John sat on the settee that Sherlock was on. Sherlock still wouldn't look up. John had been angry at first, but now he was just worried about Sherlock all over again. What could be happening that had him this worked up? John didn't think he was crying—he couldn't hear anything, at least—but the only time he'd seen the man tear up… well, he hadn't been able to see very clearly… Sherlock had been very high up at the time…
The thought made his chest hurt, so he tried not to think about it.
"Sherlock, will you please tell me what's happening? It can't be that bad."
Sherlock looked up and John was surprised to see his face was completely composed. He stood up. "You see, John, what happened was, I knew I was going to die if I jumped off that building, but I knew I had to do it—to save people, as you know. So the only solution was to find a way not to die. So I made a deal with a demon and got ten years to live and now hounds are going to come and take me to hell in a little more than a month." He looked at John, the look on his face like he had just told John he wanted to go out to lunch and was curious what kind of food he fancied. "So?"
John gaped up at Sherlock. "So… long story short… you are literally dying and your plan was to keep it from me until you just vanished without a trace and you thought I would just figure it out?"
"Well, I wouldn't really say 'without a trace'. More than likely, the hounds are going to leave a gory mess for you to clean up."
John started gnawing on his tongue in order to keep from screaming. "Sherlock. I am going to hit you so hard you'll still have a bruise when you're dragged off to hell!"
"I doubt I'll have a bruise that long."
John stood up and grabbed the collar of Sherlock shirt, glaring at him murderously. His best friend. Who was going to die.
John found himself trying to swallow down a massive lump in his throat.
"I thought you were going to hit me," Sherlock said. "I'd like that better than if you had an emotional explosion."
John nodded. The fury was coming back, this time much more severe than before. "Emotional explosion. So basically, you told yourself that the reason you weren't going to tell me was because you didn't want me to go through the heartache, but the real reason was that you didn't want to have to tell me and see me get emotional. You make me sick, honestly you do. So I'll just go, just so I don't have to make you deal with my extremely annoying feelings." John stalked past Sherlock and pounded down the steps, going outside. Dean and Sam were standing outside, talking, and turned when he came out the door with furrowed brows.
"Hey, you okay?" Sam tried to ask.
"Sherlock's a prat," John snapped. "Don't bother saving him, he isn't worth the trouble."
John only saw them look at each other in surprise before he had walked past them and was gone.
John knew, deep inside, that the only reason he came to this restaurant was because Sherlock would be able to guess where it was. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew that. Because he went to this little Italian place that overlooked the address 22 Northumberland, a place he and Sherlock went when they first met so many years ago. They hadn't been there since, but John knew that if Sherlock wanted to find him, he'd be able to.
John's deduction skills had to have been improving, because Sherlock Holmes walked through the door barely ten minutes later. John considered leaving at first, because he thought it would take a bit longer to be found, but just sat at that same table staring at that same address. He got a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw a cab pass by the place.
That day they went here, John stopped using a cane for what Sherlock had claimed—quite correctly, of course—was a psychosomatic limp. Sherlock had shown him that what John was really missing in his life was not peace, but adventure. He hadn't used a cane since. And how many other things could Sherlock teach him about life for the rest of their lives?
How much of those things would he miss if Sherlock got dragged off to hell?
"John, you're right," Sherlock said as he sat down. Angelo had the sense not to come over and ask what they wanted so Sherlock could keep talking. "I was hiding from your feelings, but not because they annoy me." Sherlock paused, as if John might say something, but then sighed when John had nothing to say to that. "I saw what you were like when I was gone the first time. You were a wreck. I didn't like seeing you that way at all, but it made it so much worse to know it was my fault. So yes, I was being a coward. I don't want to make you feel that way, and I'd honestly rather die today than have to see you that way again."
John wanted desperately to stay angry at him, but he couldn't after that.
"Please tell me there's some obscure way to fix this."
"There might be. Sam and Dean know how to blackmail the demon who has my contract. I just wanted to try and fix it without telling you about it at all."
"Or have died without any explanation at all."
Sherlock shrugged. "That was the other option. But obviously, I didn't take that route."
"You would have, had I not forced you to tell me the truth."
"Technicalities," Sherlock said with a little smile.
John rolled his eyes. "If you die, I'll kill you."
"I'll keep that in mind."