Sherlock watched John as he drowned his sorrows with rum. A few glasses into the drowning, Sherlock decided to throw him a bit of a lifeline. He smiled widely as he confidently walked towards John's table. If he said the double takes men did as he passed didn't faze him, he'd be lying. He loved this: commanding everyone's attention. Granted, he did enjoy it more when he was himself and when it was because of his intelligence, but the attention was an ego boost none-the-less. He slid into the booth, grinning and winking at John. John smiled widely at him.
"Beth!" John exclaimed, "I was hoping I would see you!"
He knocked over his glass and frowned as the liquid drained from the cup over the table. He buried his face in his hands and let out a strangled noise to which Sherlock sat up straighter. He reached across the table and lightly touched John's arm. John jumped violently.
"Sherlock, what are you do-?" John stopped as he saw that it was Beth touching his arm, not Sherlock.
He squinted at the thin hand that was quickly beginning to retreat. His own hand snapped out and snatched the wrist attached to the hand. He jumped up, bringing the wrist, the hand and the whole package with him as he went. Sherlock bumped his knee on the table as he was yanked up from across it. John's eyes snapped up to Sherlock's, a deathly glare set in the beautiful blue. Sherlock felt himself swallowing. John's grip tightened on Sherlock's wrist to a bruising point.
"You little shit," John said through clenched teeth, "What you thought I wouldn't notice?! I knew there was something weird about the legs! What are you doing?! Why are you doing this?!"
Sherlock swallowed again and looked away, unable to fully express what it was that he was doing.
"John, just let me ex-," Sherlock was interrupted by a slap.
"Don't don't…don't talk like, like…that when you're her," John said breathlessly.
Sherlock frowned at him.
"I thought…" John's free hand covered his eyes and he made a strangled noise in his throat, "I thought I found a friend…I thought for once I'd be rid of you…that I had something without you…"
Sherlock felt the knife twisting feeling in his stomach again. He opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a choking noise. John abruptly turned away and yanked Sherlock along with him. He stomped towards the exit, dragging a frazzled Sherlock along with him. Sherlock's mind kick-started and he weighed the possible outcomes to this situation. There was a small chance that John was dragging him out of the pub to beat the crap out of him in an alley, but Sherlock didn't think John was likely to do that.
More likely he was dragging him home to beat the crap out of him.
"J-j-John…I…I…I'm s-," Sherlock was silenced by another slap.
"I said don't. Talk. Like. That. When. You're. Her," John said in a low, dangerous voice.
Sherlock swallowed (again) and nodded his understanding. John turned back around and dragged him the few more feet out of the pub. Sherlock was beginning to wonder if this was one of his smarter ideas. John dragged him along for the short distance to 221B. He was worried he'd broken his doctor…John burst through the door angrily and Mrs. Hudson poked around the corner.
"Oh, John, dear is that your girlfriend?" Mrs. Hudson questioned.
"No!" John snapped, "It's Sherlock!"
Mrs. Hudson squinted at Sherlock and nodded.
"Obviously, should have recognized those cheekbones!" Mrs. Hudson said, "Anyway, you two have a good night. I'll be putting the ear plugs in then."
"What!? No!" John sputtered as Mrs. Hudson disappeared around the corner.
John let out a frustrated noise and started up the stairs, dragging Sherlock up them as well. When they made it up into the living room John shoved Sherlock in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom.
"Go change!" he commanded.
Sherlock opened his mouth, but closed again, deciding it best to just follow John's instructions. He hurried to his room and quickly changed back into himself; though he left his shirt untucked and didn't bother to pull on any shoes. He hurried back into the living room where John was sitting on the sofa waiting for him. Sherlock nervously started forward and hesitated, hovering near John in the dark room. He sank to his knees and placed a hand on John's leg. John's eyes immediately flew open and glared down at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded.
"A lot," Sherlock said quietly.
John seemed even more pissed by the answer.
"Don't try to talk your way out of this," John said angrily, "Just answer truthfully: why did you do this?"
Sherlock withdrew his hand and placed it across his lap.
"I wanted you to know I cared about you," Sherlock answered, "I wanted to give you some sort of affection. Lately, I have been feeling rather guilty about not being the best friend I could be…so when we accidently met that first time when I was Beth, I thought I could use that persona to be a better friend to you."
"Sherlock, you are an idiot," John stated clearly.
Sherlock looked up in surprise. John gave him a soft smile and placed a hand on his cheek. He leaned forward until they were inches apart.
"You're already my best friend, Sherlock," John whispered, "You don't have to do any more."
"But you told Beth that you wished I showed I cared more," Sherlock pointed out.
"I do," John admitted, "But I don't need you to. And I certainly don't need you to become another person to do it."
Sherlock sighed heavily and leaned against John's hand.
"I wish I'd known that…" Sherlock muttered.
"It's alright, Sherlock," John assured him, his thumb moving back and forth, "I know you don't understand emotions and sentiment and usually I don't mind. It's just every once in a while I get upset because I…"
He trailed off and Sherlock looked back into his eyes expectantly.
"I, er, do a lot for you," John said, "And I sometimes wish I knew that you appreciated it."
"I do," Sherlock said earnestly.
John smiled at him and withdrew his hand, leaning back slightly.
"Good," John said lightly.
"Tell me how I can show you," Sherlock insisted, lifting his hands to John's knees, "I'll do anything!"
"You should really consider your wording and your position," John said quietly.
Sherlock frowned and looked down at himself. Kneeling? He looked back up and realized he was eye level with John's crotch.
"I'll do anything!" his own eager voice played back in his mind.
"Oh," Sherlock stated, "That's included in anything. If you want me to, I will."
John gaped at him.
"Are you mental?!" he exclaimed.
"No, I'm sorry," Sherlock said in panic, "I just don't want you to leave."
The confession came out in a raw, aching voice that made Sherlock silently curse. John leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's head. He looked down with a sad look that made Sherlock feel even worse.
"Sherlock, you don't have to do that to make me stay," John said in a hushed tone, "I will stay anyway."
"Would you be happier if I did that?" Sherlock questioned.
"I think anyone would be happier if you did that," John laughed, "But th-."
"Then I'll do it," Sherlock interrupted, his hands sliding forward onto John's thighs.
John gasped and his hands flew to Sherlock's.
"S-stop!" John sputtered, "Don't…Jesus, Sherlock. You really don't know how any of this works, do you?"
"I've done it before, if that's what you are asking," Sherlock said, wiggling his fingers under John's grasp, "I won't hurt you. I promise."
"No, no, that's not what I meant," John muttered, "I meant you don't know how society works with sex and all that."
"Sex is to satisfy two people," Sherlock stated, "This isn't sex. I just mean to satisfy you."
"Sherlock…stop talking like that," John said through clenched teeth, "You do this sort of thing because you like the person or better yet, love them."
"Well, I love you, so I don't see the problem."
The confession hung in the air like fog between the two as they stared each other in the eyes.