"John, meet Stacey Anderson and Michael Traise," Julia said to John as she made introductions. She smiled broadly at John, "And this is one of our best doctors, Dr John Watson. John, Stacey and Michael are inspectors with the NHS. They had come a few weeks ago, but you were still on leave, recovering from your accident."
She turned to the visiting duo and continued, "John suffered some life threatening injuries a few weeks ago, when a building structure collapsed on him. He works with Sherlock Holmes, you may have heard of him?"
Michael grinned, his eyes widening with delight, "You are that Dr John Watson! Pleasure to meet you."
Handshakes all around completed, Julia continued to explain, "They have come to take some photographs and conduct some interviews with the staff, prior to the award ceremony in three weeks. John, I was wondering if they could start with you?"
John agreed amiably, "Yeah, sure. Look, do you guys want to come into my consulting room and then you can ask me any questions you like."
He followed them into his room, sighing with relief.
Oh good, another couple of fucking hours I can do away with…..can delay going home, delay moving around that empty flat like a fucking ghost of myself…
Sherlock looked down with satisfaction as he saw the mortal fear fade from the deep aquamarine, tear-stained eyes looking up at him, as he felt the trembling in the elfin body curled up against his chest, settle.
His smile as he looked down was reassuring, "Leave it to me. I will take care of it." He stroked David's hair gently, "I want you to eat something and then sleep. Now."
Nodding at David's husband, who was hovering concernedly around the bed, he said, "Adrian, get him something to eat." He lowered David off onto the bed, "I need to set some things in motion."
Grabbing a letter from the bedside table he stood up and strode off, one hand busy texting on his phone.
It was some time before Adrian joined him as he sat in the living room sending a text.
I am in Edinburgh, John. Will keep you posted- SH
Sherlock's face was stern as he looked up at Adrian, "You should have called me as soon as you got the letter."
Adrian looked miserable as he stood wringing his hands, "I thought we could handle it. We spoke to some friends who have connections with the police. But …..yeah, things got a bit out of hand. He kept begging me to call you… But I didn't want to bother you. I'm so sorry, Sherlock."
Sherlock's expression softened, "Come here."
Adrian walked up to him and sank down to the ground, tucking his face between Sherlock's thighs as he shook, "Please….please Sherlock, make it go away. He can't go through that again. He won't survive it."
Sherlock stroked his cheek and then bent down to kiss his temple lightly, "It will go away. Forever this time. You have my word. I'm having someone meet me in the next half hour. Don't wait up. Stay with David."
There was a steely glint in his eyes as jaw clenched he read the blackmail note again, his brain racing. The other hand absently stroked Adrian's head as it lay on his lap.
John sat up in bed and sighed deeply, a sigh that seemed to come up from the soles of his feet and shudder its way through his entire exhausted body. He peered with bleary eyes at the clock. 6.30 am…..barely slept again last night…need to get up now, or I'll miss the 7.40 train…..
He worked on auto-pilot as he went about his morning routine listlessly.
The past week had been like hell on earth.
His mood seemed to vacillate between defiance and despair, frustration and desperation, anger and resentment and all the fucking shades of myriad emotions in between. He felt bone-tired, old and rudderless.
He had cajoled Julia into giving him extra shifts even though she did not really need another doctor at the moment. Any fucking thing to keep distracted, keep him out of his Sherlock-less coffin of a flat, to keep him from thinking too deeply into the way they'd left things and where he stood.
But ….one can run away from another place or person or situation….how to run away from my own mind, from myself….the thoughts kept engulfing him, his moods kept swinging like a rather demented yo-yo from anger to fear, from fear to depression, from depression to self-pity and from there back to anger…..and on and on and fucking on and on it went…
Sherlock had messaged once the day after to let John know he'd reached there.
I am in Edinburgh, John. Will keep you posted- SH
And then again four days later….
Things are taking longer than anticipated. I should be a few more days.- SH
Neither text had made John feel any better. Both had made the by now familiar sullen resentment burn in his chest. How could he have just left…..why did he have to leave…if he was going to David as a Dom and not to fuck him, all he had to do was tell me…which means that is what he was going for…although what does a Dom do apart from fucking and playing sex games with his Sub….…
He'd thought of Sherlock's words. What's there to decide? It's not like I can leave. You have a choice, he said. What choice? As if being without him is ever a choice…..it would finish me…..yes, yes, I know I'm a grown man, not a child…..but I can't live without him…..
He took a final look in the mirror as he combed his short hair. Am I not enough? He keeps saying that he loves his other Subs…am I not special though? I had thought I was special…..the only one Sherlock has ever shown an inclination for a relationship with…..those were Victor's words…..should I call Victor? He sneered at his own image. And say what? Sherlock has gone to see David, the same Sub he left you for…..and before he left he fucked me rather brutally and …..and…sudden tears pricked his eyes. His lips trembled as he looked into the mirror again. He clenched his jaw resolutely ….man up, Watson, you fucking agreed to this, you begged him for it…..
Sherlock frowned as he saw David's sweat-soaked body thrash about in the bed helpless in the grip of whatever nightmarish dream he was enduring, a pitiful mewling sound escaping his lips periodically, chest heaving as his arms and legs moved restlessly, throwing the bed covers into even more disarray.
"You go to him, Sherlock," Adrian whispered quietly. "He responds so much better to you."
Sherlock nodded and climbed into bed, gently pulling David's body close to his, his arms wrapped around him, rocking him, his lips on his temple, murmuring quietly, "It's alright now. Shh…I'm here. It's alright now. It's all over. He's never going to hurt you again. He's gone forever. Let go…I'm here, love."
He kept doing it till David's body slumped back and fell quiet.
Adrian sat at the foot of the bed, pulling up his husband's feet onto his lap, gently caressing the arches. He looked at Sherlock with worried eyes.
"Come here," Sherlock murmured quietly.
Gratefully, Adrian climbed in behind Sherlock and hugged the reassuring form of his Dom, his face buried in between Sherlock's shoulder blades, his hand over the strong, steady heartbeat, as though gaining succour from the mere presence, the strength.
Sherlock twisted his arm back and pulled him closer, "Don't worry. It will settle, just give it a few days. He's going to be fine, I promise you."
John stood by the staff room window at the clinic, staring vacantly, a half eaten sandwich in his hand.
"Oh…..Hi, John."
He turned to the sound of the door swinging open and smiled.
"Hey, Julia."
"I need to talk to you about a couple of things. Oh bloody hell!" she said as her mobile rang. "Sorry, John, just one moment," she said, holding up a finger.
John nodded agreeably as he eased himself into a chair, munching on the rest of his sandwich as he watched her. She perched her petite frame against the edge of the table, slim legs stretched in front of her, hands waving animatedly as she talked on the phone.
He'd developed an instant severe lust for Julia the minute he'd set eyes on her months ago. Drop dead gorgeous, smart, sassy, an impish smile that showed off a rather attractive small overbite…..His attempts at charming her had stopped when he realised that not only was she married but going through a rough patch. They'd developed a close friendship nevertheless and John had come to view his time at the clinic a bit of a sanctuary during the tumult of the months gone past.
God, everything about her was so normal, he thought. He'd forgotten what that felt like.
"Sorry, John," she said as she hung up. "Hmm….where was I? Oh yes, two things. First, we're having a staff celebration on Friday night on account of our winning the award. It's at the Chinese Palace…..fabulous food, John. I know because I order takeaway from them all the time. And they have a party room, so it's perfect for us. You can bring a date if you like or Sherlock maybe?"
John shook his head, "He's gone to Edinburgh. Look, I'll try and make it, but no promises."
She grabbed his arm, "No. I will not take no for an answer. Come on, John, be a sport. It'll be fun and great for morale."
"Okay, okay," John laughed, putting up a placating hand.
She squealed delightedly and sat down. "Okay. Second thing. I'm leaving on Saturday with a girlfriend to spend a week in Spain. Which means I won't be back to work for ten days from next Monday. Just in time for the awards. I needed to do a hand-over of some of my regulars, if you don't mind. I've asked Priscilla to book them with you. I trust you more than any other doctor here."
John pulled some rough paper that was lying around on the table towards himself. Taking out a pen, he said, "Okay, shoot."
"That was delicious," Sherlock said as he laid down the fork and knife over the empty plate.
David's smile was radiant as he clapped his hands proudly, "You liked it! Adrian and I came up with the recipe. It's an original. And it's become the signature dish of The Olive Garden."
He pulled Sherlock out of his chair by his arm, with the same entitlement that a child drags his parent around, "Come. I want to show you the extension we've planned for the restaurant. You'll love it." Sherlock got up with a short laugh.
He allowed himself to be tugged to the half completed new wing of the restaurant as David pointed out each detail. He threw his hand around Adrian's waist and pulled him close, listening indulgently as David prattled on and moved about, gesturing and waving his hands around.
Sherlock pointed to a wall, "What are you planning to put up there?"
"Well, we thought either a painting or a wall-hanging," Adrian replied.
Sherlock pursed his lips as he considered, "Hmm…Leave it to me. I'll get you the perfect painting."
Even as David kept talking, he pulled out his phone.
Victor, I need you to paint something bright and cheerful for me. It's for David and Adrian's restaurant. I'll text the address you need to send it to—SH
Looking up, he said to both of them, "You guys are all set here now. I'm going to drive back today."
Adrian turned his face up, his expression showing everything Sherlock needed to see- love, submission, gratitude, reverence.
Sherlock bent down and kissed his temple, pulling him closer.
"I know," he said softly.
The party was in full swing when John arrived.
The separate cozy party hall was crowded with staff members and their families. Loud music was playing in the background. A large banner, amateurish and funny, hung in the background with "PRACTICE OF THE YEAR" written in red blood ink and sporting caricatures of the doctors and nurses who worked there. Loud laughs and shrieks added to the revelry.
Julia came up to him as soon as he entered, in high spirits as she leaned up to kiss John's cheek.
"Hey there, John….took you long enough, I've been waiting," she said, hand on his elbow.
John smiled back and shouted back over the din, "Traffic. Couldn't get a cab. Got stuck."
Pulling him by his arms, Julia dragged him towards the assorted people standing around and sipping on their drinks, "Come, let's mingle. There are some more people I want to introduce you to."
John leaned back on his table as he watched Julia return with her drink in hand, dragging his eyes from her full bosom to her face as he smiled. Damn its nice being out and about with normal people for a change…no Doms and Subs and murderers and police…..
The noise had died down a bit as people settled in, nibbling on the snacks being circulated.
Julia leaned forward as she put her glass down, a mellow look in her eyes, "You know why I'm so happy today, John? The divorce papers finally came through. All done. I feel free. Finally." She put her hand on John's arm. "It's been bloody awful, you know." She shook her head ruefully, "Paul made such a fool of me and I believed in him blindly like a fucking half-wit-Have to work late tonight, darling. Have to finish this presentation by tomorrow," she mimed and snorted derisively. "God, I was such an idiot. How cliché is that, bloody wanker fucking his bloody secretary and making a fool of me for a year? I'm lucky to be rid of him."
She took another bite of her Chicken Chow Mein, looking up with sparkling, slightly tipsy eyes at John. "I feel like I've been given my life back again today, truly. And ten days of blissful vacation time to look forward to!" She shook her head in disbelief and gulped down the rest of her cocktail. She raised her hand with the empty glass to gesture at the waiter, her voice a bit loud as she yelled exuberantly, "Can I have another one? I want to CELEBRATE!"
John swayed a bit as he washed his hands in the sink of the rest-room. Damn, this is a great party. So glad I came. So much better than mooning about at home about bloody Sherlock…hope he's enjoying fucking bloody David…..
He went back into the party room, joining Julia at their table. Taking a long sip of her cocktail Julia flicked her hair back, eyes moving from John's lips to his eyes. Most of the staff members had left, only a couple remained. Julia stayed behind as the practice principal to settle the bill.
John waved to the hovering waiter, asking for a refill of his beer and then leaned forward as the conversation flowed on effortlessly. John talked about his time in the army, recounting various good saves and tragic losses as Julia listened with sympathetic eyes. They talked on about the clinic and Julia's plans about the future of the clinic. John talked about funny anecdotes about medical school, and Julia threw her head back and laughed before entertaining John with some of her own.
It was quite some time later that both stood up, just on the far side of tipsy without being plastered.
"Look, you just live a couple of blocks away. Let me walk you home and I'll take a cab back to the city," John suggested.
Julia leaned against him, blonde hair falling attractively over one hazel eye and smiled wickedly, "There's nothing I'd like better."
They stood on the front steps of her row house, on an empty street, only the glow of the street lamp illuminating their faces.
"Look….I'm not very good at subtlety," Julia said hesitantly as she stepped close to John. "I'm a shoot-from-the-hip kind of woman, as you know. And I'd really like it if you came in for some time, John…..if you catch my drift."
John licked his lips as his eyes darted all over her beautiful face….fuck, fuck…I'd have given my left nut for this a while ago. She looked like pure soft feminine temptation brought to life.
"I don't think that's such a good idea." His voice was not as confident as he'd hoped. "I mean we're both a bit drunk…."
Julia stared into his eyes, her voice husky, "It's been such a long time since I've had…..you know? And I trust you." She smiled, naked desire in her eyes, "Besides, you look positively edible tonight. Blue suits you. Like the colour of your eyes…..such a deep blue. You are a good-looking man, John."
John licked his lips as he looked down at her, the smooth skin of her shoulder glistening in the streetlight, covered by just a flimsy black spaghetti-strap. His eyes moved to her moist, parted lips as he inhaled the subtle feminine fragrance. Stop it….Sherlock….think about him….what's to think, he fucking left didn't he? Humiliated me and left… Asked me to decide whether I'd be okay with him fucking around or I could fucking leave…
Julia leaned closer, her pupils dilated attractively, "Come on, John. We're two consenting, unattached adults. Who could it hurt, to let go for just once?" A soft breast pressed against his chest as she moved closer.
So long….it's been so fucking long…..she's right, who could it hurt…..just one no-holds barred, no-expectation shag…..His heart beat faster as he wavered. That irritating voice in his head was back….Sherlock, you belong to Sherlock….what will you say to him? His fists clenched as he debated, struggling to stop himself from pulling down that strap and grabbing a couple of handfuls of soft womanly tits…..FUCK…..his dick twitching eagerly at the thought of plunging into a soft tight canal…..
He licked his lips again, smiling weakly, "Could get awkward you know, working in the same place with someone you've shagged." He tried to sound reasonable.
"Oh John," she sighed as she stepped closer. "Things only get awkward if we let them get that way. Both of us have been around long enough to know that a shag is just a shag." Her smile was alluring, the look all wicked invitation. Get a grip, Watson…..Sherlock…She pressed her breast more firmly. "It's been a while since….. And look, I don't even expect you to stay and make small talk. My flight leaves at seven in the morning…..so I'd actually prefer it if you left after, you know?" she reasoned, the voice of temptation.
So long since I've fucked something…..how the fuck will he know? He's not fucking God, is he? No matter how much he'd like to be… Fuck, he just left me and went…..almost raped me before he left….and he won't mind…..he pretty much said this is an open relationship…..would be nice to sink into a nice, hot hole…suck soft tits, his mouth salivated at the thought…..and this gorgeous woman is offering it…..so fucking long it's been…..
With a low growl he pulled Julia closer, his hand on her lower back. With a sigh she fell into the kiss, as their bodies clung to each other, tongues parrying, mouths moving, hands restlessly roving over each others bodies, breathing heavily as they groped.
"Hang on," she gave a short laugh as she pulled out her key from the purse and opened the door, "Inside…lets get inside."
They fell into the living room and Julia stretched one hand to flick on a floor lamp before returning into John's arms. One hand fisted into her soft, blonde hair, he tugged her head back as his lips roamed over her neck, suckling the sweet flesh, his hand moving down to cup her arse, pulling her closer to his engorged cock. FUCK….Sweet Jesus, FUCK… They jostled towards the sofa, his hand rubbing her mons, as she writhed in his arms, arching up to his touch, kissing him back with passion.
"Humph…." the puff escaped him as she pushed him down on the sofa and climbed on his lap. Insatiable soft lips kissed, her hands mussing his hair as John finally, finally pulled down the straps. With finesse born of years of experience he opened the clasp of her frilly black bra and threw it aside, grabbing her tits, kneading the soft flesh. So fucking long…Jesus, so soft…. He bent down to nibble at one rosy peak, while his other hand played with her nipples, rolling, flicking. Her head was thrown back as she pressed his head into her chest, uninhibited moans escaping her as she ground down against his raging hard-on.
John let go of her breasts, his hands pulling up her dress. She slipped it over her head and threw it aside. Arms around his head, she bent down to devour his mouth again, silky hair veiling his face as they kissed, as John put both his hands under her arse and hoisted her up. Carrying her straddled around his waist, her slim legs tightly wrapped around him, he staggered into what he fucking hoped was the fucking bedroom.
He threw her awkwardly on the bed and undressed urgently, wanting…..fuck…...He watched her sprawled, her breasts standing up proudly under his gaze, the flimsy black panties barely covering her mound. Fuck yeah…he bit his lip as he lowered himself on her, grinding his cock against her pussy, as he suckled on a boob.
"Condoms," she panted, pointing to the bedside drawer.
A flash of guilt flared through John…fuck, what am I doing? I can't do this….I shouldn't do this…..Sherlock…..
"Hurry up," she moaned, snaking her hand under the waistband of her panties, fingering herself, hips bucking up against his pelvis.
John hesitated…..he humiliated you and left…..you've a naked woman begging to get fucked…..be a man, Watson…..take her….
He slid the drawer open and grabbed the condoms.
John climbed up the stairs of 221B slowly.
During the cab ride home, he'd left the window open; it had helped clear his head a bit—from the buzz of alcohol and the rather athletic satisfying shag.
What have I done? Fucking hell…why did I do it? It was great while it lasted, my cock feels drained….but was it worth cheating on Sherlock for….no matter how angry I am at him…..so what if he's gone to his other Sub…..
He walked into the kitchen, still frowning as he made himself a cup of tea, lost in thought. He turned from the kitchen counter to go into the living room…another sleepless night, fucking hell…..
"John."
That one word in that unmistakeable husky baritone…
John swirled around, eyes widened, the cup slipping from his suddenly nerveless fingers and crashing down on the floor.
Heart hammering in his chest he bent down as if on autopilot giving a short laugh, "Oh….bloody hell, Sherlock, you scared me! When did you get back?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed as that perceptive mind kicked into high gear.
He squatted down next to John, inhaling deeply as he knelt. Senses on high alert as a barrage of input flooded in, he went into full deduction mode as his brain sifted through the incoming data at blinding speed. Eyes flicking and scanning, sensitive nose flaring….
Woman's perfume (My Burberry Black)…..semen…..recent ejaculation…..alcohol…..five strands of blonde hair averaging 25 cm in length stuck to his jumper….hair mussed up…blood shot post-coital eyes….area of ecchymosis peaking out of the neckline of his jumper- love bite…hands trembling….panic reaction….pulse point fluttering in his neck-heart rate 120 bpm….. respiratory rate 24 pm…..face flushed…
"Two hours ago," he murmured, face falling into an impassive mask with practiced ease, hands busy with picking up the pieces.
He rose gracefully to drop the pieces in the bin and stepped back, watching calmly.
John fumbled as he ran a dishcloth over the wet patch and then straightened, washing the cloth in the sink, angling himself away from Sherlock…..he can't see me trembling….fuck, he'll know…can't let him see me like this….
A visceral reaction of imminent panic started to curl inside him.
"Yeah…..I'd ….. was with some of the clinic staff….having a few drinks, you know?" he mumbled, hands working feverishly with the dishcloth. Need to get out of here…..I'm going to make a mess of things if I stay here…..the sick bile of nausea rose in his chest.
He threw the dishcloth abruptly and turned to Sherlock, a too-bright smile on his face, "Actually….you know what? I forgot some papers with them. They're just a block from here…..maybe I'll go and get the papers."
He threw on his jacket and stumbled out of the flat without waiting for a response, uncaring about what it looked like, the urge to escape that all-knowing gaze overpowering any rationality left in him.
Sherlock watched with narrowed eyes as John mumbled lies and ran out of the flat.
Okay then.
He waited for two minutes, motionless in one place, teeth worrying his lower lip, deep in thought, before putting on his coat with deliberation and walking out of the flat.
John walked as fast as he could, heart hammering, neither knowing nor caring where he was headed. His strides lengthened to a trot as the thoughts churned.
Holy fuck….fuck it all to buggering hell…when did he get back….why did it have to be now? What if he finds out…..what if he throws me out….or leaves…..I can't live without him…I can't let him find out….what the fuck was I fucking thinking…..hope my act was enough….
His legs carried him to the quieter back streets. OhMyGod…..Oh God….The urge to puke suddenly hit him like a sledgehammer; the severe anxiety, panic and fear rising up his food-pipe having taken the physical form of corrosive bile.
He swerved into a back alley and let go.
Head bent, he retched as all the alcohol and food gushed out as a projectile jet of vomit. Some of the regurgitated mess-partially digested noodles, rice, bits of meat mixed in a stinking mess of digestive juices, alcohol and bile-sprayed over his own clothes. He went down on one knee as though someone had kicked him in the stomach, as he retched loudly again and again, his stomach in knots as it contracted ineffectually to empty itself.
Cold sweat covered his face. Fucking hell….get a grip….oh God, oh fucking Jesus…..he will know…..what have I done? What was I thinking? His hands were braced on the filthy ground in the alley struggling to hold his trembling body up. His breath was a laboured wheeze, a sobbing noise in his throat as he fought to breathe through the overwhelming waves of panic engulfing him. It was a full blown panic attack…..Christ, years since I've had one of these…not since Sherlock jumped off that fucking roof….Oh God, Sherlock…Sherlock….what have I done? He can't find out…..please, please God…..Help me, please…..He felt as though he were choking on his own failures…..why can't I ever get anything right…Sherlock…..Oh God, Sherlock…starting to feel light-headed with the lack of oxygen as he struggled to breathe, the world staring to go dark…
"Breathe, John."
The firm hand on the nape of his neck squeezed gently, the one voice in the world that his soul responded to, spoke.
He looked up with glassy eyes, as Sherlock sank down to sit on the filth, pulling John into his arms.
"Come on, John. You can do it. Breathe deeply with me. Deep breath…In…..Out…that's it, do it with me…..In…..Out."
John pressed his nose closer to Sherlock's neck, gulping in deep breaths through his open mouth, taking in life-giving oxygen as well as the comfort of Sherlock's smell. He sat hauled over Sherlock's legs, as Sherlock supported his head with one hand, while the other hand lay over his belly rubbing gently.
"That's it, John. Doing well, my love. Breathe deeply," the deep voice crooned softly, helping him to breathe, to break the iron clasp of the panic attack. Sherlock rocked his body gently, his hand gently smoothing back the sweaty hair, his lips soft against John's temple. John could feel the strong heartbeat as his chest pressed into Sherlock's, steadily thudding through John's body like a drum beat. He clasped Sherlock's sock-clad ankle with one out-stretched hand, an anchor.
Slowly, steadily both worked to get the panic under control for the next several minutes.
"Oh, Jesus…." John gasped out as reason slowly returned, mortified at his state. Fear started creeping back in, dark and ugly.
"Shh….it's alright now," Sherlock said softly as he rubbed his hand over John's arm. "Let's get you home and cleaned up."
He helped John up and supported him as they slowly walked the four blocks home in silence.
Panic and nausea both settling down as the chilly air swirled around him, John felt limp, drained, letting Sherlock take his weight as he walked slowly.
Back at 221B, he firmly declined Sherlock's offer to help him get cleaned up, as he closed the bathroom door to his Dom's face and locked it. Grimacing as he peeled off the soiled clothes and throwing them in a corner, he sat down on the closed toilet lid and buried his face in his hands, his mind numb with shock, unsure about what to think.
The knock on the bathroom door pulled him out of his daze.
"John, are you okay? May I come in?" Sherlock's voice floated in, concerned, insistent.
"I'm fine. Just got the runs, you know? Must have eaten something….." John answered lamely.
He stared ahead with unseeing eyes, recalling the last time he'd heard that same knock, those same words. Was it just over two months ago? Sherlock had stood in this same bathroom soiled with John's urine and faeces, he had cleaned John and given him a bath. He remembered his fear of disability, abandonment.
What if this is not temporary? What if this is the way it's going to be forever?
I'll still be here.
How could he have forgotten so quickly? Flashes of memory hit him….Sherlock cooking Spagetti Marinara in the kitchen…..you need to eat, John. You need to get your strength back…..Sherlock yelling at him as he'd put his hands on John's chest to give CPR…John? Don't make me do this, John. Come on, fight damn you. It cannot end like this. I won't permit it…
How quickly I forgot? Sherlock is right, the mind is fickle…..how quickly I forgot everything…Yours, Sherlock. Yours to own, yours to use, yours to command…how quickly I forgot everything that he's done and said…how quick I was to react, to rage…at the man I had sworn to serve, at my Dom….
What do I do now? Should I tell him and risk losing him, his trust? Or should I hide it? Is it possible to hide anything from Sherlock?
He leaned forward on the toilet, elbows digging into his knees as he buried his face in his hands and tried to think.
Sherlock stood outside the door for a long time, slender musician's fingers pressed against the panelling as if willing it to open by the strength of his will-power alone even as his head hung low, accepting of John's rejection.
Sherlock watched out of the corner of his eyes as John finally came out of the bathroom, had a drink of water and went into the bedroom, mumbling a "Good night" on the way.
He closed his eyes and went back to playing his violin, gaze turned inwards. He played little pieces that he knew John liked, hoping that would help soothe the frenzied demons of savage emotions that he knew must be raging through John's stream of consciousness at that very moment, incessantly circling his head as they danced and tore his brain to little pieces.
The useless mediocre emotions of the mediocre mind….desire, jealousy, anger, guilt, doubt, fear, angst, insecurities….holding the brilliance of the mighty awareful intellect captive, enslaving it by suffocating it with delusionary circular thought, smothering every experience with subjectivity and flawed perception, never allowing it to soar to the heights it was meant to. Day after day after day. Can they not see it? What is it like in their funny little brains?
He sighed.
Oh John, where do we go from here?
He played on.