Irene let herself in and stumbled into pitch blackness. She huffed and shut the door behind her. She stood in place and felt in her pocket for her cigarette lighter. She flicked it creating a small circle of light, lit her cigarette and turned to flick on the lights.
Sherlock lay in his bed, in an indistinguishable ball of blankets pillows and limbs.
"What drama is this then? And is John part of that mass?" Irene went to the window and flung the curtains wide, when Sherlock didn't move Irene knew this not his usual pout nor was John hidden beneath. So. She sat on the bed and waited. Sherlock's hand emerged from the mound he'd burrowed into. Irene passed him the cigarette without words despite her fire hazard concerns. Sherlock surfaced. A ceaseless stream of tears came from his red rimed eyes.
"Irene I've done a terrible thing."
Three days later...
"Why won't he talk to me?" The steel authority of John's voice did little to hide the underlying pain, or at least it didn't to Irene's ears. She had been dreading this conversation and avoiding John for days and by the sound of things with good reason.
"John. I'm sorry I don't know what to say." Irene wanted so much to hide from John's gaze, but she was no coward.
"Is it because I said I love him? Because I understand if he's not ready. It's fine. I mean..."
"You told him you love him? Oh God John, I'm so sorry. He believes that what he's doing is for the best."
"What's for the best? Tell me why he won't talk to me?! Dose this have anything to do with Shipton? Irene please. You're Sherlock's friend. You know what this is about."
"I do know, but as his friend, it's not my place to tell you. But I'll talk to him. And if it helps, I think he's making the biggest mistake of his life."
"Both our lives. And it doesn't."
She was going to kill Sherlock.
John wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Run the play again." John's voice was low gravel.
The entire team groaned and began to complain of sore limbs, and how they had run the play five times already and John was working them like the devil. There wasn't a clean one among them and most were at least a little bloody.
"Run. The Play. Again!" The captain of the Kingsmen was not a large man at 170 cm and 12 stone, but that was not to say he was to be tested, no John had an underlying brutality that surfaced on rare occasions and when it did it was frightening. Now was one of those occasions.
"John." Greg's words were slow and calming. "John can I have minute mate?"
"No." Flat. Angry.
"John." Calm, but firm.
John gave Greg a hard look that lasted all of three seconds. His friend was covered in muck, his lip was bleeding and even his jersey had suffered an injury. John's anger deflated and he turned to look at the rest of his team. Greg looked better then half of them.
"Call it. " John's shoulders slumped and he started off the pitch.
"Hit the locker room lads. Oi!" Greg hefted his and John's gear bags and jogged to catch up. "Talk." It wasn't a friendly suggestion.
"You know what it is. Why do we have to talk about?"
"Because you're killing your teammates and yourself." Greg passed John his bag.
"He's stopped talking to me all of a sudden. Not a word. Just shut me out. No explanation. I haven't even seen him around."
"What about Irene? I thought you two got on?"
"We do. Or we did. I don't know. But she would never give him up." John seemed defeated.
"She would if she knew what was at stake." Greg was solum.
"What?" John questioned.
"I've known you since we were nine. I'm willing to bet there isn't anything I don't know about you and the other way round, and I know this isn't like anything else. If I'm being honest, I was pretty sure you were done and off the pull for good."
"So was I." Sadly John looked at the ground.
"Right then. Let's fix this." Greg clapped John on the back.
"You need to talk to him!" Irene was furious.
"And tell him what exactly? 'I love you too John! With all my heart. And I don't give a damn if that loves ruins a career that you've been working towards since long before you ever lay eyes on me!' Tell him that? And oh by the by, I'm the most selfish git in England?"
"I don't give a damn what you tell him, but you sure as hell can't leave him in the dark like this! It's cruel even for you!" Irene knew she was being harsh, but she was fighting for (as much as she hated to say it) love. "This dose not involve just you Sherlock! John should get to decide what's most important to him!"
"So he can hate me for making him choose?" Sherlock was frantic.
"God damn it Sherlock! I'll tell him myself!" Irene was at her wits end with him.
"You wouldn't! And if you do I will never speak to you again!" Sherlock screamed in her face.
Irene calmly pulled out a cigarette and lit it. "Well that's a chance I'll just have to take, because I'm not going to let you fuck this up." She slammed the door on her way out.
Sherlock sat in the echo for a moment pissed that he hadn't gotten a cigarette before Irene had made her grand exit.
Fine. He would just have to go to the shops himself. Fine. Sherlock snatched the door open and was stunned to see a flyer for the next Truth or Dare taped to his door. Oh! The game was on.
