Johnlock Chapter 7- Mind Over Sentiment
The next morning, Sherlock was pacing around the flat impatiently, waiting for the time to come when John would revisit him. Once the detective had left Lestrade at the bar last night, he had gone out for materials for an experiment that involved ammonia and fingernails. Surprisingly the fingernails were easier to come by than the special type of ammonia he needed.
Last night he had a lot to think about John regarding his feelings, his attempted suicide, and whether or not he should mention either of these things. Sherlock felt he needed… closure on both subjects, but was completely stuck on how to approach either of them. Obviously, the sleuth would have to be the one to bring them up as John might not be inclined to tell him about the suicide attempt nor his feelings towards him. Especially now that he was living with some woman named Mary. He had no clue who this woman was or anything about her besides that she had short, blonde hair and was living with John. Well knowing nothing else about her would be a lie. From that information he could deduce that she was a hard-working woman and took things seriously. That said that she had a commanding attitude, much like John could have at times, and that she was most likely good at being sociable. Not much else could be found out due to the lack of information.
Sherlock stopped his pacing and sighed deeply. He felt defeated. His feelings towards John were causing extreme levels of stress and high levels of endorphins being released, which never happened unless he was on a particularly touch case. John had been the only one to be able to do that and the dark-haired man wasn't sure whether to hate him or love him for it. His friend had opened his eyes to a new world that Sherlock thought he could never experience because of his lack of feelings. It's not like he ever really wanted to, but on a few occasions he felt he was missing out on something but could never place what that something was. When John had entered his life, he found that that something was feelings for other people, no matter how insignificant the sentiment may have seemed. John had changed him completely and Sherlock was glad that he was able to do so. He was glad it was John who had been the one to do so.
The detective had been standing in the same spot for a few minutes with his hands clasped behind his back and finally realized he was smiling like a fool to himself. He immediately frowned and began his pacing again to keep himself from acting and looking like an idiot. It's not like anyone was there to see him smiling for no apparent reason, but it was still foreign to the man to have feelings like this for someone. It was quite spectacular, he admitted, for one person to affect another so thoroughly and efficiently by just being who they were. Sherlock never would have thought he would let anyone so close to him in his life, yet here he was. Smiling and thinking about one person constantly instead of working on a case.
Sherlock gave a small huff of laughter at his situation when he heard the door downstairs being opened- John. The dark-haired man rushed to his seat and picked up the violin and bow that had been resting against it, sat down, and began playing at the middle of a song he knew, as if he had been playing the whole time he was thinking and pacing.
He was almost finished with the song by the time the door to the flat opened. John slowly opened the door and peeked his head in- looking for Sherlock and not wanting to disturb him like he thought he did last time. When he noticed Sherlock in the seat, he opened the door fully and stepped into the flat and smiled at the detective. Instead of deducing how well he slept last night or whether or not he had taken a shower this morning, Sherlock looked back at John attentively and smiled back brightly at him.
"Good morning, John." He said a bit too enthusiastically. He made a mental note to calm himself when he noticed John's look of confusion at the man's apparent eagerness.
"Yeah, morning, Sherlock."
Sherlock swallowed. An image of him holding a gun in his mouth flashed through his mind and he struggled to keep the subject at bay. Instead of blurting out anything that would give away his inner thoughts, he simply asked, "How did you sleep?" Wrong. He never asked how he slept. He would have to do better than that. Sherlock face contorted somewhat, but the question was out.
"…Fine… And you?" He said, noticing Sherlock wince.
"You know I don't sleep a normal schedule." He replied smoothly. He was getting more control of himself now. Good.
"Right. Forgot."
An awkward silence ensued in which Sherlock found it harder than ever not to utter anything regarding he and Greg's talk last night. He was just deciding whether to mention the supposed feelings or the attempted suicide when John spoke.
"So. I guess you need some answers from me this time, huh?" He asked with a soft expression.
Sherlock's eyes widened as he felt that John had seen into his thoughts and wanted to know if he had to explain himself. But he was too dumbstruck at the possibility of the thought to form an intelligent sentence. All he said was, "What?"
John furrowed his brow for a moment before explaining, "I don't know, I guess it's my turn to answer questions. I got most of mine answered yesterday. It's your turn to ask and all. I mean if you even have questions, that is."
The dark-haired man froze. He did have questions. Questions that he probably shouldn't ask. But there was nothing else on his mind and he couldn't seem to think of anything else to ask the man. So, he started by saying, "I talked with Lestrade last night…"
The doctor nodded once and said slowly, "Okay… and? What does this have to do with…" he trailed off as the possibilities of what Greg and Sherlock could have talked about ran through his mind. The potential conversations weren't ones John appreciated. "What did you two talk about?" He asked, his voice a bit more stern.
"Well…" Sherlock cleared his throat, "You, mostly."
"…What about me, Sherlock."
The detective swallowed hard and attempted to continue, even though John's hard stare was making that into a serious challenge. "Well… Umm… Just you. And…"
"Yes?"
Sherlock rose from his seat and slowly walked over to John. He tentatively placed his hands on his shoulder, unsure of initiating physical touch. "He said…" He made a quick decision to use the suicide attempt as the first topic, his feelings for John's safety getting the better of his own selfish feelings for him. He exhaled and spoke. "He said you… tried to kill yourself, John."
John just stood there, frozen in place, eyes wide, and body tense. He didn't seem to be breathing and if it weren't for the fact he was standing upright, Sherlock might have thought him dead. They stood like that for several long moments- Sherlock's hands on John's shoulders, searching his face for any movement and John was completely still except for the slight rise and fall of his chest when he breathed.
Finally, John took a deep inhale and opened his mouth, as if to say something, but shut it. His eyes were avoiding Sherlock's and were focused on the window across from him, on the traffic outside and the buildings in the distance. He saw himself sitting in Sherlock's chair, holding the gun to his mouth, thinking of every misfortune that had befallen him in his life. He wasn't thinking of the good he had had, just the bad. Of the wound in his shoulder and how he was crippled forever- he would never be whole again. Of how life had been so unfulfilling after his time in the war. Of how low he got when therapy didn't seem to help. And most of all, Sherlock leaving him. Alone. Broken. Dead.
He had felt he had died the day Sherlock had left. No, it wasn't death. It was something so much worse. Something worse than death, it was unbearable. So he had loaded his gun one day, when he was sick of everyone nagging him to 'get out' and 'do something' and 'you'll be okay', and he put it in his mouth, ready to shoot. If only Lestrade hadn't walked in wanting to nag him, he could have been long gone by now. He wouldn't have to think about the bad anymore.
Yet, here he was. With Sherlock's hands on him and him saying something to him. He snapped out of his reverie and focused on the garbled words the man was speaking.
"…okay? John? Are you alright? John?" He asked over and over again.
"…I'm fine… Sherlock, alright, I'm alright!" he yelled. He backed up and pushed the man's hands off of him.
"John, you... you spaced out. What… happened?"
"When do you mean?" He asked, suddenly spiteful.
"… Earlier."
"When I tried to kill myself?" John supplied angrily.
"… Yes, I suppose. I'd like to ask about that as well…" The taller man replied evenly. "What… Jesus, I don't even know what I'm asking… I guess I want to know… why, John?"
John's look of incredulity was almost funny, if given a different situation. "Why? You left me all alone, completely alone, and you want to know why I couldn't take it anymore?"
"John, there was no need to-"
"No need to try and escape from it all?! Because you left me, after everything we've been through. I thought you trusted me. I had no clue why the hell you jumped from the building that day and I blamed it all on myself for not being there for you! I thought I could have saved you if I had been a better friend! But I couldn't do anything! And you wonder why I didn't want to feel that way anymore?"
"John-"
"No, Sherlock! You're such an idiot. You have no clue what normal people think or feel. Explaining any of this to you would be a waste of my breath and time."
"John, listen to me!" Sherlock yelled, effectively halting John's rant. "I know! I know you felt like you couldn't deal with it all! And I am sorry. I never thought, never imagined, you would react in the way you did." He said, softening his voice. "If I had known, I would have told you everything. But I couldn't risk it, not with the consequences that would be involved. And don't you dare say I didn't trust you, John. You are the only person I have ever truly let into my life so don't you ever say you weren't a good friend. That you aren't a good friend. You were there for me more than you could ever imagine possible. You saved me from… myself, John. But even though you tried so hard, even though I appreciate every minute of your attempts, you couldn't stop Moriarty. If you had tried, you would have died. And you would have been dead for real and it wouldn't have been just a magic trick. And do you think I would be able to deal with you being dead? No, I wouldn't. I would probably would have gotten as low as you did. But I protected you from him, but not from you. I never knew, John. Now…" Sherlock swallowed, afraid he had done something wrong, going on the aggravated look on John's face. "John please…. don't do anything like that ever again." Attempting to lighten the heavy mood he added, "Or I'll kill you myself."
It didn't seem to work as John's frown stayed right where it was on his face and his stare grew hard. "Sherlock... I just didn't know what to do. You knew my therapy wasn't really helping with my problems with PTSD and the war. How could I expect it to help with something like you… dying. To me, it looked like you killed yourself. So I was trying to follow you. Because I could never last…" He paused, looking a little uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Never last without you, Sherlock."
The dark-haired man froze. So John did have feelings for Sherlock. He still did. Those words couldn't have been interpreted any other way, given the situation. Sherlock thought John would have been okay when he had the Fall since they were just friends, but since he hadn't been okay, it showed that John thought of them as more than friends. And the words he had just spoken had proved that.
Get ahold of yourself, Sherlock. This isn't what you two need to be talking about anyways. The detective thought to himself. "John, I told you before…" What was he doing? This was his chance to confess his feeling to John, and he was using his normal copout of 'I'm married to my work'. "I'm... I don't think about things like that…" He swallowed hard. "… John… Lestrade and I also talked about… us. About your… feelings for me." He left it at that, hoping John would continue the conversation for him.
The doctor's cheeks immediately reddened and he tore his gaze away from the taller man's eyes. "That was… nothing, Sherlock. It was… before." Sherlock could tell that his friend was lying, trying to avoid being truthful on this subject.
The sleuth recognized that John would not be willing to further discuss this topic so he took the initiative to continue it himself. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and tried to relax the tension in his chest. "John, I… felt… feel the same way…"
At this, John looked straight at Sherlock with wide, disbelieving eyes. He only had time to take in a breath to speak before he saw the dark-haired man move swiftly towards him. Suddenly, the man's hands were cupping his face and his lips were crashing into his.
