It was obvious that John would never leave of his own volition. John was loyal, frustratingly so. John was also brave. He would never leave Sherlock, even if it meant he might be safe. John was a man of action, someone who craved danger. It meant he put his own well-being low on his priorities list. If given the choice to leave and be safe or stay and possibly die, Sherlock knew which one John would pick.
Especially now that they'd grown…close. Sherlock had somehow managed to put John in even more danger by becoming involved with him. Now he was forced to correct the situation. If John wouldn't leave, the only option would be the push him away.
It had to happen that night for two very specific reasons. He couldn't risk John getting any more attached than he already was. He also couldn't wake up next to John again, for fear he'd lose his nerve. How badly I wish to keep you, John Watson, Sherlock thought as he watched John milling about the kitchen getting the tea sorted.
"I think the last scraps of food in the flat were the eggs and toast we had this morning." John called from the kitchen. "Unless you're done with that hand and feel like frying it."
"I think we can forgo out bout into cannibalism and risk getting takeaway." Sherlock replied.
"Or better yet, why don't we go to Angelo's. I mean, might as well. It would save us some money."
"If that's what you'd like." Sherlock replied noncommittally.
"It's a date then." John smiled. The sight almost broke Sherlock's heart.
XXXXXX
John was in the shower, getting ready for their "date." He could feel his heart fluttering at the thought. They were actually going to venture out into the real world together like normal people. This could be their first step at establishing something real. Something more than purely physical stuff. Not that John minded it too much but he'd always hoped for more. This felt like a step in the right direction.
John hadn't heard Sherlock open the door to the bathroom, in fact he was only aware of his presence when their skin first had contact. The man could move like a ghost when he wanted to. John was all too aware of Sherlock now, nude with a single finger running along John's shoulder blades and down his spine.
John's head was covered in shampoo and Sherlock's hand ran through his hair, massaging his scalp. John leaned into him, enjoying the feel. He turned around and lifted his face to Sherlock's, pressing his lips to his. He could feel the water on his skin, the shampoo dripping down his back but at that moment all he concerned himself with was Sherlock.
Sherlock pulled away and grabbed the soap from its usual tray. He kissed John's shoulder and then ran the soap over the spot. He continued, slowly kissing and soaping John's front then turning him around and doing the same to his back. It was a blur of lips, hands and soap as John felt himself getting hard. He looked down and saw Sherlock was doing the same.
When his whole body had been soaped up, Sherlock's lips came back to John's and gently guided him under the water. Their lips mashed together, their tongues tangled as both breathed heavily. Their erections rubbed against each other's bodies, both groaning in delight at the way it felt. As the last bit of soap fell from his body, Sherlock reached over and turned off the water.
Their lips still attached, the stumbled and slipped out of the shower and made their way to the bed. They tumbled into it both on their sides, their lips never leaving each other. There was something different about the way Sherlock was kissing him. Their kisses had always been passionate and amazingly fucking hot but this time they were insistent, hungry.
John kissed down his neck, down his chest. Sherlock grabbed him roughly by the hair and pulled his face back up, devouring him in another kiss. Sherlock's hand shot out and started urgently stroking John's cock, making him moan. He bit down on Sherlock's bottom lip, feeling beyond aroused.
He kissed down Sherlock's chest again, this time not stopping. He sucked at the head of Sherlock's cock and then ran his tongue along it, feeling it throb against him. He began working his way down and back up, doing long pulls. Sherlock gripped John's hair tightly and pulled him off. "I don't want you like that." He said, his voice deep, gruff and pleading. "I want to cum inside you."
John nodded and moved back up the bed lying on his back and propped up on his elbows. Sherlock hooked his arm under John and pulled his leg up, tipping him slightly on his side, his hand resting on his chest. Then he pushed himself inside of him, his hand around him, holding onto his bicep. Sherlock began slowly rolling his hips as his lips found John's again.
Sherlock's hand trailed down John's chest and John arched his back, allowing Sherlock more access. Sherlock took it, moving slowly but going deeper until he found John's prostate. John flung his head back, crashing into the pillows. "Oh God. Yes Sherlock like that."
"You feel amazing." Sherlock panted into John's ear. "You're still so tight."
"You're fantastic." John said as Sherlock's lips began sucking his neck. "Cum inside me."
Sherlock took his time, not rushing anything. He did long, hard thrusts, finding John's prostate over and over. "You first." Sherlock said against his throat and his hand clasped around John's cock and began wanking him off, faster than his cock was going in his arse. John was still soaking wet from the shower making it easy for Sherlock's hand to slip up and down. "I can't cum until you do." Sherlock bit down playfully on John's neck. "Cum for me."
"Oh fuck." John yelled, his eyesight blurring around the edges as he spilled himself on Sherlock's hand.
Sherlock began moving faster, hips his picking up tempo. John, feeling somewhat impatient, reached down and slightly squeezed Sherlock's balls. Something like a roar escaped from Sherlock's lips and he emptied himself inside of John. John let his body collapse against the mattress and Sherlock relaxed himself against John, resting his chin on John's chest.
John reached up and brushed the curls from Sherlock's forehead. "God you scare me Sherlock." John said before pressing his lips to Sherlock's temple.
"I'm sorry, that was not my intention. I never wish to frighten you John."
"No, that came out all wrong." John said feeling all muddled. "I mean this scares me. How I feel about you scares me. Scares me to death. I don't think I've ever wanted someone as much as I want you. You have no idea how hard it is when I'm at the clinic and all I want is to be here with you. I keep thinking I'll wake up and find it was all a dream."
"John, I-"
"Because it has been a dream Sherlock. Truly it has. Oh god I'm babbling on like a prat. What I mean to say is—"
"Don't." Sherlock interrupted him, his eyes closed and his voice terse. "Please John. Just, don't."
"Ok." John nodded, stroking his fingers through Sherlock's curl. "I won't say it…yet."
XXXXXX
Sherlock noticed as they made their way to Angelo's that John was standing rather close. They'd walked side by side many times before but their shoulders rarely brushed together. Now they touched almost every other step. He also noticed John was walking a bit strange.
"Are you alright?" Sherlock inquired.
"Fine. My arse is just a bit sore from…" he trailed off, his cheeks going a dark shade of pink. "You know."
"My apologizes." Sherlock was unsure what a person should say in that situation.
"You should very formal all of a sudden." John pointed out.
They grew silent but John didn't move away, they shoulders still clashed together occasionally. Sherlock glanced over at John and noticed he was debating something. His brow was furrowed and his lips twitched as if he was having a quiet argument with himself.
Then without warning John's hand reached out and grasped Sherlock's. The feeling wasn't an unpleasant one but it was strange to say the least. Sherlock knew that for John this was some kind of statement. Their exploits had been all in private, now that they were public, John was "coming out of the closest" or something equally ridiculous. Their relationship was no one's business but their own. He didn't need to declare it to the world. But he knew this was important to John because he was gripping his hand in a determined fashion.
Sherlock felt a sort of heat radiating from his hand and seeping through his whole body. He realized it was some kind of happiness, filling him. A wide smile spread across his face and he risked a glance at John, the same look on his. Sherlock forced himself to look away, tried to ignore the sadness rapidly pushing out any joy he'd felt. He tried to make himself enjoy the moment and not think about what was to come but he couldn't. It was like there was a timer in his head, ticking away each second, reminding him that their time together was coming to an end.
They didn't drop their hands until it they were inside Angelo's and only because it made it easier to slide into their usual booth. Sherlock found himself wishing John would take his hand again but it was probably better that he didn't. John looked surprised when Sherlock grabbed a menu and began browsing.
"You're actually going to eat?"
"That was my thought, yes." He knew if he didn't, John would start an argument and that was the last thing Sherlock wanted. They'd be fighting soon enough.
"Good." John smiled and nodded approvingly. "I always feel awkward when I'm the only one eating."
"Why?" Sherlock asked still looking over the menu.
"You tend to stare. It makes me think I've got food in my teeth or something." John admitted.
"I'll try to refrain from staring in the future." This was a compliance he knew he could keep.
"I don't really mind." John shrugged and his tongue darted out and licked his lips.
"Hello!" Angelo said coming over to the table, candle in hand. "What can I get you?"
They gave their orders and exchanged a few pleasantries. Angelo told them it was on the house and then scurried off to put in their orders. Sherlock was glad to see him go, the clock in his mind counting down all the minutes he was wasting. The candlelight illuminated John's face, making him look impossibly beautiful, almost angelic. Sherlock's thoughts flickered to the first time they'd come here. How different things were now.
John mindlessly chattered away and Sherlock chimed in when the conversation needed it but mostly he just stared at John. His eyes scanned over every bit of him, drinking him in. It was going to be a long night and a test of his self-control. Every time John spoke, smiled or even breathed, Sherlock had the strongest urge to push off the contents of the table and have John right there.
"Sherlock?" John interrupted his thoughts. Sherlock did his best to ignore the tightening in his trousers.
"Yes?" Sherlock answered keeping his voice low and calm.
"You haven't heard a word I've said have you?" John asked only vaguely upset.
"My mind was somewhere else."
"Yeah, I'd noticed you staring at my mouth. Top marks for concentration." He joked sliding his hand under the table and patting Sherlock's knee. Sherlock jerked his leg away, afraid John might move his hand up and feel Sherlock's erection. John seemed startled by his actions and Sherlock hoped he wouldn't say anything. Luckily, he was saved by Angelo bringing them their food.
XXXXXXXX
"Feel like going down to the pub?" John asked, sure Sherlock would say no. He had no idea what had happened at dinner. He didn't think putting his hand on Sherlock's leg was enough to make him jumpy, after all they'd done a lot more. John had considered apologizing for it but then he didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He didn't see why he should be sorry for innocently touching Sherlock's leg.
After a few minutes of awkward silence and chewing their food, they fell into easy conversation. John was happy to put it behind them. And now, even though he would have loved to take Sherlock back to the flat and shag his brains out, he was enjoying being out in the world. They'd spent so much time cooped up, John liked taking Sherlock out.
"If you'd like." Sherlock replied sounding somewhat disinterested. John didn't read too much into it, he would take what he could get.
He led Sherlock over a few blocks to his favorite pub. Whenever he needed air or was annoyed with Sherlock, John would come here for a pint. He'd usually call Sarah from there, asking if he could crash at her flat. If she wasn't home, he'd have another pint and reluctantly return to 221B. He was always careful about how much he drank, limiting himself to two pints.
They stepped inside. It was a decent crowd but not too crazy. They were able to get their drinks fairly quickly and find a booth. Sherlock sipped his vodka and tonic, looking around at the people in the bar. John was sure he had probably figured out all their life stories already and he started to think this wasn't the best idea. He missed the more intimate setting of Angelo's, where John held Sherlock's full attention.
He slid his foot across the floor and gently nudged it against Sherlock's. Their eyes met for a moment and John smiled. Sherlock did not return it. "John?" someone called from across the pub and John pulled his foot away from Sherlock's. "John Watson!"
Peter, a friend from school walked over. John got up out of the booth so they could shake hands and say hello. "Gosh, it's been ages."
"It has. How have you been?" John asked politely.
Sherlock cleared his throat. He was standing right beside John even though he hadn't heard Sherlock get up out of the booth.
"Right, Peter this is my…friend, Sherlock Holmes." John wasn't quite sure what to call Sherlock. What were they exactly? Boyfriends? Lovers? Any time he said they were flatmate, people assumed they were together anyway. He certainly wasn't going to worry about what Peter thought they were.
"Hi there!" Peter said being friendly, probably already a few pints in.
"Hello." Sherlock said, being his usual cold and distant self that especially came out when he was forced to meet new people.
"So I heard you became a doctor of all things." Peter said turning his attention back to John.
"I did." John nodded. "Actually went into the army for awhile."
"Did you? Wow brilliant. Hard to imagine you as a solider though."
"Why is that?" Sherlock interjected. He almost sounded…defensive.
"Well I mean look at him in his cozy little jumper. It doesn't exactly scream military, does it?"
"John Watson not only went to war but was injured during combat. He came home a hero, which is more than I can say for a witless moron who still lives with his mother and spends more than sixteen hours a day playing video games."
"Right." Peter said looking down at his feet. "I should probably get going. Nice seeing you John."
"You too." John said giving him an apologetic look.
John got back into the booth and started chugging his lager. "You're upset."
John slammed his glass against the table. "Brilliant deduction Sherlock, really. You shouldn't have done that."
"The way he was speaking to you—"
"I don't give a toss what Peter thinks of me. For fuck's sake he used to come to school with his mouth pasted shut! You didn't need to destroy the poor bloke just because he made a comment about my jumper."
"He wasn't making a comment about your jumper, he was making a comment about you." Sherlock growled angrily.
"So what if he was? I'm not like you Sherlock, I don't need little ego boosts from the people around me. I know who I am and I'm proud of what I've done. I don't need validation from other people."
Sherlock looked away and for a few moments they both stewed in their own anger. John thought about apologizing yet again, knowing Sherlock would never be the one to. But he was sick of apologizing. Being with Sherlock was like being with the most intelligent yet insolent child ever. John was tired of being the one to back down.
"We shouldn't have come here, it was a mistake." He said, able to admit that.
Sherlock didn't respond.
"Look, just for the future, I don't need you to fight my battles for me."
"Why don't I update you on what I don't need. I don't need you putting me on a lease like I'm some wild dog. I don't need you to make sure I'm fed and I certainly don't need you touching me under the table." Sherlock yelled. John was thankful for the noise in the pub, hoping people wouldn't hear their spat.
John went to say something but Sherlock was already out of the booth and halfway to the door before he could think of what to say. He put his head down on the table and sighed. He'd botched that up real well. Now the only thing was to get sloshed before being forced to return home.
XXXXXXX
Sherlock sat in his chair, awaiting John's return to the flat. It wasn't long before John stumbled in. He'd been drinking but wasn't intoxicated. He would remember their conversation.
"John, I believe we need to have a discussion." Sherlock said, his eyes cold and distant. This would have to be a very convincing performance. Even though he was annoyed with what John had said back at the pub, it wasn't enough to make this real on Sherlock's end. But it would make it extra convincing for John.
"In the morning Sherlock." John said brushing him off.
"Now John." Sherlock said, his voice insistent.
"Look, I'm sorry about what happened at the pub. You didn't have to take off like that though."
"It's not about that. There are certain things we need to discuss."
"That sounds dangerously similar to 'we need to talk'."
"I'm unfamiliar with that phrase."
"It's something people say when they're getting ready to break up with someone." John informed him. Sherlock's eyes drifted down to the floor, unable to look John in the eye. "Oh God." John said understanding.
"I'm sorry John, but this isn't working." Sherlock's tone was calm and collected. Indifferent.
"No." John shook his head defiantly. He stumbled forward slightly and gripped the chair in front of him. It was a mixture of the alcohol in his system and his disbelief. "You can't be serious."
"I've reached the decision that this…relationship we've been having is no longer conducive."
"Jesus Christ Sherlock will you stop sitting there like you're the bank teller informing me I no longer have an account."
"How would you like me to behave John?" Sherlock asked pressing his palms together, resting his finger against his chin.
"Well, you can stop treating me like I'm a bloody stranger." John looked like a puppy that had been kicked. Sherlock bit his tongue, forcing himself not to react. Not to take it all back.
"I want to know why." John demanded. "I want to know why out of the blue you're suddenly ending things."
"I wouldn't call it out of the blue." Sherlock said, doing his best to stay calm. He couldn't back down now. This is something you have to do if you want him safe, he reminded himself. "I've been thinking this over for awhile now."
"Those three days." John said, it finally dawning on him. "That's what you were considering? You said it didn't concern me."
"It didn't." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.
John laughed, the sound strange and bitter. "Doesn't concern me? You breaking things off bloody well concerns me."
"There was nothing you could do to stop it, so why bother?"
"Fine." John said through gritted teeth. "Then I need a reason. A bloody fantastic reason as to why you're doing this after everything that's happened between us."
"And what's happened between us?" Sherlock asked, meeting his gaze, his eyes piercing. "Did you think things had changed because we started having intercourse?"
"No because that would be ridiculous of me." John's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"It would." Sherlock agreed.
"Yes because only an idiot would think that shagging your flatmate made a god damn difference in your relationship."
"You can shout all you want, you're not going to change my mind."
"You still haven't told me why." John was seething. It was good, meant things were going according to plan.
"Because you've domesticated me. You've got me making eggs, going to pubs, having sex when I should be doing more important things." Sherlock made his voice sound disgusted.
"More important things, right." John bit his bottom lip angrily. He huffed out a breath and turned his face away.
It wasn't enough. John was merely angry. Sherlock needed John to hate him. He needed to make sure John had no reason to come back. No glimmer of hope. "Did you think it would last?" Just a bit longer, he told himself. "Did you think someone as mundane and ordinary as you could hold my attention? If a decent case or even a hint of Moriarty had come up, I would have been out the door mid-coitus."
"So that's all I was to you then? A distraction? Something to keep you from being bored?" John asked looking livid.
"Of course. What were you supposed to be to me?" Sherlock asked blinking a few times, making sure he seemed as uncaring as possible.
"Nothing." John swallowed hard. Sherlock could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes and did his best not to react. "I guess in order for me to mean something you'd actually have to be a person with feelings. Which you're not you complete wanker."
Sherlock looked away. He tried to remind himself that this was what he wanted, this was necessary. John was only speaking out of anger. It didn't keep his words from stinging.
XXXXX
John felt like he'd been hit by a truck or a bus, something large and heavy. Sherlock was breaking things off. Not only that but he was confirming every fear John had ever had about their relationship. He struggled to swallow around his heart, which had relocated to his throat. Every word Sherlock said was like a dagger piercing him.
Don't cry in front of him, don't cry in front of him, fuck. John couldn't help the hot, stinging tears that appeared. He tried to blink them away, feeling completely pathetic.
So this was how it all ended, with Sherlock looking at him like he couldn't give two shits. Everyone had warned him, told him to stay away from Sherlock Holmes. He should have listened. But even their warnings couldn't have prepared him for this. He was spitting angry words at Sherlock, not even sure what he was saying. Sherlock looked down at the floor and John was happy that something struck a cord. At least he could cause Sherlock one tiny bit of pain compared to what he was feeling.
He clenched his fists, seriously considering punching Sherlock in his perfect face. Instead he swallowed again, this time it was slightly easier and stormed out of the room. He went upstairs, taking them two at a time. He wanted to be out of the flat as soon as possible and began packing as much as he could into two suitcases. He let the tears flow more easily now that Sherlock wasn't around to see them.
XXXXXXXX
Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to the sound of John upstairs packing his things. Sherlock memorized the sound of John's feet shuffling around, the angry way he opened and shut drawers. He knew he would not hear them for a painfully long time, possibly ever again. Even if he did manage to kill Moriarty and make it safe for John to come back, there was no reason why he would now.
No, John would move on. He would meet someone nice, someone dull like Sarah. They'd get married and have kids, follow every cliché imaginable. John would never mention his torrid homosexual love affair with his flatmate. Sherlock wished he could save him from that boring life. Yet the awful, painful truth was that the choices were a boring life or no life at all. Sherlock would choose a boring life for his friend, every time.
John lumbered down the stairs with two suitcases. He was very careful not to meet Sherlock's gaze. "I'll let you know when I can come round and pick up the rest of my things."
John's cheeks were streaked with tears even though he'd tried to wipe them away. Sherlock felt an almost unbearable pain in his chest. Oh John Watson, you beautiful idiot, how can you not know this isn't real? Sherlock thought as he suffered in silence. All he could do was nod, not trusting himself to speak.
"I'd prefer it if you weren't here when I do so. I'll leave my key here when I'm done."
John stood in the doorway for a second as if he was waiting for Sherlock to say something. Maybe he was expecting a goodbye or he could have been hoping Sherlock would change his mind. When he remained silent, John turned to leave.
"Where will you go?" Sherlock asked before he could stop himself. At least the words came out aloof, as if he was just being polite instead of actually caring.
"That's really not your concern." The last word was loaded with such disdain. John picked up his suitcases and with that he was gone. Sherlock could hear John knock on Mrs. Hudson's door and say goodbye. She tried to be her usual reassuring self and told him the two of them would work it out. John replied that he didn't think so.
When he heard the front door close, Sherlock got up and went to the window. John had put his suitcases down and was trying to hail a cab. When one finally pulled up, John climbed in without so much as a glance back. Sherlock couldn't pull himself away until the cab had rounded the corner and disappeared. He flung himself onto the sofa and curled into a ball, feeling more miserable than he ever had in his life. He kept reminding himself that now John was safe and that it was all that mattered. But the pain in his chest continued to grow, telling him otherwise.
The pink phone dinged and Sherlock considered ignoring it. Moriarty had no doubt seen the whole thing but it didn't matter if he thought it was real or fake. John was out of the picture like Jim had wanted. Still he couldn't help himself from reaching for the phone.
Marvelous performance. Bravo!
Sherlock angrily flung the phone across the room. As if it was taunting him, it landed delicately on John's chair. Moriarty had won. It didn't matter if Sherlock found him or killed him. Moriarty won the moment John got into that cab. With the knowledge of defeat, he hugged his knees to his chest and couldn't stop the stream of silent tears the fell.