His legs begin to ache; he looks around and finds the sun vanishing behind the city skyline. He has been out longer than expected. What does it matter? It's not as if Sherlock will notice that I left at all. John turns on his heels and begins his journey back to 221B. John takes a deep breath, his chest feeling heavier than he remembers. As he wanders through the thinning crowd, he begins to regroup. He will not slip up like that again.
The flat is cramped with unacknowledged feelings. Even the neighboring people can tell that there is something going on, due to the quiet that surrounds the building. The situation worsens when the anniversary of Sherlock's "death" rolls by. Even the sky reinforces this by pelting the streets with grey rain.
"Tea?" Sherlock asks over his shoulder; drying two tea glasses with the designated hand rag. In consulting detective speak, this translates to; "I'm sorry." However, in response, John flips the page of his paper and continues as though no one spoke. This marks a clear soundless rejection. Sherlock begins to press his teeth on his jaw again. "Fine then." He growls lowly, slamming the extra cup onto the counter, a large clank echoes through the kitchen into the empty air.
Bubbles begin to form in his chest; he knows he's going say something but John can no longer contain himself. "Why did you do it?" John mutters, fully aware that Sherlock's acute hear will pick up on it. "Do. What?" Sherlock hisses. John sighs, casually tilts the paper back to peer over the crisp edge. He notes the way Sherlock simply stands in the arch, a gripping gaze set on John. "Why did you come back?" Instantly, John regrets his words.
Sherlock falters momentarily but quickly recovers. It wounded him more deeply than John can possibly comprehend. "Because," Sherlock pauses. Where am I going with this? "Ugh, you should know by now John." This was all he could come up with in 21seconds. John's brows arched warily; he had given up weeks ago on the idea that Sherlock may come around. "I should but don't. Sherlock, do elaborate." John sets the journals down on the side table near him and leans back in the cushions of his arm chair. "John," Sherlock groaned, leaning his weight against the wall. John doesn't budge. Of course not, some of Sherlock's stubbornness rubbed off on the blonde. "Because, John. I missed you."
It was silent in the moment after. No, he couldn't. Could He? John's mind stretching in different directions, feeling his heart beat in the palms of his hands. "Sherlock?" John's voice shakes slightly. Sherlock repeatedly raking his hand through his matted black locks and he was pacing between the two rooms. "John, don't. Let me finish."
Chapter dos! Hope you liked it! Love ya, cupcakes!
~~~~ Mustache out!