11-1
Sherlock awoke to the sight of dazzling sunlight and the sound of cleaning coming from the living room. He lay there for a few seconds, waiting for his brain to wake up. As he did so, the occurrences of the past few hours all came rushing back to him. He remembered waking up with John, and discovering the dreadful package from Moriarty, then, much to his sheer embarrassment and dismay, he remembered how he had broke down. He had not acted that way in many years, and the fact that John had witnessed his episode only humiliated him further. And as much as he wished to bury his head into the pillows and hide in shame, he could not ignore the 'present' he had just been left, and the meaning behind it. The burnt heart, everything Moriarty had threatened, and everything Sherlock had feared. He exited the bed quickly, and dressed himself. Upon attempting to leave the room, he was suddenly barricaded by John, and forcibly pushed down onto the bed. The action most definitely took Sherlock by surprise.
"Get back in bed," instructed John, in an authoritave tone. Sherlock imagined it was a voice similar to one he would've used during his military service. He was momentarily taken aback as his thoughts drifted away onto something of a more wicked nature, but he quickly collected himself when he remembered why he was getting up in the first place. However when he went to address John, he found he couldn't look him in the eye, still mortified from his outburst earlier.
"John," he started, looking out of the window as he spoke, in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "You know perfectly well that I have no choice but to go out to work and catch this despicable man, I am not staying in bed."
His words were cut off as his lips were suddenly occupied with Johns, who was pushing him back down onto the bed. However much he was sure he would enjoy kissing John, he wasn't in the mood.
"John get off me now," he demanded in a cold voice. "I am going to catch him. To stop him."
John shook his head, more times than was necessary.
"Sherlock, do as I say. We can discuss this in the evening, but right now, you are doing what I tell you to do."
The unexpected outburst of authority from John angered Sherlock. Nobody challenged him, and nobody stopped him from doing anything.
"You will get off me now John Watson," he snarled. "Don't you see? Stop being a fool, open your eyes! For heaven's sake if it wasn't for you, for this, I would've known, I would have caught him this morning, stopped him for good." He could taste the venom on his tongue before he even spoke. "You are a liability John, you are clouding my judgement and you are no good for me."
He began to struggle fiercely under John who now had him pinned onto the bed to stop him leaving. He knew as soon as he opened his mouth what he was saying was complete lies, he just needed someone to blame, and he needed John to let him leave, he just hoped his words would kill two birds with one stone.
He noticed as Johns grip got painfully tighter and his eyes became cold and hard.
"You are an utterly ridiculous man," he said, raising his voice, his face very close to Sherlock's. "You bring me into your life as a confused and bewildered flatmate, showing me a life of fucking deduction, over friendly brothers, and serial bombers. You lay on me your mood swings and temper tantrums. You make me fall for you, make me develop feelings for you, you make love to me. You torture me with angry words, and ridiculous experiments, and you then proceed to drive me half mad with worry when you completely break down in front of me. Well guess what Sherlock? I've spent all morning caring for you, looking after you, and I've spent the last two months sticking by your tedious side. So I will be damned if you are not going to listen to me now when I am telling you things for your own good!"
By the time he had finished, John looked like he was on the edge of collapsing. Sherlock knew he was a hard man to deal with, and he never even once thought what a real impact he was having on John, poor John. And now he had lashed out at him, blamed him for things which had nothing to do with him, ultimately blaming him for caring and being a more than wonderful partner. Sherlock didn't know how to answer; he couldn't possibly find the right words to soothe his angry flatmate. Instead he leaned his head upwards and gave him a tender and loving kiss. He parted Johns lips with his own, and kissed him softly, caressing the doctor's tongue with his own. By then, Johns grip on his wrists had loosened, and he could free his arms to wrap them around John, to make himself feel safe, as well as to comfort the doctor. They both melted into each other, kissing and feeling each other's bodies, holding each other tightly and not wishing to let go.
It was hard for Sherlock to remember so many things. He was just so used to solving his own problems with narcotics, not even caring to solve others, this whole situation, oh how overwhelming it was! But as the two kissed, compassionately and softly, Sherlock surrendered himself to the man, knowing that for once in his life, he should bow his head and listen to someone else.