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Chapter 12. Doubt.
Later, John did not remember what happened after he and Sherlock sat on that couch together. They did not speak, but the silence was not uncomfortable. Somehow, they both went to (their own!) bed and the next morning it was almost like nothing had happened. When John came down in the morning Sherlock was up, running around in the house, working on some experiment, glancing at John and barely greeting him. John had an early shift at the hospital. When he came home Sherlock was examining something under the microscope. He did not talk. He did not move. He was like a statue.
John had some dinner (Sherlock had not responded to his question if he wanted something to eat) and watched television. But he could not relax. He looked at his flat mate every few minutes. Sherlock never looked back, but of course he would notice it. John started to feel more and more uncomfortable so when Lestrade texted if he wanted to join him for a beer he immediately jumped up.
'I'm going out.'
Sherlock's eyes seemed to glance to the wall in front of him for one second, but there came no other response.
'Not a date.' John clarified hastily and clumsy. 'Just a beer. With Lestrade.'
Still no response. John felt his cheeks glow. This is ridiculous he thought. Maybe I imagined last night…. He grabbed his coat and left the house.
As soon as Sherlock heard the front door close he relaxed his shoulders. He leaned back in his chair, away from the microscope. John had been uncomfortable. John had been observing him, clearly expecting something from Sherlock. But what? It made the detective anxious to realize he had no idea how to handle the situation.
His phone rang.
He knew who it was without looking. He picked up the phone and answered: 'What do you want, Mycroft?'
While walking to the bar John decided to talk to Greg about the whole situation. No one else would be able to give him any kind of useful advice since they did not know Sherlock.
He had assumed the detective inspector would laugh at him, mock him, make jokes but eventually tell him he had always known Sherlock and John were meant to be more than friends. However, that was not at all his response…
'This is a very bad idea, John.' Greg told him with a serious frown on his face. He had been silent while John told him about the events of the other night. When he was done Greg had stared at him. Stared at the bar. Took a large gulp of beer and then said those words which slapped John in the face.
'What do you mean 'a bad idea'?'
Greg exhaled and put his beer down. 'Well, first of all…' He leaned in to John and almost whispered: 'you're not gay, John. You like women!'
John rolled his eyes. 'Thank you, Greg. That's really helpful.' He rubbed his eyes. 'Can't you tell how bloody confused I am about that myself?'
But Lestrade continued: 'Secondly, he is your flat mate, you work together, you are best friends. He is in every aspect of your life. Think about what would happened if this doesn't work out. And it won't work out.'
'What?' John frowned.
'This is Sherlock we are talking about.' Greg took his beer again. 'Personally, I am not sure he is capable of that kind of human emotions.'
John got annoyed. 'Well, you don't know him like I do.'
'And I don't want to.'
'Jesus Greg, I thought you could give me some helpful advice.'
Greg put his beer down again and gave John an intense stare. 'I am giving you helpful advice, John. My advice is: don't go through with this because it is not really what you want. You are not in love with him; you are just afraid to be without him again. You admire him and he is using that. He is a selfish, lonely man who has never been able to hold on to any kind of relationship. Friends or otherwise. You are the first person to ever like him and stay with him and he needs that. This isn't love John! This is some sick kind of co-dependence and I don't want you to destroy yourself this way.'
After this speech John was silent. The men stared at each other without speaking. John didn't know what to say. He wanted to tell Greg he was wrong, but was he…? There was only one person who could clear this up.
John got up from his bar stool and took his coat.
'Where are you going?' Lestrade asked while John put some money on the bar.
'I need to talk to Sherlock.'
And with that, the doctor left.
He walked home. Damn it he thought. What if Lestrade was right? What if this feeling wasn't ….love. What if this means I am gay? John noticed he even had trouble saying this word to himself while thinking about him and Sherlock. So was it only some sick kind of co-dependence, as Lestrade called it? And so what if it was? Co-dependency can be a part of love. What else is love…. Trust, sharing your life, holding hands, kissing, sex… Sex with Sherlock? John shook his head. Let's not go there just yet. What about the rest. Trust and a shared life, they already had that. They had held hands, they had kissed… but only for cases, and yesterday he had kissed his friend purely to shut him up. Right….? Had he liked it? Ever since Sherlock was back John had ignored those feelings, those thoughts, those desires that were hidden deep inside him, locked in a little box he never allowed himself to open. Even now. He couldn't think about it. He needed to hear what Sherlock thought first.
While walking up the stairs of 221b Baker Street John whipped his sweaty hands on his pants. Don't chicken out now, he told himself. They needed to talk and John was going to make sure they did. He walked into the room. Sherlock was still staring in the microscope. Had he not moved at all?
'Sherlock?'
'Hmm?' The detective did not look up.
John took a deep breath. 'Sherlock, about last night….'
Now his friend looked at John. Deducing. His sharp eyes noticed every details about the doctor in seconds. He had talked to Lestrade. The troubled look in his eyes told him the conversation wasn't a good one. Also, he clearly hadn't even finished one beer. He had left in a hurry. Walked home. He was panicking. Panicking about his flat mate confessing his love for him. And about his own confessions. Just like Mycroft had told his brother earlier that evening: 'As soon as he will ask an outsider for advice - and we both know he will – he will be told what I am telling you now: this is a ridiculous mistake that will make you both unhappy. You were not meant for this Sherlock. You can't do it and you know it. Will you really lie to your only friend this way, little brother?'
Sherlock had hung up on Mycroft without answering. Sometimes, his brother managed to verbalize exactly what Sherlock feared, but did not admit to himself. What if he would hurt John? What if John would end up hating him? The thought alone was unbearable.
All this went through his head in seconds while he looked at his friend and the confused look in his eyes. He should make this easy for him.
'You changed your mind.' Sherlock made it sound like a statement, not a question, before looking into the microscope again.
John put his hands on the chair in front of his and looked at the table. 'I don't know, Sherlock. We need to talk about this.'
'Why?' Sherlock responded immediately. 'You say you don't know. That tells me enough.' He glanced at John before adjusting the microscope.
John looked even more confused now. And there was something else… was he hurt? Angry?
'Look John…' Sherlock leaned with his elbows on the table. 'Let's forget last night ever happened. It's clearly not all fine.' He tried to make voice sound honest, but inside he felt like heat and pain were stabbing him. Please, John, tell me I'm wrong.
But John didn't tell him he was wrong. Instead he let go of the chair and took a step backwards, away from Sherlock. He softly said: 'No. No, it is clearly not…'
He turned to the hallway. 'Good night Sherlock.'
'Good night John.'
John went upstairs. Once in his bed he tried to figure out how he felt about this. Relieved? Maybe it was for the best. Sherlock had let the whole thing go so easy… painfully easy. He couldn't possibly have real feelings for John.
John tried to tell himself he also had no real feelings for the detective. Lestrade was right: he was not gay, he was just afraid to lose Sherlock again. He didn't want a relationship with him. A relationship…. With Sherlock…
John couldn't stop his thoughts from wondering… What if he could kiss Sherlock whenever he wanted? Like when he gave everyone that smug smile after he a solved a case, but then beamed at John, waiting for his expressions of admiration. Or when he slept on the couch. Or when he was still and grave over his microscope. Or when it was warm and he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, top buttons open… John thought about Sherlock taking his hand during the case in the elementary school. How his touch had felt like electricity and made his cheeks glow. How they held hands all the way home…. What if they could do that whenever they wanted? What if Sherlock would say again that he loved him… A warm wave of emotions came over John and he felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Lestrade was wrong. He did want to go through with this. John jumped out of his bed. Knowing Sherlock he would simply delete last night from his hard-drive and never think about it again. John had to act now. Now that he still had the courage.
He yanked the bedroom door open and wanted to run out, but he tripped over something in the corridor. Something large. Something soft but firm, covered in a blue dressing-gown. John went face down to the floor, but managed to put his hands down first to break his fall.
'What the hell?' He yelled while looking what he had tripped over.
'Sorry.' Said a deep voice.
John sat up. 'Sherlock?'
'Who else?' It was too dark to see his face clearly, but John knew that Sherlock gave him an annoyed look while making that sarcastic comment.
'What are you doing up here?' John asked.
'I came up, hopefully for the same reason you were going down.'
They both sat on the wooden floor of the corridor. It was cold but John didn't feel it.
'And what reason is that?' His voice was calm but he felt like a tennis ball was bouncing of his ribs.
'Don't be stupid, John, you know the reason.'
'Don't be smart, Sherlock, just tell me.'
'I thought….' Sherlock started, 'that maybe we were a bit… hasty, earlier tonight.'
John frowned. 'And you were sitting in front my bedroom door because….?'
Sherlock shifted uneasily. 'I was considering the options.'
'Which options?'
'Really John, this is getting annoying. Stop playing dumb.' Sherlock was annoyed again.
John looked at his flat mate. They were only a meter apart, on the floor of the dark corridor, in their pajama's. He suddenly realized how ridiculous they must look to others, and how much he liked being this ridiculous with Sherlock. How much he liked Sherlock…. He smiled, but the detective seemed to have missed his friends' epiphany.
'Obviously this is pointless. I'm going to bed.' Sherlock started getting up, putting one hand on the wall next to John to push himself up. John responded, without thinking, by grabbing Sherlock's free hand and pulling the detective to him. John pressed his lips against Sherlock's. He felt how his friend tried to shift his weight to lean into the kiss, but he lost his balance and pulled John down on the floor with him. John hit his head on the wooden floor and heard how Sherlock fell next to him. They were laying on their back on the floor. John laughed. Despite the pain on his head. The sound of John's high pitch laugh, the silly one, the one Sherlock knew meant he was really happy, made Sherlock laugh too.
John got up. 'Bedtime.'
'Yes.' Sherlock got up too and turned to go down the stairs.
'Where are you going?' He heard behind him. He turned around and saw John in the door opening. Sherlock gave him a confused look. 'What do you mean?'
John smiled. 'I mean you should sleep here. With me. For a genius you can be a real idiot sometimes.'
Sherlock stood hesitantly in the corridor. 'John….ehm… I don't know how….'
'You don't know what? How to sleep? I suspected that.' John's eyes twinkled playful at Sherlock.
The men stared at each other without speaking for a few seconds. Then Sherlock walked passed John into the bedroom. 'Are you coming or will you be sleeping standing up against the doorpost?'
Thank you so much for reading. Please let me know what you think and if and how I should continue! Thanks :)
