This was not possible. It just wasn't.
John quickly ran down the stairs, getting out of the building. He took deep breaths, the cold wind against his skin welcomed. No, this simply couldn't be. Shaking his head he stared at the pavement. Sherlock wasn't like that. Sherlock didn't feel things like that. His flatmate always told him how love was a disadvantage. That people let themselves be fooled by just a chemical reaction. But he had told him. He hadn't sounded like he was lying to him. This was not one of Sherlock's, maybe unintended, cruel jokes. This was real. Those were his friend's feelings.
The doctor needed to wrap his head around the simple idea of him experiencing such human emotions. But then again, Sherlock was human, just like everyone else. Even though he wanted to be better, appear better, he was human, including emotions. John had never thought he was a psychopath. How could he? Those smiles he sometimes gave him were genuine and even if Sherlock would never admit it himself, John believed that vile things people said about him did hurt him. Of course he would set up a defence mechanism and pretend they didn't upset him.
But why him? Why had his flatmate developed such feelings for him? John sighed; he had just left him there. If he had admitted such a thing he wouldn't have wanted for the other person to leave him. He ought to talk to him about…whatever this was. Nevertheless, he was angry. Part of him was angry at Sherlock, because he had taken those blockers. They were unhealthy, but then again maybe he could understand him a little. He had seemed to be really upset for feeling this way, like it was wrong.
John kicked a stone away. This was going to be awkward. After all this thinking about why and how, he hadn't even thought about how he himself felt about this confession. The first thing that sprang to his mind was that he was not gay. He wasn't, that's it, but… If he had to label himself he hesitated with saying he was straight. It didn't fit. What did he feel about Sherlock?
The consulting detective was his friend, his mad flatmate. He sometimes annoyed him to no end with his experiments and violin playing in the early hours of the day. Of course he had also thought about murdering him when he ruined his dates because of a case or strange emergency. John frowned and looked at the door. Had he ruined them because he had been jealous? He bit back a laugh. Sherlock Holmes wasn't jealous, how ridiculous. But then again…did he know him all that well? If he did he would have noticed him being….
This was more difficult than he had at first anticipated. Did he like him? Not in a friendly way but in a more intimate way. Even at the idea of them being together made John cough, feeling uncomfortable. He blushed at the thought of the two of them having sex and shook his head. Did Sherlock even want to have sex? "Oh God," John muttered and cleared his throat. He couldn't imagine it. Even if his friend liked him in that way, John didn't. If he did, his Light would appear and there was none. There never had been one with Sherlock.
He would have to carefully tell him he didn't feel that way and hope for the best. John felt his chest constrict a little but didn't know why. He really hoped Sherlock would take it well, because he had no idea what he would do if he didn't. Either way it would be awkward. Should he politely tell him he didn't have those kinds of feelings for him? It was probably for the best, John nodded.
With heavy steps he entered 221 and spotted Mrs Hudson watching him, a concerned look on her face. "Is everything alright?" She softly asked him, her brow furrowing. "I heard shouting…"
John sighed. "It's fine, we just…had a bit of a disagreement," he decided to tell her and walked up the stairs. "No need to worry." Well, he hoped.
She nodded thoughtfully. "If you say so."
He looked at her puzzled before continuing his way up. The flat was eerily silent and John didn't like it one bit. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen in the main room. He's probably in his room, the blogger thought. The only out of the ordinary thing was the syringe which was placed in John's armchair, not used. It made him smile a tad. He placed his jacket on the back of the chair and carefully took the needle, observing the colourless liquid. How long had his friend been taking this stuff?
It was still too silent, no sound except for John's footsteps as he went to his room, placing the dangerous item into a small box he kept under his bed. Sherlock may have no sense of privacy but he never dared to leave his room in a mess and had never opened his secret box. John didn't bother questioning it.
Unexpectedly the blond heard a door opening and glass clinking together. Should he go downstairs? Why shouldn't he? He lived in this flat, but the thought of meeting Sherlock made him uncomfortable. Fuck, he was uncomfortable talking to his friend. He sincerely hoped it wouldn't remain awkward.
The noise was coming from the kitchen, John noted when he found himself in the living room again. He was unsure if Sherlock had noticed his presence, but the detective seemed busy putting glasses away where they belonged. Had he done the dishes? John didn't like this at all. Sherlock never did any house work if John didn't ask him for a good thirty minutes to do so. It was counterproductive, John would have done the work by then, but he always wanted Sherlock to do something except sulk.
He had been so lost in thought that he only now realised Sherlock was staring at him, his posture tense. As he looked back at him the taller man glanced away. Awkward. Discomforted John decided to walk over to him.
"What are you doing?" He asked him cautiously. The detective shrugged and clumsily put another glass away.
"Just doing the dishes."
"You never do that."
"I felt like it," Sherlock replied, still not looking at him.
"Is everything alright?" John chose to try to start the conversation they needed to have and put a hand on his shoulder. Sherlock jerked away from his touch. "I'm fine," he insisted and glared at him. "You don't need to worry."
"Well, excuse me for being concerned," John told him, his anger bubbling up again. "I just don't want you to do something stupid." Sherlock huffed and crossed the room, not bothering to reply.
"I am talking to you!" The doctor said to him, not knowing why he got so aggravated. "You can't pretend nothing happened."
Sherlock stopped, his back facing John. "I'm not pretending nothing happened. I told you, you rejected me. Case closed, we can move on."
"This isn't a fucking case, Sherlock. Those were…are your feelings," John's voice softened at the last part. He didn't want his friend to shut him out again.
"What do you expect me to do? What do you want me to say? I told you, I don't even know why. I stupidly told you and you left, you rejected me. That's okay, John. I understand."
John wasn't sure if he did. "I don't want our relationship to be awkward from now on."
"We have no relationship," Sherlock replied, turning around. "But we are friends," John said.
Sherlock glanced at him. "If you don't want this to be awkward then stop making it. I can move on. No hard feelings. I made you an offer and you turned it down. It's fine."
He started walking away again but John followed. "It's not fine. I know how it is to be rejected-"
"Then you also might know that I don't want to talk about it," Sherlock clenched his fists.
"But you should talk with someone." John tried to reason with him.
"And what makes you think I would talk to you? Because I have no other friends?" The detective said with distain.
"What- no, that's not what I meant!" He told him but Sherlock took the handle of the door to his room.
"Of course you didn't," he muttered and opened the door. "John, you don't need to talk to me about it. I understand, alright?" Sherlock turned to look at him. John knew he was shutting him out again, but could he blame him?
"Let's just forget this ever happened, it's better for both of us." John slowly nodded, not knowing what else to do. The door closed behind Sherlock and the doctor sighed. Maybe Sherlock was right. He should forget about it.
Apparently Sherlock was really keen on forgetting The Incident – as John liked to call it – because over the span of the next few weeks he didn't mention it once. The next day he had pretended it had never happened and began calling John an idiot again and being his natural self. John even wondered if it had ever occurred.
There was no sign of the Light either and John looked at the box every day, the syringe was still there. Had it been just a phase? The blogger didn't know. He also tried to forget it but sometimes he felt like he slipped.
Personal space had never been an issue for Sherlock. He constantly looked over his shoulder, his chest pressing against John's back as he read his latest blog entry.
The first time it had happened after that fateful day John had maybe jerked away a little. He still didn't know why he had done it. Sherlock had continued reading. Had John only imagined his flatmate looking at him confused?
John liked to act as if nothing had changed, but that was untrue. Sherlock stopped invading his personal space and liked to keep a comfortable distance. It was weird, unnatural for him, but John shrugged it off. It was almost certainly nothing.
But now their conversations sometimes seemed strained, as if neither of the two knew what they were allowed to say and what not. John caught himself not saying brilliant or amazing as often as he had before when Sherlock solved a case. Again, he didn't know why. It felt…inappropriate. Sherlock didn't seem to mind, John told himself. Everything was fine. It was fine.
Except it wasn't.
John was on a date with his girlfriend. They had been together for…three weeks, he nodded. Three weeks. It was their third date and Sherlock had never interrupted them so far. He had even brought her to their flat and his friend had simply retreated to his room and gave them space. John had been thankful, but a weird feeling had settled into his stomach ever since.
Samantha was laughing at a comment he had made and he smiled. He liked her. She was easy to talk to and yes, she was also nice to look at. Before John had left for his date he knew Sherlock had gotten a text from Lestrade, so he would most likely try to crash his date with Samantha. Throughout the dinner John expected to get a phone call or a text any minute. Or Sherlock would appear at the table. John was on edge a little but tried to enjoy his time with his girlfriend.
The meal had been consumed and there had been no call from the detective so far. It didn't make any sense. Sherlock always contacted him when there was a case.
"Is everything okay, John?" Samantha asked as she caught him checking his phone again.
"Hm?" He put it away again. Nothing. "Yes, nothing's wrong."
"You sure? You keep checking your phone."
"Don't worry," he smiled at her although it didn't quite reach his eyes. Something was wrong. Why wasn't he coming? John got a bit distressed. He knew he should be enjoying this date, but Sherlock's behaviour worried him.
"What is it? Come on, spit it out." She took his hand. All of a sudden he didn't like the contact.
"It's nothing. Just…my mate usually interrupts my dates and so far he hasn't," John told her. She raised a brow.
"Why would he do that?"
"Something always comes up. A case or he needs my help with something…"
"You should be glad he isn't ruining this," she smiled sweetly. "So you can enjoy this."
John nodded, "I am glad."
They continued talking for a while, but John couldn't help himself and checked his phone. He heard Samantha sigh.
"Why do you keep looking at it? He isn't coming, why aren't you happy with that?"
"I am happy," he looked up. "It's just really weird, he always calls me and I know he has a case, so why isn't he now?"
"Are you really waiting for him to ruin this?" She sounded annoyed now and John shook his head.
"No, look, it's not like that. I'm just concerned."
"Concerned because he isn't being a dick?" Samantha replied.
"He's not a dick," John frowned, feeling the urge to defend him.
"Trust me, from the amount of time you've talked about him, I know he is. You just go on and on about him," she sighed. "I don't think this is working."
"Samantha, no, please," he knew what was coming.
"I think you are a nice guy, John. You really are, but your friend is always distracting you and you let him. He's controlling you, or maybe you are just that dependant on him." She stood up. "The problem, John, is that you are putting all of your attention on him and not on other things. We've been together for a month now." Was it a month? He thought it had been three weeks, hm. "And I know more about your flatmate than I know about you."
"That's not…" John sighed.
"I really like you, just so you know." She kissed his cheek and left the restaurant.
John looked after Samantha but made no attempt to stop her. Great, just fucking great. He put his head in his hands and sighed. There went another one. He had thought everything had been great so far. Did he truly talk that much about Sherlock? Speaking of, why hadn't he called him? He gritted his teeth. He had a case and he didn't tell him. Maybe he was a dick after all.
Angrily he stood up and texted Lestrade where the crime scene was. Not a minute later he received the answer. Greg was also surprised he wasn't there with Sherlock and John hailed a cab.
When he arrived Sherlock was talking to the Detective Inspector, it seemed they were in a heated discussion. John paid the cabbie and got out, striding over to them. Sherlock looked at him, a little surprised and John glared at him.
"Why didn't you call me? Texted me? You have a case and you didn't even tell me!" He got straight to the point. The detective looked taken aback but caught himself and Greg was surprised by his sudden outburst.
"You were on a-"
"I know I was on a date! But it didn't work out, thanks again for that."
"What do I have to do with that?" Sherlock asked genuinely confused. "John, I didn't tell you because you were occupied with something else." He said calmly.
"It never stopped you before! You usually ruin every single attempt I make to have a steady someone," John replied snippily. Sherlock looked at him perplexed.
"Yes, except I knew you wanted this to work and decided to not bother you, but clearly my attempts of being a good friend failed." The taller man said, "Although I haven't got a clue to what I did wrong this time."
John hesitated with his answer. What had he done wrong? Nothing, Sherlock had done the right thing. He had given John time with his now ex-girlfriend. He hadn't ruined his date, that had been John himself.
"Why does it bother you so much that I didn't call you?" Sherlock asked with a puzzled expression.
The doctor opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't. He didn't know himself what troubled him. He could have had a perfect date with Samantha.
"Because we always work together on a case. We are a team," John told him.
"Then what do you expect of me? Should I just not take any cases while you are in a relationship?" Sherlock shook his head. "I can't do that."
John didn't know what he wanted Sherlock to do. They had always solved them together. No matter how trivial they had been.
"Why didn't you ruin my date like you used to?" He finally asked the question that had been on his mind the whole time. "Why have you been so considerate?"
The detective shrugged, looking away briefly. "I didn't want to disturb you."
"I know that's not the reason. Come on, tell me." John pushed him.
Sherlock glanced at Lestrade and shook his head. "Can we…talk later? I need to solve the case, do you want to do it with me?"
It had sounded like a sincere offer but John didn't want to right now. He needed to calm down.
"No, it's fine. I'll go home, do it without me," he answered. "See you later." John mumbled and retreated, noticing Greg's confused expression as he looked after him. He was fed up, but not with Sherlock. He himself was the problem. Sherlock wasn't the jerk here, it was John.