Sherlock sighs beside him. The both of them stands up, Sherlock decides to look in front of the window. He looks around the room. 'Sherlock's parents... Who would've thought?' His parents. Then a thought comes across his mind. "Did they know too?" He suddenly asks.
Sherlock hums in question. He notices how Sherlock suddenly becomes interested in the window's curtains.
"That you spent one year playing hide and seek."
"...Maybe..."
"So THAT's why they didn't report you missing!"
"Sorry! Sorry again!" Sherlock half-yells, flailing his arms. He turns around in anger. "Sorry," he hears Sherlock say behind him. He's never heard that tone of Sherlock's before. He looks at Sherlock for a second. He's still not ready to forgive him for not telling him. For abandoning him. He wants to change the subject.
He cannot think of anything except for Sherlock's parents. Sherlock has his mother's eyes and the face of his father.
"So, Potter..." he tells Sherlock.
Sherlock looks at him with a very confused look. "What?" Sherlock tilts his head.
He laughs at his own joke. "Hey, Harry... You have your mother's eyes..." He gasps for air as he laughs at the confused look on Sherlock's face.
"I-I don't... I'm not Harry! That's your sister!" Sherlock says with confusion.
He is holding his stomach tightly. He cannot breathe. 'Nice way of talking to Sherlock after a year.'
He doesn't know what's wrong with John. First John calls him "Potter" and then John's laughing like a hyena on the couch. Is he sick or what? John even calls him "Harry"! Is he getting him confused with his sister? Oh no. That's not good. He walks up to John and sits in front of him. So now he's sitting on the table.
"John?"
"Yes, chosen one?" John chuckles.
"What's wrong?"
"What's wrong?" He sees the genuine concern on Sherlock's face and his laughter stops in an instant. He isn't surprised Sherlock does not know who Harry Potter is but... to see him be concerned for him because of something, that sobers him up.
"Nothing... Nothing..." He answers.
"So... Are you confusing me with your sister?"
He is about to laugh again but the look on Sherlock's face stops him. "No. It's a reference. There's a book series called Harry Potter and the character has the face of his father and the eyes of his mother. Kind of like you."
Sherlock seems to get the point already and says, "Oh." and chuckles. "Well, it's a reference but I don't understand why you're laughing like that."
He thinks about what Sherlock just said. It makes sense. It isn't as funny as it really is. He guesses that he's been so stressed lately that a little teensy tiny joke made him laugh like a hyena since he hasn't laughed - with real laughter - in a long time.
"I don't know what came over me," he shrugs and Sherlock nods.
Sherlock stands up from the table and so does he. He notices how very gentle and slow Sherlock is being with his movements. He doesn't understand. Sherlock doesn't care about how to handle with furniture or other stuff. Why is he being cautious with this? 'Probably wants to impress his parents.'
He chuckles. "What?" Sherlock asks, looking at him, unbuttoning his suit jacket, about to sit down. 'Well-mannered son of a bitch.'
"Nothing. You're just an attention-seeking baby," he answers.
"Oh they give me attention all right," Sherlock laughs, sitting down on the arm chair which is probably his favourite. He sits on the arm chair in front of Sherlock. The two laughs.
He feels the familiar warmth like he always had when they were in Baker Street, before Sherlock left and lied to him for a year.
Silence.
"So..." Sherlock starts.
"So...?" He asks.
Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Why are you here?"
'Oh. Right.' He thinks to himself. Why did he come to Sherlock's after a long time of not seeing him? He doesn't have a reason. "I don't know," he answers honestly.
"Then what's the point of you coming here?" Sherlock asks, sighing annoyingly. It's like Sherlock thinks he is a bother.
"I don't know."
"Well, that is one swell of a point," Sherlock says sarcastically with a sarcastic smile and a sarcastic wave of his hand. He just want to tackle him to the ground again. Sherlock is testing him and he might even fail.
"Look. I don't know why I am here, alright? I just am." He shrugs.
"Right," Sherlock nods angrily. 'Is that even possible?' Sherlock is looking at his own hand on the arm of his chair, tapping on the soft arm. Clearly annoyed with him.
"Look, if you don't want me here-" he stands up.
"Don't," Sherlock half-yells, pointing at him but Sherlock's eyes are still stuck on the arm of the chair. "Just don't," now he's looking at the ground, closed his eyes, opened them again and sighs. Sherlock points at the chair he was sitting on, "Sit." Sherlock says firmly.
"Are you ordering me to sit?" He snaps. Sherlock's hands now rest on the arms of his chair, those eyes still stuck on the floor.
"I'm asking you to sit," Sherlock tells him.
"No."
"Are you not going to ask why I rudely shooed my father to talk to you?" Sherlock tells him.
He cannot answer that. He didn't even notice that. He thought Sherlock shooed Mr. Holmes because Mr. Holmes is being an embarassing dad a son wants to hide from his friends. Apparently not. Sherlock shooed his father to talk to him. He isn't aware that he's been staring at Sherlock until he tries to answer Sherlock's question.
He clears his throat, "Fine. I will, then," he shrugs and sits down on the chair as if he is being forced to be seated. He doesn't want Sherlock to know how curious and drawn he is to him. Why must he have a man's ego?
Sherlock sighs. "Well, I never had time to explain myself to you."
'Probably because you did say that I'd bother you.' "Ahuh," he lets Sherlock continue.
"I didn't contact you when I left because... because..." Sherlock looks like he is thinking of something to say.
"Because...?" 'Please don't lie. Please don't lie. Please don't lie.'
"Because..." Sherlock's eyes widen. "Because I didn't want to be found."
He looks at Sherlock curiously. 'THAT, I was not expecting.' "Didn't want to be found?"
"That's what I said, yes."
"Why didn't you want to be found?"
Sherlock sighs. Sherlock's been doing that a lot lately. Sighing. "Because I had to die."
He looks at Sherlock with a confused, alarmed, what-the-fuck-did-he-say look. "What?!"
"I have more enemies than I usually had and I had to step back into the shadows."
"Enemies? Who? Your bullies? That's not a reasonable excuse to disappear!" He snaps. Sherlock just stares at him, not moving. Just like the time before the disappearance. He stops the thought from continuing in his head. Sherlock's eyes aren't even blinking.
"Enemies? Who? Your bullies? That's not a reasonable excuse to disappear!" John snaps at him. He stares at John, not moving. There's the word. Bullies. He tries to remember the meaning of the word. He searched for that when he was younger.
Bully (n.)
Plural: Bullies
1. A person who uses strength or power to harm or intimidate those who are weaker.
No. He isn't being bullied. He doesn't have bullies. Because he isn't weak. He knows he could be stronger than any of those... those... sadists. They're probably sadists, yes. Not in the sexual way though, thank god. No, they're sadists in a way that they like to see him get hurt. Only him. That's what he'd call them. Sadists. Not bullies. He refuses to believe he is weak. 'But that's what you are, right?' He removes the voice in his head. Worst of all, it's John's voice. He removes it.
'Removing John's voice? Shows how weak you are,' his own voice says and he grunts in frustration. 'Shut up. Keep quiet. You're weak, Sherlock. I am your voice and I tell you that you are weak. NO SHUT UP! I am just telling you the truth. BE QUIET. And yet you stay.'
"-you are? You didn't even bother to give me a note at least." John's voice snaps him out from the battle he has with himself.
"No, I didn't."
"Oh so you're talking decently now? Alright," John claps his hand in a sarcastic manner. 'Why is John suddenly THIS angry?' "Let's hear it. Why didn't you give me a simple text to - Oh I don't know - tell me you're okay? Hmm? Let's start with that."
'Because I was too high to talk to you.' "Because I had to."
"The bloody hell are you talking about?"
"People are watching me, John."
"People of high positions are watching a teenage-boy? Yes, that's really true. You know what? I don't care anymore. I don't care why you had to leave. I want to know why you never told me. Why, Sherlock? Pray, tell."
He sighs. "Because I don't want to be found."
"So why won't you just tell me that with a text or a note?"
"Because you'd try to find me."
John looks at him the same way at the time he went to the restaurant and surprised the bejesus out of John.
"And why on Earth would you think I'd even try to find you?"
He looks at John. That stings. But he doesn't show it. He tries to look at this encounter with John in a very calm manner. Should he try to switch on the Machine-Button? Because it would stop him from leaving the room and smashing everything in his path. The worst part is that he knows the answer to his question. 'Because I would use everything in my power to find you.' He thought John would think the same. Apparently not.
"Your morality and the fact that we have seen each other for almost a year: That would make you think of the right thing to do. You've met me and have been my companion for a long time. I disappear, I give you a mysterious note. You'd do your best to get to the bottom of this."
"Huh," John just sighs, leaning on the back of the arm chair John is sitting on and looks at him with an angry look in his eyes. Others might think it's just a simple normal look. But he is certain, he is very certain, that those are eyes of a person who would murder him if looks could kill. "So you're a narcissistic heartless uncaring self-centred machine. Is that it?" John tells him.
He's been stabbed a lot of times. He's body felt burns a lot of times. He's been thrown, almost drowned, an inch to death, punched, kicked, choked, hit and such a lot of times. But nothing hurts more than this. He sighs, he's starting to feel dizzy with unwanted emotions. He hates unwanted emotions. He did not ask for them. "John," he whispers.
He's still staring at him. 'Sherlock, did you just fucking go to your Mind Palace while we're in conversation?!' He looks at Sherlock. He isn't moving.
"This is exactly why I am annoyed with you, you know? You're there sitting while we're having a conversation. You probably won't even hear me so just sit there and I'll tell you what I think. I came here to see you because I thought I was ready to forgive you and I wanted to see if you're okay. You are still lying to me, Sherlock. I know you're not okay! I can see you well. And you know what I thin-"
"Shut up. Keep quiet," Sherlock suddenly mutters. His eyes still stuck on him.
"How dare you shut me up? So you have been listening, huh? I'm finally telling you things I want you to hear so you'd know what to do and you're telling me to shut up and keep quiet. You're a bloody idiot! You suddenly leave the world like it's nothing. You're careless, then. You don't think properly! You probably didn't even care about how we'd feel when we find out that y-"
"NO SHUT UP!"
"Fuck you, Sherlock! Don't yell at me you shit! I'm not even saying my worst! I will kill you and I-"
"BE QUIET!"
"Sherlock, you're a fucking machine. Who do you even think you are? You didn't even bother to give me a note at least."
"No, I didn't," Sherlock whispers at him.
"Oh so you're talking decently now? Alright," he claps his hand in a sarcastic manner. 'You arsehole!' "Let's hear it. Why didn't you give me a simple text to - Oh I don't know - tell me you're okay? Hmm? Let's start with that."
"Because I had to," Sherlock shrugs at him
"The bloody hell are you talking about?" He grows frustrated.
"People are watching me, John," Sherlock tells him.
"People of high positions are watching a teenage-boy? Yes, that's really true. You know what? I don't care anymore. I don't care why you had to leave. I want to know why you never told me. Why, Sherlock? Pray, tell."
Sherlock sighs. Sherlock looks annoyed. "Because I don't want to be found."
"So why won't you just tell me that with a text or a note?"
"Because you'd try to find me."
'Oh-ho-ho. Now that's a motherfucking nice answer! The world doesn't bloody revolve around you, Sherlock. You think that if you disappeared that I'd find you like a dog trying to find its master? Is that what I am to you? A fucking dog?' he looks at Sherlock and he is just bloody angry at him. Sherlock swallows but then looks bored.
"And why on Earth would you think I'd even try to find you?" He says through gritted teeth. 'Calm down, Watson. Calm down. Don't kill him yet.'
Sherlock tilts his head at him, looks at the ground, raises his head a little, breathes in and looks at him. "Your morality and the fact that we have seen each other for almost a year: That would make you think of the right thing to do. You've met me and have been my companion for a long time. I disappear, I give you a mysterious note. You'd do your best to get to the bottom of this."
"Huh," he just sighs, leaning on the back of the arm chair he is sitting on and looks at Sherlock. 'So you're blaming me now? AND COMPANION?! I'M JUST A MOTHERFUCKING COMPANION TO YOU?! So after all this time I've been trying to be your friend, I'm just a bloody companion! I knew you treat me like a fucking dog.' "So you're a narcissistic heartless uncaring self-centred machine. Is that it?" he tells Sherlock.
He looks at Sherlock and Sherlock looks like someone shot a gun at him, "John," he whispers.