John woke up to the gentle feeling of Sarah shaking him. He rubbed his neck. Another painful night on the sofa.
'Coffee?' She asked. She was being friendly to him. Trying to act as if nothing had happened. John felt like a total dick.
'No, I think I'm just going to go home.'
'John. Please. Can we talk about this?'
'No Sarah, we can't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's over.'
She tried pleading with him, but it was no good. He felt awful but it didn't stop him from running out of her flat. Welcoming the cool air of the London breeze of his face. He decided to walk home. He needed time to think.
When he reached 221B Baker Street John wondered what he should tell Sherlock. He knew Sherlock would grill him about his date. He could tell him that the dinner went well, which was true, they had laughed and joked and flirted outrageously. He could tell him that he let Sarah choose the movie and it was awful. He could say that they made out on the sofa like a pair of teenagers. Again true. But then, maybe he should just leave it at the part where Sarah had invited him upstairs. Not tell him that she had tried to undress him. Had touched the scar on his shoulder through his shirt. The scar, it was ugly, it was horrible. Her touching it hurt, not just physically, he brought back all the noise, all the terror he felt when he had been shot. Lying there, pleading for his life.
'Stop, please just stop' He grabbed her arms. Holding them perfectly still. It was gone, the moment was gone, and the arousal was no more. He closed his eyes and all he could see what war and death.
He walked up the stairs to the flat. Hopefully Sherlock was asleep and he could settle down with a nice cup of tea.
Sherlock bounded up to him with all the energy of a Labrador puppy. His legs were too long for his body. His usual poise and elegance was gone. He seemed jerky and on edge.
'Sherlock. Are you OK?
'Yes John, I am fine' Sherlock beamed at him. Then stopped smiling and tried to look indifferent.
'I am sound John, really sound' Ok that was weird. Not only was Sherlock using slang, but he was also trying to sound...well common. The usual silky, well spoken edge to his voice had gone.
'Would you like a beer?' he asked.
'Sherlock it's 10 in the morning!'
'Oh, tea then. I'll put the kettle on' It was at this point John noticed he clothes Sherlock was wearing. He expected Sherlock to be in his usual blue silk dressing gown, even his immaculate suit jacket and trousers. Except he wasn't. Instead he was wearing jeans and an old T shirt. And there was something else.
'Sherlock is that gel in your hair?'
'Yes, I want to impress the ladies'
'Sherlock, are you sure you are feeling alright?'
'Yes John, I'm fine. I thought we could watch the match later.'
'The match?' John raised his eyebrows.
'Yes, you know the footie'
'I thought you hated football?'
'Nonsense, it will be great, manly flatmates guys sitting on the sofa watching the footie, it's perfect. In a completely hetero way of course.'
He was going to ask Sherlock what the hell was going on when Sherlock's phone buzzed.
A couple of seconds later Sherlock was dashing about the flat pulling his coat and scarf on.
'We have a case John! A woman's has been found in Islington. Possibly strangled. Lestrade wants us there right away'
He dashed out the flat to hail down a taxi leaving John bemused. He breathed a sigh of relief, at least he didn't have to talk about his date...Yet.
So, the game is on *cue dramatic music* Hope you like it. Review and let me know what you all think. Will Sherlock tell John his true feelings? Who murdered the woman? and will John ever get to have sex? Stay tuned to find out. :P xxxxx