Chapter 4
"Finally, this stupid food. I have never actually seen you eat, Sherlock. This will be a unique experience." John moseyed to the table where Sherlock was perched in his wheelchair waiting.
"Digesting slows me down, but nothing can slow you down more than a bloody wheelchair, so I have no reason not to be even more slow. Must be like this for you all the time." John paused, smiling at the first friendly insult since the accident. Why do I feel so happy? I should be bloody angry for that comment. "That's a little… rough."
"You don't care." Why doesn't he care? This is ridiculous. Observe his breathing. He usually exhibits a heated and angered response. This time he continues to be relaxed, even a smile. He may not care about me anymore. Maybe he doesn't want to be around my mind and it's responses any longer. I have probably exhausted him of his leniency.
"Why do you say that?" John replied. Of course I don't care. I l-. John would not let that thought cross his mind. He was a soldier, an army man. They had spent so much time trying to convince the world of their friendship, or rather that their friendship was only a friendship. Ever since that damned run we made holding hands. This is ridiculous.
"John, I am not going to waste your time. If you are exhausted of me, you may leave whenever you wish. You do not have to stay and take care of me. I assume that I have exhausted you of your leniency after the incident." Bloody hell. I hope he doesn't say yes. Sherlock's eyes widened at this surprise of his own feelings. He never needed anyone before, yet here he was, hoping John would pledge his love for Sherlock on this very dirty floor. Truly strange; when Jim Moriarty left me his number, I had not known it was Moriarty, and yet I still did not want anything to do with him. I have, in fact, never wanted permanent companionship.
"That is absolutely not the way I feel. You have exhausted me, but I will not leave you. I care about you." John immediately became flushed and flustered, Sherlock, at the same time, observed this without fail. In reaction, he too became confused, not only at John, but at the feeling of his heart beating faster and faster. My body betrays me yet again, just as John's has. He truly cares about me. He has refrained from moving for such a time that I can actually see his pulse, accelerated. He is flushed, signs of embarrassment, such that he has just revealed his true feelings, and his breathing hitched for a few moments, signaling shock and worry as to my reply.
The seemingly innocent conversation had turned frightfully betraying of John and Sherlock's feelings, but only betrayed them to Sherlock, not to mention in a frighteningly short period of time.
"On the roof, Moriarty died as well." Sherlock stated. This was decidedly the best time to explain what had happened to John.
"Of course. I know that. They found him."
"Blaming me, of course."
"Well… yes."
"Not important." Sherlock paused. "He was a genius, you know. Absolutely fantastic. He completely ruined me. Even killed himself to do it."
John was speechless.
"Look. I need you to listen more carefully than you ever have. The Reichenbach Fall? Well, Reichenbach's translation is Richard Brook. He had a full fake identity, unfaultable to anyone other than I, and maybe you. My suicide was the finale. It was the final way of ensuring the burning of my heart." Sherlock's nose started twitching the way dog's do when they snarl. "I knew it would happen. Molly, being so devoted to my cause, said yes when I requested her help. She saved me. You didn't watch. I told you to watch, John." Sherlock sounded so agitated about it now. He slammed his fist on the table. For the first time in the whole explanation, Sherlock looked at John, stared at him, their stare was unbreakable. "He made me jump. Said that everyone who I cared about would die if I didn't. I tried to make him call it off, but he shot himself before I could. It was all lost. I knew I had to jump. He had three gunmen, three bullets, and you three. No way to call off the murders except to see me fall from the roof of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. So I jumped. I told you; tried to make you understand that I was ok. You didn't watch. I didn't want you to think me dead." Sherlock broke the stare and looked down at the floor.
"I was tripped. I got up as soon as I could to rush to you. I made sure. I saw you. Wait, who three? Other than me." John blushed hardly enough to see, but of course Sherlock saw it.
"Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. The children's case was the start of making it look like I was the one who set up the crimes. It is so deeply embedded, John. The whole criminal underworld thought I had the non-existent anti-security code."
"My god…" John stared at Sherlock, searching for a hint of emotion in the man's face. He found it, Sherlock's face contorted with anger until he couldn't hold it in anymore. Sherlock started crying. Crying. "Sherlock? Oh my god." John scrambled up in disbelief and devastation. He hit his shin on the chair, and his hip on the corner of the table, but eventually managed to make his way over to Sherlock's wheelchair. John didn't know what to do once he got there, but he didn't know what not to do. He wanted to hug him, kiss all of his pain away; he wanted to promise that everything would be all right, but he knew that wasn't true. Sherlock made John's decision for him and grasped at John, hugging him around his waist. John was almost surprised, but the speed at which everything was going did not allow for extended thought. John crouched down and on his knees, hugged Sherlock around his waist and laid his head against Sherlock's chest, Sherlock kept his arms around John and they stayed there. Sherlock wept, and John did as much as he could to help and hold the strongest and most brilliant man he knew as he became broken in front of him.