6:31. John won't be awake yet. He enjoys sleeping, and even if he's awake he'll hold out in his room as long as possible. John won't want to face what he would define as an 'awkward situation'. Although thinking over it, I'm not really sure I want to see him either. It's hard enough seeing him walk around the flat before the happenings of last night. I won't risk waking him, I'll leave the violin alone, but I'm so bored. There's no case, so no reason to go to the lab. Most people would put the TV on, but John said I'm limited as to how much I watch, apparently I get to loud when they get it wrong so early hours of the morning is off limits. I'm tempted to go wake him, maybe act like normal, as if last night hadn't happened. Running into his room waking him up, that's normal, but I have no case. No case at all. Maybe Lestrades got something, if he has he'll be awake, if not, well he can wake up.
Any cases? –SH
What? No, Sherlock. It's 6:30. Go back to sleep, or talk to John. I'll contact you when you're needed. –GL
Damn. No cases at all then, 6:40. Time's going slowly, slower then I'd like, but at least John isn't around yet, I don't think. I go to his door and try and open it, the door doesn't budge. He's still asleep against the door and the doors still locked. He really didn't want to see me last night. Something inside me sinks; I'm not used to these... these emotions. I don't know how to handle them; I'm going completely off of John's body language, when he's comfortable and uncomfortable with what I do, what I show. How I show it. That kiss, that half kiss that hovered between us, this kiss he didn't know happened. That's all I have, I do not know what possessed me to do so. It's been playing on my mind more than anything.
7:05. Well even if these thoughts do nothing but taunt me, at least they pass the time. It's so easy to get lost in thought thinking about him, the way he addresses people, so formal but kind. He'd make a good father one day. My mind wonders off into what I believe is to be called a 'daydream'. This isn't right; I don't give in to these, these dreams. I am Sherlock, I am the worlds' only consulting detective, and I do not love John Watson. I do not. I don't...
7:20.
"I do love John Hamish Watson" I hang my head and hide my face in my hands collapsing against the sofa resting my elbows on my knees. I cry, try not to, I force the emotions away, try and delete them. Force them as far away from my mind as I can, but it's not my mind that's affected by these thoughts and emotions, and even I cannot control that organ. I cry, the tears spilling out into my hands, I start to tremble, what starts as a silent whimper becomes a near breakdown. I can look at a butchered dead body and not flinch, not be effected, I can poke and prod it and not be move, but this is too much. My body shakes beneath me, my sobs now fully audible. I'm not scared I'll wake John; I'm praying I'll wake him. I hope he wakes and walks down, thinking he's hearing things, I want him to walk into the room and see me like this, I want him to walk up to me and panic and try and get words out of me, I want him to realise I can't speak and put his arms around me, I want him to hold me on this sofa while I cry. I want him to tell me how he feels, that he feels the same and kiss me. I want that full kiss.
7:40. I can hear John stir, my head snaps up, my elbows still on my knees my hands still in their place, but I'm listening. He's moving but not awake, but will be soon. I dry my eyes with the palm of my hands. They have to be red, he'll know. I run to the bathroom and splash my face with water, maybe I can pass this off as a sleepless night. He won't want to keep eye contact for long, and after that... that moment of weakness neither do I. I do not want to look at him. That's wrong, I want nothing more than to look at him, to watch him in the way I want, to observe him personally and not just face value facts. I want to be allowed to do this but I cannot.
7:50.
He's walking around, unlocking his door. Running back through to the main area; I sit and wait. Even I am not sure how this is going to play out. He walks towards the entrance to here, getting closer, closer, louder footsteps, but walks straight past, straight past to my room. He's gone to see if I'm awake. Perfect. I can be me, lock myself away. Hide.
"I suppose you're trying to see if I'm awake yet then John? I'll save you trouble." Flinging myself round the door, feeling a breeze against my legs. Wait, a breeze? I'm still in my sheet. At least he's used to seeing me like this. His eyes flicker across me in a way other then 'oh look. He's wearing his sheet. Again.' But in more of a... I'm not sure.
"Morning John." I smile at him; I heard that smiling breaks an atmosphere. It worked, he looks me in the eye, but I can't stay there. I cannot allow myself to fall into them again. I cannot break down in front of him again. He smiles back and I break contact. I turn around and leave. He thinks he's caught something in my eye, he thought he saw something.
How right you are John Watson. Never let anyone tell you you're anything less than you are, because you are brilliant.
He pushes past me to go to the kitchen to make himself breakfast, but as he does so his arm brushes me. This creates more emotions than it should; he's warm despite sleeping on the floor.He's rubbing his neck and walking awkwardly, it's obvious he slept on the floor. My eyes widen, by breathing haltered for a second and a relish every millisecond of this touch. It's been all the contact since he passed me the tea, he still doesn't know about that ghost kiss that I wish to finish so badly. I freeze, breathing heavily, looking down at the floor trying to make sense of why this contact affected me so much. My hand rises up to where we brushed.
"Sherlock do you want any breakfa... never mind." He's too busy messing around with bowls and cups and cereals to notice how slowly I turn, my hand still on that spot. Do something for him I think to myself. Anything at all, he's always complaining how I don't eat enough.
"Actually I'd love a bowl of cereal John" I walk around the corner and see him, and just watching him, not observing, but simply watching him move his way around, completely lost in thought is blissful.
I cannot stay here. This will be the second time I've ran out on him without an explanation but he's used to that. I grab the nearest pair of trousers that if lug amongst the flat, the jacket and scarf. I quickly put the trousers on; I left a pair of shoes downstairs, why did I do that? But it's now useful to me I don't need to waste time with shoes up here risking being caught leaving. I put the jacket on and the scarf, I open the door to leave and close it but not before hearing John ask one last question.
"Sherlock? I think we need to talk" and with that I close the door.
"I know we do John, we really do. Just not about the same thing and it's killing me." I rest my head against the door sighing heavily, raising my hands up beside my head leaning against the physical barrier between us. The only physical barrier between us, but not the only barrier, so many between us. I can feel myself starting to cry again, but while he's awake I cannot risk hearing me. I run down the stairs but it doesn't take me long before I find where I need to be.
Mrs Hudson.
