I miss you! So sorry for the delays! School is out in two weeks (and counting!), and then my mind will finally be clear enough to focus. Thank God for summer.
This is obviously more than a drabble, but what can I say? Sherlock is complex. It's set just before the Pool scene in The Great Game. Hope you like it!

Almost Persuaded

He did come so close—so very, very close. Even as he sat, curled up with a deviously convincing air of leisure before the crap reality show, pretending (with mounting difficulty—the participants were so obviously paid actors) to be suitably distracted, his mind was racing, in a conflict with itself that he had never quite experienced before. A part of him—the logical, scheming part that had so long dominated the rest of his brain—propounded to taking John with him to the Pool (John had, if his scribbled notes were anything to go by, taken to capitalizing the name of the place). He was, after all, a crack shot, and while he was honourable in his respect for life, he had no compunction about killing when absolutely necessary; he had made that clear with the cab driver in what was now, apparently, perpetually called "A Study in Pink," and in his low threat to the Golem only the day previous. More than that, John was brave, and reliable; he may not agree with the plan to meet the infamous Moriarty face-to-face, but he would certainly not back down if it meant being there to aid and watch over Sherlock. Overall, it was logical.

But there was…something else. Something he was missing and could not quite grasp, lingering somewhere in the far regions of his mind. It was this that halted him, and this that made him answer yes when John questioned whether or not the plans had been returned to Mycroft. But what?

Then, John had pushed away from the desk and announced that he was off to Sarah's. And Sherlock suddenly understood.

John was normal. He was still young, and still had a good many years ahead of him. He had a nice, ordinary girlfriend who appeared to be growing rather fond of him as their relationship steadily grew. He was intelligent—by normal standards, perhaps, but that counted in a normal society—and could have a promising career in medicine once it began (Sherlock was well aware that he was part of the reason it had not yet). He was pleasant, and polite, and simple. He had a strong chance of marrying, and having a little house on some quiet, residential road, with two short, blonde children and a big dog.

Yes, perhaps it was true that he would never be entirely domesticated. John was refreshingly unique in that respect; he craved the danger and adventure as much as Sherlock himself did. But John was oddly lucky; Sherlock knew that, one way or another, he would find a way to have the serene life he so wanted and the exciting one as well.

John Watson had the chance to find his place in the world.

Sherlock knew, as surely as he knew the sun would rise, that he did not have the chance that John did. He had no place in society—not really. Even his profession had been exclusively created by himself. There were people who knew him, and would certainly notice if he was suddenly gone—Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, John…especially John—but so what? He would never entirely conform to their ideals, and in the end, he would probably die unattached. His life was only worth the thrill of the case, of the puzzles; beyond that, he had little to offer anyone.

John stood and brushed past him, and he raised his hand and opened his mouth and almost—almost—stopped him from leaving. Then, he didn't, because John's life was too valuable, much too promising and good to risk in such a dark war. This was Sherlock's battle, and he would not destroy the only man for whom he had ever cared because he was frightened and selfish.

He only hoped that John would forgive him.

First things first. Golem is spelled correctly, right? As I've said quite a few times, I detest research. Even so simply as looking up the name on the end credits. *hehe*
And secondly—I'm not sure if this is my best. It's only one o'clock in the morning here, and coupled with the fact that I am half-asleep, my best writing usually comes at around two. Forgive me.
I hope you liked it anyway!
Oh, and one question. I know it's random and probably strange to ask this, but…How many of you married/engaged women remove your ring to take a shower? I'll explain in the next chapter I post. ;)