Sherlock arrived in his room and closed the door behind him softly. Without releasing the handle, he paused to ponder about today's recent events. His discovery found itself at the back of his mind and the centre of it became John.
Beforehand, Sherlock believed John to be emotionally strong. Someone with the strength to not only support himself, but ten other men. Yes, he was very sentimental in his priorities that caused him to think very irrationally, which annoyed the detective rather much, but he still managed to hold himself together, something that Sherlock admired in John. Seeing John at his most vulnerable had been an eye opener for the detective, he felt he shared something with this man that he was sure no other individual had witnessed. A connection, of some sort.
Sherlock was deep in thought, and needed to evaluate these foreign concepts and feelings that were invading his mind. He released the handle that was held captive by his hand and sauntered majestically towards the violin that sat strewn across his bed. As he lunged for the instrument, his hand dragged across his soft cotton duvet cover. He closed his eyes, vividly imagining John laying by his side underneath the covers, resting his head on the detective's strong chest. He could imagine his hands sliding subtly through the doctor's hair, massaging his scalp as he slept.
The violin reached his grasp and he pulled it towards him and rested his chin on the chin rest. With his right hand, he clutched the bow and began to play a thoughtful, yet cheerful melody. The violin helped him think and today was no exception.
Those soft eyes. That heartwarming smile. The empathetic care and attention he delivers, as such would be expected from a Doctor but his John was different. His John. Never had those words been pieced together in his mind, but they seemed so right. Sherlock paused in mid-flow as he came to a sudden conclusion.
'All this time,' he thought. 'John.'
Sherlock knew he couldn't confess anything to the Doctor. Sentiment. It was dangerous, and even having John as a friend has led to them both being put into some tense and difficult situations. Anything more could destroy them both and he wasn't willing to risk that. Above all, what if John rejected him? From what Sherlock gathered, he was a straight man.
The detective sighed as he placed his violin down beside the bedside table before proceeding to fall back onto the bed and grabbed the nearest pillow to thrust over his face in frustration.
A beep echoed from deep within his pocket. Sherlock dived in to the depths and pulled out his phone. He cautiously peered at the phone as he slowly removed the pillow from his face, allowing it to slide on to the bed. It was a text, from John:
Dinner is served. Sorry, it's all we have. - JW
A smile grew on the detective's face, as genuine as his excitement has been. He began to scroll through his previous messages with John, laughing at the memories that they brought, until he came across the ones that made his heart sink.
How could John ever forgive him enough for what he had done?