Chapter 14

"There is nothing on this Earth more to be prized than true friendship."

-Thomas Aquinas

The cold winds twisted his coat around his legs as he stood anchored to the pavement. He watched his breath coming out in puffs of smoke, bringing back the memory from weeks ago when he'd gone to Bart's with the sole reason of seeing her. Granted it was for a cigarette, but he realized that was the day that changed it all. That was the first time he'd really looked at her, not scrutinized her or studied her, but saw her and the true beauty that she radiated. It had also been the first time in his life that his mind had dulled, the screaming had stopped, and the wheels and cogs froze, all because her warm, trembling hand had fallen onto his forearm. At the time it wasn't out of affection or attraction, it was just to get his attention, but it'd had the same effect nonetheless. She had woven her way into his entire being, winding herself tighter and filling him slowly as the time passed, leaving him now with a heart beating to the drum of her own, which without her melody, was lost. Standing in the city he knew so well, only blocks from his own flat, Sherlock was lost.

He took off running, the icy air burning his lungs as he gasped it in, pushing his legs faster and faster. His feet pounded against the pavement as he pushed and shoved through the groups of people walking, not caring about their groans and insults they shouted at him, he needed to get back. The image of her broken face as he'd told her what they'd done last night had been a mistake haunted him, it wasn't a mistake, it was the farthest thing from a mistake. Finally the shop came into view and he pushed himself harder, running absentmindedly across the street, causing a cab to come to a screeching halt just inches from his knees. He stopped, putting his hands on the hood as the car's shrill horn echoed through the city, the driver shouting and displaying a good deal of obscenities at him, but he didn't care. He took off again, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of her, but as he reached the glass window the only thing he saw were empty tables and chairs. She'd gone. He was too late.

He entered in to the building, letting the warmth thaw his frozen cheeks and lips as he walked over to the table he'd just shared with her. A few notes still lay flat against the glass top, he'd missed her by minutes, no on had even picked up the tip she'd left.

"Sir, can I help you?" a red haired woman wearing a blue apron asked sweetly from behind him.

"The woman, that was just here, did she leave?" he inquired, hiding the franticness in his voice.

"Just a few minutes ago, were you supposed to meet her?"

Sherlock peered down at his wristwatch; if he got a cab quickly he may just be able to catch her before she went back to work. He could text her, or call her, tell her to wait for him, that he had more to say, but the adrenaline he had felt as he ran there had dissipated. The courage and surety in his decision was gone. He ignored the waitress' question; she was no use at this point. He turned to leave and as he did, a figure bumped straight into his chest. He looked down, recalling his first encounter with Ellie in his mind, how she'd run straight into him in the halls of Bart's, the first time he'd looked into her sad brown eyes, but an unfamiliar green greeted him instead.

"Sorry sir!" the girl apologized, running her hands over his shirt to smooth the creases her collision had formed.

Her hands running down his chest again brought a new wave of flashbacks from just hours before. Ellie's mouth moving with his, her cold nose pressed against his cheek and her hands set gingerly atop his chest, he could taste her lips and smell her perfume and it made his chest tighten. He shoved the girls hands off of him, shooting her a venomous glare before pushing past her and out again into the cold.

Sherlock and John lingered quietly in their flat, Sherlock on his laptop sifting for a case through the hundreds of painfully boring emails that filled his inbox while John searched for any form of edible food in their refrigerator filled with jarred eyes, fingers, feet, every kind of severed body part Sherlock could get his hands on. Sometimes John swore he was living in a morgue rather than a flat.

"I need something to eat. Are you hungry?" John asked his brooding flat mate as he slammed the fridge closed in defeat.

"No," Sherlock answered, drawing the 'o' out as he deleted another twenty emails.

"Fine. I'll see if maybe Ev wants to join me when she gets off work."

"What? Why?"

"Because she's my friend, and I enjoy her company, even if you don't."

"It's Christmas, no where is open."

"Lots of places are open."

"No they're not."

"They are Sherlock."

"We can just order take away then."

"Oh now you're hungry?"

"Yes. Order whatever you want. Take my card."

"What is going on?"

"Nothing."

"No, it's something."

John looked closely at the man sitting ten feet away from him; something was off. He still looked the same, talked the same, acted the same, but he wasn't the same man. Something had changed. He seemed softer, gentler, his motions were less sharp, and his features a little less acute and his entire being just seemed, peaceful.

"What happened last night? When you went outside?" John inquired, talking cautious steps towards his friend.

"Nothing," Sherlock answered, snapping his laptop shut and turning his eyes towards John.

"No, something happened. You're, different."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"It's something to do with her. That's why you don't want me going out with her. You, you like her!"

"No."

"Oh yes, look at your face! Sherlock has a crush! My God, I never thought I'd see the day."

"No I don't!"

"No? Then you don't mind if I take her out to dinner then. On a date. Just the two of us."

"Not at all."

"All right, good. I'm going to call her right now."

As John turned his back away and pulled his phone out of his pocket Sherlock felt his bottom lip twitch. She would say no, wouldn't she? She didn't like John, well she did, but just as a friend, she wouldn't go out on a date with him, would she? John had been trying to ask her on a date for weeks but she always changed the subject, but maybe now things had changed. Sherlock had shot her down and he hadn't had the chance to tell her his true feelings, maybe now she would accept a date from John. No, Sherlock at least needed the chance to make things right before she gave up on him.

"No," Sherlock begged as John's finger lingered over the call button his phone, taunting Sherlock no doubt to get him to admit his secret.

"Ahh. I knew it!" John exclaimed joyfully, pointing his finger.

"I kissed her."

"Wait, what?"

"Last night, outside. I kissed her."

John felt his heart drop into his shoes. He'd kissed her? All the humor in the situation had just taken a wrong turn and John found himself in a saddened stupor. All this time he'd been spending with her, trying his best to form some sort of relationship, learning about her, trying to make her laugh, being there when no one else was, and then Sherlock Holmes walks up to her on a sidewalk and kisses her like it's nothing. 'No big deal, I'll just come in with my long coat, collar up, and high cheekbones and sweep you right off your feet', he mimicked to himself as he felt his cheeks growing hot.

"What do you mean, you kissed her?" John asked, his voice hardened.

"I mean, I kissed her. I put my lips on her lips, a kiss John," Sherlock replied sarcastically, not yet caught on to his friend's growing anger.

"I thought women weren't 'really your area'? Isn't that what you told me?"

"Are you angry?"

"Yes I'm angry! You knew how I felt and you just, you completely disregarded it!"

"John she didn't want to date you, it was painfully obvious you could tell by the way sh-"

"I don't care how you could tell Sherlock! Stop being an ass and think about people's feelings for once in your life!"

"I did, think about your feelings-"

"Oh. Good. So then you just didn't care. Even better. Yeah."

"I'm sorry John."

"Little too late for that I'm afraid. God, how could you do that to me? I just, I don't understand."

Sherlock looked down to the floor, ashamed. This just kept getting worse and worse as the day went on. First Ellie and now John, perhaps next he could anger Mrs. Hudson, or Lestrade and make the circle complete. He couldn't understand why John was so upset, until he remembered how he'd felt the night before as he watched her dancing with him. The green of envy rising up in him as he saw his friend's arm where his own belonged, and the dull ache of sadness when he'd considered what it would be like to watch them together like that forever. He wouldn't have been able to bear it, and now he realized that that would be John, watching him with the woman he so longed for. He felt guilt rising him in his for the second time that day, and again, he had no clue on how to make it right.

"John, I, I'm sorry. I, I didn't intend to hurt you," Sherlock began, the words lolling clumsily off his tongue.

"I know. I know, but you did. And there's no going back now," John responded quietly and pained, "Are you happy? With her, does she make you happy?"

Happy? Was he happy? At this moment no, earlier this morning, no, last night, yes, when he first laid eyes on her today, yes, exceptionally happy. He remembered the burst of warmth that rushed through his veins at the first sight of her earlier that day, the way his mouth subconsciously had turned up into a smile when she'd first seen him across the room, and how happy she had looked in that moment as well. But now, he'd hurt her and his best friend; there was nothing to happy about, not at all.

"You messed that up too didn't you? You know for being one of the cleverest men in the world, you're an idiot. Do you know that?" John accused, making Sherlock feel even worse than he already did, "You need to go and fix that. Now. Before it's too late."

Sherlock looked up to John, his eyes wide. As hurt as John was by his actions, he still wanted to help him. Sherlock could see the anger etched into every line of John's face, but his eyes held a compassion that couldn't have been forced. John knew that this was just as hard for Sherlock as it was for him, but for very different reasons. John was certain that Sherlock had never experienced feelings like he was at the moment, it was nerve wracking and quite possibly frightening for him. Sherlock had been brought up loathing human contact and relationships, he saw them as petty and tedious, but something about her had unsettled him. He knew Sherlock must be questioning everything he thought he knew, every block he'd put up in his mind for emotions such as love and attraction were crumbling at a faster rate than he could keep up with and he hadn't had time to sort through everything rushing through his head. As much as he wanted to be angry with him, John couldn't abandon Sherlock at what most certainly was a time of need. He didn't have to like it, but he needed to accept it, Sherlock and Everleigh would embark on their own little adventure, leaving John in their wake. He knew Sherlock deserved this. He needed it actually, someone to teach him love and compassion, that was something John could not show him, he needed her, and she needed him. Together, they needed to put themselves and the other back together, John saw it, two broken souls magnetized to the tragedy of the others, hoping to find in the other what they themselves lacked. Everleigh saw Sherlock as a strong pillar, he was safe and his lack of emotion no doubt lured her in, a man who held regard to few people would no doubt be faithful to the ones he chose to surround himself with. John knew she saw Sherlock as a solution to her problems, the man who knew everything, who could fix anything, who could fix her. And Sherlock, he saw in her a mystery to be solved, an intricate puzzle that needed a brilliant mind to figure out, his mind. She wasn't a threat, she would never outwit him, nor would she ever bore of him, and her presence had had an ataractic effect on him. He was less tense, more relaxed than John had ever seen him. They hadn't had a case for days now but Sherlock had remained calm and collected which could no doubt be linked to his growing infatuation with Everleigh. But they also saw a reflection of themselves in the other, the pain and sadness hidden deep down, both of them had locked it away where they thought no one would ever find it, but they'd found it in each other. It reached out from the deep recesses of their hearts in the presence of one another and neither one could lock it away. John knew that this would end well, or terribly, and if it ended in despair, both of them would be destroyed.

"You need to go," John urged, gesturing his hands towards the door.

Sherlock rose from his chair nervously, what was he supposed to do, and say? He opened his mouth to ask John, but nothing came out, he needed to do this on his own. Ellie would no doubt be returning home from work any minute, and he would be waiting when she did. He went to coat closet and donned his signature scarf and jacket before leaping down the stair two at a time and waving a cab down on the curb.

John watched Sherlock from the window, a sad smile tugging at his lips. The poor guy had no idea what he was getting himself into and it would be certainly be interesting to watch it all unfold.

A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews! You guys are amazing! V. , truelondonder123, cHoCoLaTe-RuM, MM1611 and sillystring-roxs-the-earth, thank you times a million! Please keep it up! I love them!

The next three are all in the works, so the updates shouldn't be too far away. Hope everyone has had the ability to watch the new Sherlock episodes! If not, I post links for streaming/downloading on my personal blog benny-cumberbatched.

Thank you all for your support, it means so much to me! I never in a million years thought this story would be so well recieved, so much love to you all!