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Why does he do this to me?
Thought John standing in his kitchen. He was supposed to make tea, have breakfast and go to work. Instead he stood there hands fumbling in the wrong cupboard, brooding.
He didn't expect Sherlock so say something like that. Of course! Who would? After what he had said to the man.
Wait a minute, didn't the man last time verbally lash him without any reason at all? So why was he feeling bad when he actually said something to the man in return? He deserved that! That git! That ungrateful, son of a bitch! He deserved right that.
But then it would have been so easy to feel like this if it wasn't for his last words.
Was it his way of saying thank you?
John snorted at his own thought. That man is too much of an arse to thank anyone for anything. The way he behaved just after John had saved his life, again.
The way he behaved.
Is what drove John mad. The man lashes out when he tries to help him, he flatters when John demeans him.
And the kiss…the almost…that oh so there feeling…lingering, in John's heart, mind, soul, body. He placed a finger on his quivering lips unknowingly.
How would it have felt? Those full, cold, wet lips on mine? Would he have been rough? Tender? Would it stop just on the outside or would his tongue…
The doorbell chose to ring at that particular moment breaking John's reverie.
Impeccable timing.
John thought letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He went down stairs lazily. There was no one when he peeped through the eyehole.
He opened the door and found no one, he looked left and right and a bunch of fresh long stem dark red roses wrapped in a sheer foil greeted his eyes lying on the steps. John picked them up and found a simple white card with only two words on it, 'Thank You.'. John looked around to find someone again but to no avail.
John climbed back the stairs and closed the door of his flat. He gave the flowers a withering look. He put them on the table and sat on the sofa opposite it.
What was he to make of this? The man said he wanted to be away from John and asked John to hold onto those thoughts which would keep him away.
But then he had complimented you.
He tried to kiss you.
John pulled his hair in frustration. The more he looked at the flowers the more he wanted to throw them away.
This must be some bloody game. He told himself. Now he just wants to play some more.
John vividly remembered the rejection, the scathing words that flew from the mouth that tried to kiss him last night only a week ago.
No, this had to end and this had to end for good.
A small voice at the back of his mind kept saying that what he was doing was insane but the voice was so small and the passions that surged through him were so engulfing that he refused to pay heed to it. With his gun hidden under his jumper and the flowers in his arms the doctor set out to meet the person who had scattered his life one last time.
The tunnel even in broad day light was not any less intimidating. Shadows lurked around here and there, people watching him suspiciously, dark figures prowling as if a rabbit had invaded a lion's den.
John was only half way in when a familiar young voice called from behind.
"Doctor Watson Sir!"
Billy.
John turned around. Only the other day this twenty something man was holding a knife to his throat and today in broad daylight, looking for Sherlock in the tunnel of hell John found his voice comforting, familiar, he knew where Sherlock was.
The look of disbelief on Billy's face told John that this was the last thing on earth that he had expected from him. A respectable man like him once threatened out of here was again here at daytime.
As the young man with blue clear eyes and unkempt auburn hair came closer John spoke in a determined voice.
"Give these to Sherlock and tell him to get lost. This time for good."
He thrust the flowers in a stunned Billy's hands and strode out only to be followed swiftly.
"Dr Watson sir! Dr Watson sir!"
John halted in his stride but didn't turn. Billy stopped by his side and making an apologetic face asked John.
"He's running a fever doctor. Could you be kind enough to see him once?"
Now it was John's turn to be stunned. Was he kidding?
"Didn't he tell me in front of you that he didn't want to see me anymore? "
Billy bowed his head as if in shame.
John started to walk again.
"I don't know any of your likes doctor. He won't go to hospital. He suffers." Billy said in a small voice.
Tell him to go to hell.
Let him suffer.
Let him die.
"Where is he?"
God damn it.