I just realized I don't know enough of english swearwords, at least certainly not for John's standards... Anyone willing to help? :)
Also, I have this headcanon that Sherlock says he loves John rather a lot, just like he says he is his best friend. I just feel he is the one who would need to hear confirmation. So yup, basically that's it.
CHAPTER 4: But This Time, I Mean It I'll Let You Know Just How Much You Mean To Me
John was right. It was a really long night. Probably the longest he ever experienced in his life, and honestly, he'd been through a lot of unending nights. He lay with pillow put over his head, changing position ever five second and uttering endless stream of profanities under his breath. Because, let's face it, angry John Watson was becaming rather sweary.
John really was trying not to think about what might have been happening downstairs. He tried no to think about Victor kissing Sherlock, about Victor tangling his fingers into Sherlock's lush curls, about Victor undressing Sherlock, about... But, well, he quite spectacularly failed in this matter. His imagination went wild. And he was becoming gradually more and more furious with every passing minute. And even more jealous.
He also tried to block all noises from reaching his ears, but it was impossible. He heard all this laughter, all this bed squeaking, all this hushed voices. And for very envious John Watson it all sounded like two people very much having sex.
It was almost dawning when John decided he can't stand lying in his bed restlessly, so he got up, took a shower, shaved and went back to his room. He paced back and forth for a while and finally settled over the window, staring at the falling rain. Hopefully, the noises from downstairs ceased when he was taking the shower.
He was getting tired of this shit. He had to do something. The thing was, there wasn't much to do. If only he acted on his feelings sooner. But whole problem was that he didn't quite realized his feelings earlier. Sure, he know, he had this, well crush was probably the word, but he didn't grasp the fact his feelings were much deeper. Christ, he was in love with this madman keeping eyeballs in the microwave. And said madman was dating another man. Did he loved him? No, probably not. Why then was he interested in him? Was he using him for some insane purpose? But what purpose? Or maybe was he just simply attracted to him? Well, the fact that for two years of living together John never seen his flatmate dating anyone didn't have to mean anything.
But where did it put John? He was simply fucked.
Doctor hit his head over the cold glass.
He was such an idiot. What was he supposed to do now?
Three hours after John came downstairs to make himself tea. He phoned Sarah and called in sick, because he wasn't that insane yet and knew better than examining patients after three sleepless nights in a row. He felt terrible and probably looked even worse. He almost fell from stairs when coming down.
And he certainly wasn't prepared for the sight that welcomed him in main room, which was Sherlock, dressed in his blue robe, with mess of wild curls on his head, kissing – or rather being kissed – rather pasionatelly by Victor, who, on his side, looked immaculate as always.
John thought that probably his eyeballs will fall from their sockests and roll over the floor in a minute.
He cleared his throat loudly.
Victor let go of detective and fucking licked his goddamn lips looking John straight into the eyes. Fucking insolent bastard. John's blood started to boil.
On his behalf Sherlock looked rather flustered, at least for himself. He blushed slightly and tried to tame his hair, though his eyes also didn't leave John's for even a second.
"Er... Hello." John said, sounding more sullen than he would like, and went to put on a kettle.
"I will go, then." John heard Victor saying to Sherlock. "See you in the evening."
"Yes." Detective said, and John, who turned just in that minute, saw him leaning and stealing quick kiss.
That somehow added insult to the injury. It was simply too much. John slammed the cup over the worktop, grabbed his coat and followed Victor down the stairs, leaving Sherlock startled and staring at the door.
John run down the stairs, closed doors behind him with all his force, and went the opposite side than Victor. He had this very strong feeling that if he followed him, he would end up inserting his fist straight into young man's nose. With force. And speed. And probably resulting in some broken bones.
So he went to the park instead. The day was grey and foggy, but it wasn't raining, so he decided to stroll a bit, and calm down. But after fifteen minutes he realized that it wasn't helping, he wasn't any calmer, just started to feel cold and unpleasantly damp.
John ended up in the nearby pub, drinking a pint, then another, and third, and getting a slightly tipsy, if not drunk. He knew it was stupid to drown his sorrow in booze, and so early before noon, but he was feeling rather miserable. He spend couple of hours in the pub, and then decided to go home and just catch up on sleep, hoping that walk and beer will make him fall asleep easier. He really, desperatelly even, needed the oblivion of good, long sleep.
What he didn't need was confronting Sherlock about his outburst from earlier in the morning.
And that is exactly what happened.
When John came to 221b he found his flatmate sitting on his chair, and apparently waiting for him, dressed in one of his suits and that purple shirt John always find himself fantasizing about him wearing. He has his arms crossed on his chest, making the buttons of shirt struggle not to pop out. John felt blush creeping onto his cheeks and cursed mentally.
"John." Detective spoke in charming, deep, velvety voice, and John was fairly sure he was doing it on purpose. "You're back."
"Er, yeah, I am." John stated awkwardly.
"And you were drinking."
"That's not your bloody interes." John felt in sudden need to defend himself. "It's not like you cared anyway."
Sherlock furrowed his brow. "If I did something to offend you, I am sorry."
Now this was unexpected. Sudden apology caught John off the guard.
He thought for a moment, his mind a bit clouded by the alcohol he drunk. Now there was only one way in which he coul proceed, and it was telling Sherlock what he really felt.
But there was no going back from there. But anyway, was there anything else to do, really?
John thought bitterly that he probably should prepare himself for looking for a new flat soon.
He run his hands through his hair, feeling hopeless and lost. He took a deep breath.
He closed his eyes and...
"Oh, John, are you really that blind?" Asked Sherlock, sighing.
And John suddenly had a lapful of one certain consulting detective, and said detective was pressing his lips to John's.
It took few seconds to John's brain to catch on, but when he finally did, he kissed back with silent force, with all his hidden feelings, all his pain and anger he felt for last couple of days. He poured all his heart to this kiss, nipping at younger man's lips, making him moan silently, tangling his fingers into his hair and tugging gently.
Sherlock tasted like tea and cigarettes, and John unconsciously thought that he was smoking again and that he would have to talk to him about it, but then detective opened his mouth slightly, letting him in and his brain shut out. There was only touch of Sherlock's calloused fingers sliding over his cheekbone, his scent and his taste and whole world was spinning, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered now, only the two of them who finally found their way to each other.
When Sherlock pulled out lightly, in the need of air, John groaned a bit at the loss of sensation, but then detective lapped at his ear and murmured silently "It took you three days, John, three whole days. Have you any idea what I've been through?"
"What you've been through?" John laughed breathlessly. "Have you any idea what I've been through, Sherlock? It was fucking torture! Watching you with this asshole..."
Sherlock blushed slightly. "I know and I'm sorry. Maybe it wasn't the most brilliant of my ideas. But it worked."
"You sodding git, if I wasn't so happy I would punch you directly in the face." Said John affectionately.
"But John, don't you see?" Detective scowled. "I love you!"
John blinked and then smiled widely, kissing him lightly. "I love you too, you prat."
Sherlock kissed him then and they kissed and kissed until detective stood, still holding John tightly, and went to his bedroom, closing the door behind himself.