "I'm sorry. It's just-"
"I know. But I'm frustrated, too! I can't even concentrate on this because..." Sherlock trailed off.
"Because what?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Tell me, so I can fix it."
"You can't fix it, Gabe."
"It's Greg, for the last bloody time, Sherlock." The curly-haired man sighed, frustrated. He was scared to betray John's trust, and that Lestrade wouldn't take it well. Worse, he might call John or something and he couldn't have him feeling guilty for leaving or thinking Sherlock wasn't capable of being alone. Oh, fuck it. Tell him, Sherlock. Tell him.
"It's because I love him!" Sherlock yelled. Then, more quietly, "It's because I love John. We've been dating, if that's what you want to call it."
"So...you're gay," Lestrade said after a few moments of silence.
"I suppose so."
"And..."
"Yep."
"So..."
"Uh-huh." Lestrade nodded and walked out the door.
"Please leave a message after the tone, thanks," John's recorded voice commanded gently.
"Hey, John, it's Greg. I'm calling because Sherlock told me you and him are in a relationship, and this may be some bizarre experiment, but he is kind of falling apart without you. Just give 'im a call, alright? Thanks, bye." Lestrade hung up and paced down the old hallway. Sherlock was in the other room, slumped over the body.
"Hello? John?" Sherlock asked excitedly.
"Sherlock. I got a call from Lestrade."
"Oh, no, look, I'm sorry, I just-"
"Don't be sorry. Please don't be sorry," John said. He was crammed into a coatroom, the only privacy he could get other than the bathroom. "I need to come home."
"No," Sherlock replied firmly. "You aren't coming, I won't allow it."
"You aren't okay. I know you're not okay, and I need to help you."
"Stay with your family. They need you, too."
"But I don't want to!" He realized he had yelled and quieted to a whisper. "I'm bloody bored, Sherlock. I miss you immensely. And I'm definitely coming home, because you need to eat and you need to solve crimes and I need to make sure I'm there with you. We need each other, we're in love. I'm walking out the door, I'm packing, and I'm coming to Baker Street and you better be there and you better let me in the door, because you are the most important person, most important thing in the world, and no one can keep me for four whole bloody weeks away from you. Alright?" Sherlock leaned back on the couch, looking at John's chair, realizing it could be filled in less than a day.
"I'm a selfish man," he replied, smiling. "And you are the person I need most."
"I'm already out the door."
Sherlock wasn't kept waiting. He woke from an afternoon nap to find John sitting in his chair, sipping tea and typing on his laptop.
"Oh, John, I'm sorry," he said, jolting up. He looked over his laptop kindly.
"No, it's fine Sherlock," he replied, smiling. Sherlock walked over and kissed him furiously on the lips, and John was caught setting down his tea and laptop to stand and kiss back, cupping the back of the taller man's neck.
"I missed you," Sherlock said against his lips, the flesh brushing against each other. John replied with a kiss, surprising his lover. They sat on the couch between kisses, and Sherlock lunged over John, dominating him. They kissed and kissed, Sherlock with his back arched over John's equally lowered body.
John's hand wandered a little, flickering over his chest, back, neck. Sherlock broke, looking scared. "No."
"What? No? What do you mean?" John asked.
"I-I-I m-mean...we can't have sex."
"Oh. Okay. That's okay, Sher," John replied, hoping he looked neutral.
"No, no, no, it's not your fault. I-I'm just..."
"Just what?"
"Just afraid," he admitted, biting his lips. "I don't want sex, okay? We can kiss and cuddle but when it starts involving sex I don't want it. I never have."
"Are you sure?" John was slightly aroused, and he wanted to have sex, but he respected his boyfriend's choices. He collapsed, unexpectedly, onto him.
"No, I'm not sure," he said, nestling his head into John's chest.
"That's fine, we can figure it out." He looked up, pleasantly surprised.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I understand. Don't worry about it; we're in this together, okay? Anything that happens between the two of us is both of our choices, okay?"
"Okay. Thank you. I-I love you."
"I love you too, Sherl-" His voice was muffled when his boyfriend's lips crowded away the words.
A/N: Aww, look at the cute couple.
I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever, I've been busy and stuff. Okay, that's not a good excuse, but whatever. I hope you enjoyed this! I liked writing it, it was fun. So...yeah! Um...bye? I guess...?
Sarah