John immediately shuts his mouth. The only sound comes from the down pour of rain that pounded against the window. It feels like a half hour has passed since either of them spoke, Sherlock glances at the clock; the minute hand hasn't even budged. "I missed you," Sherlock reiterates. John wants to jump into Sherlock's arms and admit everything; he restrains himself and firmly grips the arms on his chair to maintain.
"Three years and you weren't the only one in agony." A thin veil of gloom hovered over his hardened expression. "It gave me time to think. It gave me a chance to be alone," John grimaces. So, Sherlock was fine without me. His fluttering heart began to sink; this wasn't what he was hoping. But what did he expect? For Sherlock to jump up and openly say that he loved John without so much as a hesitation or doubt? This is Sherlock for Crist's sake. Even if he did have that feeling, only Sherlock alone would know about the hair-line fracture in his robotic nature. "And often I thought about you."
John's world froze in this moment. Often I thought about you. He repeated in mind, struggling to keep the muscles in his lips from pulling back into a smile. Oh, come on man! You were in the military! You should be able to keep your bearing! He cleared his throat. He waited a few seconds for Sherlock to continue but instead Sherlock gawking at the closed door to the outer hall. "Okay, what are you getting at Holmes?" Sherlock turned, half surprised that John was still paying attention and half annoyed by John's lack of understanding. "Bloody hell, Watson, I-"
A rapid knock on the door interrupted him. Sherlock eyes the door and then more tapping against the wood. Finally, Sherlock strides to the entrance with an inhuman elegance. No, no, no! John screams within the confines of his head. Just his luck that in the midst of a break through, someone would ruin it. A loud groan escapes the cavity of Sherlock's chest as he dramatically stumbles backward from the entryway. "What could you possibly want, Mycroft?!" He snaps. Mycroft steps into the dimly lit room to stands parallel from the angelic man known as Sherlock.
"You haven't been to work in two days, have you John?" John's face contorts with confusion. He got all that from looking at Sherlock? That is true, John hasn't been to work; he felt depressed. "How did you-?" John's shortly cut off by Mycroft. "He looks well rested, cleanly shaven and like he's eaten. He has no gun residue on his hand; he hasn't toyed with his gun lately. Now why would he, of all people, behave like this without being told?" Mycroft's thick brows rise. He's right. Sherlock has been ordered to do all these things.
"Again, what do you want?" Sherlock snarls, narrowing his eyes to thin slits. Mycroft shifts slightly to lean his weight on his umbrella. "I have a job for you, Sherly."
Apologies! For those who had to read the sae thing twice. My bad. Total accident.
Thanks for reading, cupcakes! Oh, and DFTBA!