The next idea John has isn't very much better, but he tries it out anyway.
Sad films.
He does a lot of research online for films that make people cry. You know, those trashy "23 Films That Are Sure To Make You Bawl!" articles. He finds films that are on several lists, and he rents them all.
Okay, not all. He's pretty sure that there's no reason good enough for him to rent a Nicolas Sparks film, even though The Notebook and A Walk to Remember were on too many lists to count. He's seen The Titanic, and he didn't cry one bit, so Sherlock isn't bound to. He counts out musicals too. He's never seen one—and he's not against them as an institution, but he doubts Sherlock will be affected by Les Misérables for some reason.
He also decides on avoiding any battlefield drama films, just because the last thing he needs is a trigger during his experiment. Sure, maybe Mycroft's right and John doesn't suffer from PTSD but just misses his time serving the Crown. Maybe, but John doesn't want to risk it.
He ends up picking films he hasn't seen before, because he wants to know if he will cry in them himself. Just out of curiosity. He's never cried from a film before, but he's never been one for sad films anyway.
John's not sure this will work. In fact, he's nearly sure it won't. But there was no point in doing the experiment at all if he wasn't thorough. Plus, John almost hopes something more simple like this might get Sherlock, so he doesn't have to try anything more drastic.
For Sherlock thinking John to be so dim, John has gotten very good at playing Sherlock right into his hands.
John gets the films all at once and sits down in front of the telly after putting in The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas, his first selection.
Sherlock's sitting at John's computer, having guessed the password again. John thought he might actually get Sherlock this time by the password being a reference to John's childhood that he'd never mentioned and Sherlock had never deduced aloud. But somehow, the name of John's goldfish was there in his mind palace.
Anyway. The previews are rolling and John's said nothing to Sherlock about it.
It takes halfway through the first preview before Sherlock asks, sounding bored, "What're you watching?"
"Don't think you would be interested."
That gets Sherlock every time. If Sherlock's anything, it's contrary, and telling him he won't like something is a challenge.
Sherlock will watch a film with John if John asks, but he'll do so grudgingly. If John tells him he won't like it, then he'll really pay attention.
"Really?" he asks, sitting down on the chair across from John, perched with his feet underneath him. John almost chuckles. It's too easy. Good placement, too. If Sherlock cries, John'll see it from here. "And what is it?" asks Sherlock nonchalantly.
John passes him the cover and Sherlock looks it over shrewdly. He also seems to notice Schindler's List on top of the pile on the table, because he says blandly, "Are you developing a fascination with World War II dramas?"
John just shrugs, not being able to think of an explanation. Sherlock doesn't pry any further, but he does watch the film with John, and Schindler's List too. They hit John emotionally, but somehow he doesn't cry. Obviously that means Sherlock doesn't either.
When John moves to put in the third disc, Sherlock mentions it. "What, are you going to watch telly all day? That's not like you."
"I'm in a vegging mood," John explains.
"And what's our next title?"
John tosses the case to The Dead Poet's Society to him and this time Sherlock's face is completely unreadable for a long moment. He picks up the other two as well.
Sherlock's starting to make the connection now, John can tell.
He holds up The Grave of the Fireflies. "I've never seen you watch anime before."
"I was curious."
"And were you curious about homosexual romance as well?" he asks as he picks up Brokeback Mountain. Admittedly, that one's out of John's comfort zone, but he's heard it's a real tear-jerker.
"I've told you before, it's all fine." John saying it reminds him of the restaurant, which reminds him of why he's mad at Sherlock in the first place.
He half expects Sherlock to get huffy about the Margery thing at being reminded. Surely Sherlock made the same connection.
But Sherlock's face isn't indignant. It's something other than stoic though, even though John's not sure what it is, and that makes John wonder if that film will make an impact on Sherlock. John keeps it in mind.
Dead Poet's Society hits John harder than the other two did. His eyes burn pretty severely near the end, and he's pretty sure he would have cried, were he not paying so much attention to Sherlock while still attempting not to look like he was paying attention to him.
Sherlock's unmoved. Okay, not completely. He admits after that one that it was 'rather tragic', but he says it in a clinical way, not feeling the emotions, not the way John is.
John thinks he wants to be done with his stint with sad films, but he has to get through this—no matter how silly it sounds—for science.
Grave of the Fireflies doesn't make John cry either, but he's starting to feel the buildup of so many depressing films all in a row now. He's just generally sad by now, and angry at the world for being a horrible place.
But there's only one left. He's a soldier, for Christ's sake, he can handle some sad films.
Brokeback Mountain is last.
Sherlock doesn't cry. He should have known he wouldn't.
But god, John does.
He doesn't expect it to hit him the way it does. He doesn't know why it does, actually. Boy In The Striped Pyjamas and The Dead Poet's Society were logically more sad, in John's opinion. But neither film punches John in the gut like Brokeback does.
The whole film surprises him. First of all, he's way less uncomfortable with the gay love story than he thinks he'll be. Even the sex scene doesn't bother him, not at all. He's entranced with it, actually, if he's being honest with himself. There's something about hard body on hard body, about two beings that were so similar being together like that, that's more than a little intriguing. Enticing, even.
John for the first time in his life starts honestly questioning his sexuality and that's a little frightening to him. People have been doing it for years now, ever since Sherlock came into his life. But he never really wondered until now.
Past that though, there's Jack's death. That's when John's basically blubbering. It's unexpected, for one. And caused by his sexuality—or at least that's implied—and with John's orientation-based-crisis going on in his mind, this gets to him.
But then there's the very end, where Ennis takes Jack's old shirt in his hands and cries.
And in John's mind, he has this ridiculous, horrific vision.
It's so vivid it takes John's breath away.
John's standing in 221B, and Sherlock's coat is hung up just inside the door. John's looking at the coat with dead eyes before taking it into his arms and inhaling it. Sherlock. It smells just like him. John chokes on a sob, but bites his lip to hold it in. "Dear god, I swear…" he whispers to himself, knowing that nobody's there to hear him.
John's a mess when it's over. A bloody fucking mess.
He doesn't want to look at Sherlock, to see the look on his face now. Disgusted? Maybe just exasperated.
And then the cushion next to him depresses, and Sherlock's sitting down.
Sherlock says nothing and doesn't move to touch him. Just sits there. But that's enough for John to know that Sherlock's taking his feelings seriously for once.
It makes John wonder if Sherlock was also affected.
So he calms himself down enough to not be embarrassed at what his face might look like and looks at Sherlock's face.
He's not apathetic, that's certain. But everything on his face is concern for John, not his own emotion. Or at least it doesn't seem that way.
John's still sniffling like a child when he says, "I thought you'd—you'd tease me for getting so—so worked up over a film."
"Maybe normally," Sherlock replies carefully, "but that reaction seemed too severe to be about the film at all. Is something else bothering you?"
John's surprised Sherlock's even asking. It seems so unlike him.
John can't deny it though. He just keeps looking up at Sherlock, into those eyes that are so full of worry. And he's appreciative. He really is.
Sherlock would never leave him. He just wouldn't.
But the question is… why does the idea of Sherlock leaving terrify John this much? He isn't sure having the same vision of his mother would have made him react like that.
But he doesn't dare say that to Sherlock.
He stands up. "I'm fine."
"John…"
"I'm fine," he repeats irritably, going upstairs.
Sherlock doesn't follow.