Prompt 41: Just give me five minutes ok
"I don't have friends." The scathing phrase circled endlessly through his head as he walked away, out of the inn and away into the night. It wasn't just that Sherlock had denounced their friendship, it was the subtext, the implied I don't need friends, I don't need you. If he was honest that last hurt more than anything else. If Sherlock didn't think they were friends than who the hell was he to the infuriating man? John spent every minute of his day with or worrying about Sherlock, trying to make sure he wasn't killed by some madman on the street or by his own experiments and most of his nights dreaming about him so if Sherlock felt he didn't need him at all... Well. It was exceedingly dark outside, and the moors were treacherous in themselves, ignoring whatever was going on in Dewers Hollow, and as of a storm out not ten minutes previous John had literally nowhere to go. Wonderful.
He felt a bit of a twat actually, for letting this get to him so much. He had known Sherlock wouldn't feel quite so strongly for him as he'd want but having even friendship thrown back in his face hurt. Sherlock was his best friend, but what was he meant to do if he wasn't Sherlock's? "Bloody man can't be conscious of other people and their feelings for one bloody moment." John muttered to himself as he found a bench to sit on, ignoring the man at the other end of it until he realised how familiar it was. "Greg?!" Greg turned to face him with a slight grin. "Alright mate?" John glowered at him. "Just peachy Greg, just peachy. Mycroft?" The replying eye roll was confirmation in itself. John sighed, Sherlock wouldn't like this when he found out in the morning. He didn't know why he couldn't just stop caring what Sherlock might feel even when they were fighting. Bloody man.
Greg slid over to sit next to him and patted his shoulder. "Sherlock's done something stupid I take it?" John shook his head. "You don't want to know."
"Try me." Quickly John went through the events of that evening up to the flight from The Hollow. "... I found him in the common room with a glass of whiskey in his hand and the fear of God in him and I tried to comfort him as well as I could, but I didn't see the thing, whatever it was. He snapped and said... Well he said that he didn't have friends. It was more of a hiss actually now that I think on it. I know it's ridiculous and he's Sherlock and I should know better but..." Greg nodded in understanding. "I know mate. I was hoping he'd finally get there, able to admit he loves you or likes you at least. He does John, I just know it. He doesn't really mean that, he was just scared. He needs you. Maybe that's part of what's scaring him." John gave a self deprecating smile and shrugged.
"I'm just the blogger to him clearly. He could never need me as much as I need him Greg, and he knows it. I don't matter. I'm ok with it, honestly, Just caught me by surprise tonight is all." Greg's heart went out to his friend, Sherlock had him in a right mess and the poor sod probably didn't even realise it because he was a mess himself.
"Come on, You can sleep in my room, I have a few bits to do before bed anyway." Gratefully John rose and Greg led him towards the side door of the inn, bypassing the common room and leading straight to the stairs. He handed John the key to the room and sent him off before bolstering himself to talk with Sherlock. A low buzz from his phone made him pause and reach into his pocket.
'From Mycroft H. This might be of assistance Detective. MH' An audio file was attached and Greg had a feeling he knew what was in it even before he heard heard his own voice from ten minutes previous.
'You know I'd appreciate it if you didn't listen in GL.'
'Of course. MH'
That was as good as a promise from Mycroft so Greg steeled himself and walked into a now almost entirely deserted common room, spotting Sherlock almost instantly in his armchair by the fire. Cautiously, Greg sat down next to him and said nothing for a while. First thing he'd learned about talking emotion with Sherlock was that you had to let him make the first move and that happened best when the weapon of silence was well employed.
"I suppose you're here to make sure I don't get into any trouble. Mycroft neglects to remember that I am a grown man."
Not quite what he'd been hoping for but something nonetheless. "He cares. Not exactly why I'm sitting here at two in the morning though." Sherlock pointedly didn't meet his eye. "He knows I didn't mean that I don't need him." Greg shook his head. "Does he though? Because I happen to have spoken to him just a little while ago and he really believes you don't. Which is mad because if I loved someone the way he loves you I would think they'd need me. After all to earn that devotion from me it would take an awful lot on their part, it would be very difficult to feel that deeply and know that the other person was just indifferent to me." Sherlock snapped and faced him with a snarl "Of course he knows. What would you know about us?"
Greg almost smiled to hear the detective acknowledge that there was something between them."Well. For starters I have a rather distraught John Watson in my bed upstairs" he started putting fingers up with each point to emphasise it "I've seen the way he looked at you from day one, spent nights with him in the pub getting smashed and talking about you, listened to him list everything that was wrong with whatever woman he was out with at the time which generally boiled down to not you and sat outside with him in the middle of the night while he told me that you had confirmed his biggest fear with your own mouth." Back to the sneer with Sherlock, but Greg knew that meant he was getting there. "Oh please, John is not some period drama heroine who has to-" and that was when he played the recording. Sherlock was silent through it all.
"You know, I almost didn't believe him. But then I thought again. It's 're scared. Scared of what this case means, sure yes that too, but really scared of him. Of what you'll do if he leaves, what you'll do if he stays. Scared of loving him. You do. I know it, and if I know you have to know. You need him more now than you've ever needed anyone other than yourself and that is scary . Now, I know you have a blind spot for this sort of thing, But he's right there waiting for you with his bloody heart at your feet and you keep stomping all over it! He's my friend too, and I want to see him happy. You could make him happy Sherlock. You could." Sherlock turned away from him. "I don't know how." He murmured softly. Greg breathed a laugh. "No one really does. The secret to it is trying. All you have to do is try to do the best job you can making the other person happy, even if that means leaving them alone." That was what he'd done with Mycroft. Purely professional relationships were fine, but what Greg was looking for? Never.
"Lestrade... he does want you. Whatever he said to the contrary is a lie even Anderson could see through. I would know." Greg cleared his throat awkwardly, it was one thing to know objectively that Sherlock would always see everything you wished he wouldn't, it was entirely another for him to acknowledge that he knew you oggled his brother."So. You will fix this with John right? It won't be easy, you've been a right tit to him, but you need him. He makes you better. Every day. I'll see you in the morning Sherlock, try and get some sleep." Sherlock muttered something that sounded to Greg a lot like he said "Goodnight goldfish" but he couldn't quite be sure. He didn't really care, he was bloody tired and he just wanted to phone buzzed one last time against his thigh.
'I trust everything went well. Goodnight Inspector. MH' Goodnight indeed, the cheeky git Greg smiled to himself as he rolled into bed and grabbed some duvet before John could hog it all.
John opened his eyes to a head of silver hair that abruptly ruined his pleasant mood by reminding him what had happened with Sherlock last night. It was still early, and if he wasn't working with Sherlock he really had nothing to do. Luckily John was experienced in having nothing to do, after he'd come home and lived in that god awful bedsit there had been ample time alone to figure something out. In fact it was thanks to one of his cures for boredom that he'd been introduced to Sherlock in the first place. A walk around Dartmoor (except Dewers hollow) would clear his head and give him something to bloody do. Quietly as he could John rolled out of bed and left Greg to his sleep, he wasn't sure what time he'd made it upstairs but it had been very late indeed because he'd had a bit of trouble sleeping but had been out cold by the time Greg reappeared.
The breeze was mild enough as he walked through the village, and it was brighter than he'd expected but he couldn't bring himself to focus on the scenery at all as he trudged along. He was a grown man. This shouldn't have been bothering him as much as it was and he knew that friends say brutal things to each other all the time but Sherlock was... more than that. Bigger than the title of friend, just as he was bigger than all the other titles people had given him. More than a freak or a sociopath, better than just a consulting detective, brighter than any boffin John could think of. That was Sherlock Holmes for you, the biggest and brightest and best. John had no reason to believe that someone (regardless of gender) like that would go for him in a million years.
And yet. There was that pesky ray of hope every time Sherlock prolonged his gaze, or crowded against John when there was space enough for them both to have lots of it. Always John's heart would be in his mouth and then Sherlock would turn away, or the crowding was just his complete lack of respect for personal space. Still, John was secure in the knowledge that after last night Sherlock was not in any way, shape or form feeling the same. Secure was a bit strong. A bit devastated but willing to soldier on regardless because that's what you do when the people you love are oblivious arseholes who like to crush your hopes of reciprocation in their perfectly shaped hands. Walking wasn't helping that much with that. It was just making him feel bitter actually, watching elderly couples toddle hand in hand to the shop fueled a dozen completely innocent fantasies of future domesticity that would most likely never come to pass.
"John!" Sherlock's unique baritone floated towards him and John knew he was being petty and ridiculous when he sped up because Sherlock would a) not even have to change his pace and b) had no idea why he would be so upset but he wanted to do something at least, put on a show of evasion even if he never could avoid the man even if he wanted to."John."
Sherlock caught up with him very quickly. "Umqra. Have any luck with it?" Really, that's what he was going with? John sighed. "No."
"Pity. What about Mortimer?" Actually now that he thought of it, John was a bit pissed off."You know I didn't. Are you trying to be funny?" Sherlock shrugged "Thought I might try it out." John huffed a mirthless laugh. "I'd stick to ice." And with that he really did speed up his pace until there were at least twenty metres between them because Sherlock seemed to have frozen where he stood.
"John. What I said before. I meant it. I don't have friends I-" Sherlock called to him but John cut across before he could finish. "I don't need to be told again, contrary to your opinion I can actually remember some information." Sherlock growled and yelled across the grass at him, looking a little bit hurt and more than a little scared "Just give me five minutes ok? That's all I ask and then you can go on your merry way and never speak to me again" saying that felt worse than any pain he'd experienced "if you want but just a moment is all I'm asking."John scowled but stood rooted to the spot and waited. " Thank you. As I was saying, I don't have friends, I only-" and John had twisted on his heel and started off again.
"Oh for fuck sake!" Sherlock swore to himself and rushed diagonally across the grass to intercept his wayward doctor. Who was not very pleased at being intercepted. "Can you please just let me go?! I will use force to make you if I have to Sherlock." Sherlock grabbed him by the arms and glared. "I AM TRYING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING RATHER IMPORTANT AND YOU ARE MAKING IT INCREDIBLY DIFFICULT." John blinked up at him and was still for all of a second before trying roll away again and Sherlock, well he was done trying to articulate his feelings because clearly he wasn't very good at it.
Instead he pulled John's face to his and kissed him. Well he tried to, he wasn't quite sure if he was doing it right because in theory he knew what was expected but as a practical example this was his first attempt so there was room for error but still there he was, cold lips pressed forcefully against John's. For his part John was very still, which, while not conducive to the "kissing experience that ended in quite a lot of sex" Sherlock had been hoping for, was definitely an improvement on trying to run away. Sherlock only pulled back when he was 86.5% sure John wouldn't be going anywhere if he stared at him with a little surprised 'o' mouth and Sherlock preened a bit at the flushed pink of his cheeks.
"That," John breathed "I was not expecting." Sherlock smiled softly at him. "Not friends. Friend.I only have one." And when John kissed him right back Sherlock couldn't help but hope they finished this case soon. He was done being afraid.