10 - Sherlock
The first time that Sherlock had seen John, he had been testing out a new technique to detect blood. Mike had entered and he had glanced at the stiff man behind him thinking, "so Mike has found me a flatmate so quickly. I hope that he isn't a disappointment like the others." When John offered him his phone, Sherlock took a good look at him and he was fascinated.
A soldier, injured in the war, stiff, patriotic as if he came from another age. John was a mystery greater than anything in the lab. He was captivating. Totally mismatched to this age. Edges of anger and despair. Steady, sharp, handsome. Sherlock wanted to see more of him. As he walked away from him sipping his coffee, He knew that he needed to impress him. That John Watson was the kind of man who couldn't leave a mystery alone. Sherlock wanted him as a flatmate. He put on his coolest persona. He even winked. He never winked at anyone. It was just the beginning of the playful foolishness that John induced in Sherlock whenever he was around.
Lestrade had commented on it. The way that he had kept John as close as the newest mobile phone. Sherlock was surprised himself at how happy he felt when John praised him, and how much he needed to impress him. He had been almost giddy during the serial suicides case. And when he realized that John had killed a man to save him he was overwhelmed with emotion. It was as if a hero from the Indian wars had waltzed into his apartment: Loyal, smart, incredibly brave. A man who trusted in his own morality above the law. Steady under pressure. A little bit dangerous. Sherlock was captivated, infatuated.
Every day, every moment that they had spent together he became more attached. With John he thought better, talking to John helped him make connections. When he was depressed John pulled him out of it. John was funny. He was always surprising.
Before John, life was so chaotic. A constant struggle to find meaning in a world of stupidity. Moriarty was right. Life was boring and pointless most of the time, but death wasn't the answer. Death meant leaving John. But now, John was leaving him. Somehow Sherlock had believed that they would always be together.
Sherlock imagined John walking out of the door for the last time. A cold feeling came over him. Without John, he knew that he would get colder and colder until his heart was made of ice. Sherlock felt the warmth of a tear on his face. He looked down at John's sleeping figure. "Don't leave me. Please don't leave me." he whispered. But John did not stir. So Sherlock curled himself around him. Crying silently until he too fell asleep.
Hangover
The next morning John woke up with a hangover. He felt as if his alarm clock was physically banging against his skull. John fell out of bed. He was naked, again. John tried to remember what he had done last night. He remembered drinking. There was lots of drinking. He didn't remember coming home, then suddenly he saw an image of himself saying something awful to Sherlock. He put a hand to his head, "Oh God, what did I do last night?"
John put on his robe and went downstairs. The apartment was empty. A note on the table said. "Refrigerator." John opened the refrigerator and found that Sherlock had made him a drink for his hangover. He downed it only afterward wondering if Sherlock had added some of the exotic ingredients that he liked to experiment with.
John dressed and rushed off to work. Oddly, he found that he had arrived a few minutes early. He went to his office and sat down. He reached into his desk and took out some aspirin. Exactly what had he said? He remembered tackling Sherlock and holding him down shouting "tease". My God! What would he have to apologize for?
John pulled out his phone. It was still off. He turned it on and a host of messages arrived. He read them.
[Movers called to confirm cancel. Where are you? -SH]
[Does this mean you will stay? -SH]
[John took earlier train. Be N at 5. -Mary XX]
[John where are you. We need to talk – SH]
[What did you mean by canceling. Please call. - SH]
[Did I offend you somehow? Call me -SH]
[Have arrived. Am at R Cafe. Mary]
[I am sorry. Please come home – SH]
[I love you – SH]
John stared at the messages. Sherlock had sent that message and what had he done? He had come home drunk and assaulted him. Maybe worse. A hollow pain filled John's stomach. He felt awful, but he didn't know what to do about it. He took the aspirin. Then the intercom buzzed and his first patient came in so he put these thoughts away.