PART 2
They were silent during the taxi ride home. John was tired, his shoulder was hurting, and he was annoyed with his flat mate. Sherlock was clearly angry. Fuming even. But he didn't speak. Other than the well expected 'I told you so' he hadn't said a word to John after the case was closed that night.
John had to admit: things did not go completely as planned, and he got a little injured, but Lestrade arrested the killer. That was the most important thing, right? Why was Sherlock so angry?
John had been sitting at the bar for over an hour and was actually in a rather nice conversation with a beautiful woman when a fierce looking guy with tattoos all over his body sat down next to him. If it wasn't for a case John would have never turned away from the lady to talk to him. When he stirred the conversation towards his army past and the things he had seen in Afghanistan the man became very interested and asked John to go outside with him where they could discuss it without the loud music. John, thinking he was talking to the killer, agreed. Outside, Lestrade and the Yarders arrested the man, and John went back inside to continue his beer with the beautiful girl who was still waiting for him at the bar.
She asked him home with her and they were almost at her place when he received a call from Lestrade: the man they had arrested wasn't the killer, and Sherlock suspected the killer was actually the woman he was talking to. The same woman he was with! John tried to hide his knowledge and leave with an excuse, but as it turned out his acting was indeed not good enough to convince her. As soon as she realized what was going on she attacked him.
They struggled. John was hesitant to hit a woman, but when she stuck a syringe in his arm with something that made him drowsy very fast, he managed to gather his last strength and shot her in the shoulder before he passed out.
Lestrade found the two of them and the killer was taken to the hospital while John was allowed to go home after he was examined by the Yard medics. Most likely she would survive and be trailed for her killings. John thought it had been a successful closing of the case, but Sherlock clearly didn't think so…. His anger was almost radiating from his body.
Once they were back at Baker Street John could not stand his friends' silence any longer.
'What is your problem? The case is closed, we got the killer.'
Sherlock gave him a look, his eyes flaming with anger. 'We got the killer because I realized in time who it really was!'
'So what?' John shrugged. 'I never said the case was closed due to my impeccable acting.' He tried to joke but it only enhanced Sherlock's anger.
'Stop it, John!' He yelled at him. 'Don't be so bloody selfish!'
'Selfish?' John repeated. Now he was getting angry too. 'You are calling me selfish? That's rich!'
'Yes I am calling you selfish because you are! You almost got yourself killed!' Sherlock was slamming his fists on the kitchen table.
John was shocked and felt his anger rise. 'What the hell is wrong with you, Sherlock? You run off and endanger yourself all the time! But I am supposed to be careful around danger? I was in the bloody army remember! And I saved myself tonight, in case you forgot!' He yelled at his flat mate.
'Barely! You barely saved yourself!' Sherlock screamed back.
They were so loud that they must be waking up Mrs. Hudson.
'And why the hell does that make me selfish?!' John roared.
Sherlock hit the table again and yelled: 'Damn it, John! Don't be so fucking slow! You have a dozen friends. And if you lose one you make a new one. I can't do that! I have one friend. One! I didn't wait 34 years for you only to watch you get yourself killed by some psychopath just to proof you are a bloody hero!'
There was a heavy silence after those words.
John felt like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in his face.
Jesus. This was the last thing he expected! But at the same time, I made sense, sadly enough.
They were both quiet. John glanced at his flat mate who stared at his hands on the table. He still looked angry, but at the same time he seemed a bit ashamed of revealing the real reason for his anger in his outburst.
John exhaled.
'Sherlock….' He started, unsure of what to say. 'I don't… have that many friends like you. In fact, I don't have any.'
The detective abruptly turned and wanted to walk away from John, but the doctor grabbed his friends' wrist. 'Wait! I didn't mean to upset you tonight, but it's not fair of you to act like you losing me is worse than me losing you! Because I can assure you: it is not!'
Sherlock didn't answer. Instead his eyes flashed to John's hand on his wrist and back to John's face. John stared back, but suddenly felt he was too close and let go. His friend turned away.
'Sherlock…' but Sherlock walked away, slamming the door closed on his way out.
John didn't expect to see Sherlock in his bedroom that night. The doctor was lying on top of the covers, wide awake, when the door opened and the detective walked in. They glanced at each other, then John moved slightly to the left side of the bed to make space for Sherlock, who laid down next to him. They both stared at the ceiling without speaking.
John wanted to say many things. He wanted to tell Sherlock how miserable he had been when he believed his friend was dead. He wanted to tell him he was sorry for scaring him. He wanted to tell him that getting angry was a stupid way to show how much he cared about John. He wanted to tell him he cared a lot about him too….
But instead he didn't say anything. And neither did the detective. They stared at the ceiling until John glanced sideways and cleared his throat. 'Ehm, Sherlock, I…'
'No need to speak John.' His friend said without taking his eyes of the ceiling. 'You were thinking so loud I could have heard you if I was in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen.'
Sherlock grinned at John who felt his cheeks glow. 'Shut up, Sherlock!'
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