John had felt a little panicked once home, as if he were running out of time; perhaps he should have talked to Sherlock whilst on camp. No, he should have. John sighed. Writing it down had helped processed how he felt but it certainly hadn't made him feel any better. Not in the slightest. It was like if he waited too long the memories and events would fade away, then he could no longer talk about it or recall it; it would be too late. John wasn't quite sure how he felt about that; the idea of it just being forgotten and left aside. It wasn't worth the risk though incase he did...incase he did realise he cared.
He decided to text Lestrade.
"I feel like the longer I leave it to talk the worse it will be now but then I'm wondering if it's even worth it?"
"TALK TO HIM" was Lestrade's swift reply.
John sighed, "BUT HOW?"
"WITH WORDS?"
John chuckled lightly at that.
Eventually after getting more worked up and stressed John texted Sherlock, after much deliberation and thought about what to say of course.
John was almost embarrassed at how stressed this situation was making him. It was ridiculous. Sherlock was his friend, he should be able to talk with him like this.
"Should we talk about what happened on camp?"
When Sherlock replied John had to muster all his strength to not throw his phone out of the window and then set it on fire and then drive over it, and then bury it under ten feet of concrete.
"What happened on camp?"
John groaned. Of all of the possible replies this was the worst. I mean...what that the hell did Sherlock think he was talking about? Sherlock was clever, he could read people like books, surely he knew? Even if he was unsure perhaps, an average person could work out that John was talking about that oddly over-friendly night on camp? What else would John be talking about? Yes, Sherlock, I think we need to have a serious discussion about how you cooked the chicken on the barbeque that one time.
John texted his sister and Lestrade about it; they responded as expected, angrily.
John eventually replied with, "In hindsight the first night was a little weird for friends."
"I thought nothing of it. I thought it was a mutual warmth thing. Worry about the more important things in life."
John didn't know how to feel about that, but he replied anyway. "The important things being...?"
The conversation trailed off and died, with Sherlock checking that they were "cool?" John just said "of course, aren't we always?" Now that was true in a way.
Feeling defeated and silly almost, now it all seemed to turn over as nothing but really he was angry. He remembered things...Sherlock drawing shapes idly on his forehead, their noses touching; that wasn't mutual warmth now was it? Maybe John was reading too much into it...imagining things...but no, it couldn't just be him. No. Sherlock was just being a dick. No surprises there then...