Since John (Johnlock)

Reflection

The door of 221B closed behind John as he stepped into the dusk that was falling over London. A sharp wind curled around him as he pulled his jacket tighter around himself. The bistro where he was meeting Sarah wasn't too far away so he decided to walk there instead of trying to hail a cab. Besides, Sherlock was the only one who seemed able to catch one on the first try.

Sherlock.....

What the hell has gotten into him anyway? He's used to Sherlock being stubborn and churlish, but this was different. He may not have the power of deduction like Sherlock, but he knew when someone was in mental anguish. Especially when that someone was his best friend.

John gave a little chuckle when he thought about what Sherlock would say about that. He would probably roll his eyes and go off half-cocked about sentiment " being a disadvantage " or some such bloody nonsense. He always had a way of putting off any kind of emotional output as "boring" but John knew better. It didn't take a degree in psychology to know when someone is hiding behind a well-placed facade. He also knew , better than anyone, that Sherlock's facade was earned. In the year they had been flatmates, he'd put bits and pieces together from different people to get a clearer picture into what made Sherlock Holmes tick. From the stories of his lonely childhood, to his never ending competition with his brother, to his darker days when Lestrade used to drag him out of London's most notorious drug dens.......Sherlock definitely had his demons to fight. And they weren't all in his past either. Many a time John had to grasp a firm hold of his temper when he heard the insults and slurs mumbled under someone's breath at various crime scenes, from "freak" to "psychopath" to "junkie". But no matter how low on the totem pole they viewed Sherlock, it didn't stop them from accepting his help on a regular basis. And one of John's biggest pet peeves was hypocrites.

He paused at a crosswalk and waited with a small group of people for a clearing to cross. He glanced behind him and could bearly see the flat in the distance. If he didn't know better he could swear he saw the curtains move, as if someone was watching him. But that was ridiculous. Wasn't it?

Now that he thought about it, Sherlock had become more clingy lately. That was enough to really make John think. It definitely wasn't normal behavior for Sherlock. After all, we're talking about someone who could go for hours without noticing John's absence. So what's changed? John wished he knew. Perhaps something happened to Sherlock that he was hiding from John. He'd hate to think that Sherlock would actually hide something serious from him, but he was entitled to privacy like everyone else. Still....it would explain a lot. The more he thought about it, the more it worried him.

The street was now safe to cross and the small group began to hurry along so John quickly joined them. But the more he thought, the slower his steps became. He decided to think about this rationally before he managed to get himself into a full-blown panic. And the best way he knew how was go back to the days when he was still seeing his therapist for his PTSD. After all, Sherlock's reactions to him have been remarkably similar. Calm and collected on the outside, but having uncharacteristic outbursts on occasion. He tried to remember what his therapist had taught him about dealing with repressed emotions but for the life of him he couldn't. It wasn't as if he had used the techniques recently. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he thought about his PTSD at all. He hasn't had any nightmares in what seemed like months, panic attacks even longer still. Then it quickly hit him like a ton of bricks and he stopped so suddenly that someone behind him bumped into him, then passed him with a dirty look. His PTSD hadn't manifested itself in about a year.

About the same length of time since he moved into 221B with Sherlock.

With a dazed look on his face he walked the last block to the bistro and took a table inside by a window so he could see when Sarah arrived. But even though he was looking out the window, he saw nothing. He was still reeling from his realization. He knew that he and Sherlock had become quite close in their work together, but he never realized that their friendship didn't just end there. Sherlock had become extremely important to him. He worried about the silly git constantly; whether he ate, when (and if) he slept, and most definitely when he was chasing after him through the darkened streets of London after God knows who. After all, he had only known him for one day and it was all he needed to know for him to kill a man in Sherlock's defense. And he'd do it again. Without hesitation. That's what friends did, wasn't it?

But no, it was more than that. He was friends with Lestrade, and of course Molly too. But he couldn't care a fig as to whether Lestrade got home at a decent hour, or whether Molly ate something better than whatever came out of the vending machines at St. Bart's. He CARED about Sherlock's well-being, more than a bloke usually would for his friend. It was almost as if.....

His thoughts were interrupted by his phone chiming. He dug it out of his pocket and glanced at it. It was Sarah.

Hey! Sorry it's such sort notice by I got called in the surgery because the night nurse called out. Raincheck?

Yeah. No problem. Just let me know when. -JW

Thanks John. You're the best! :)

See you later.- JW

John sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples. Unbelievable. He knew the chances of him being called in as well were likely. But he couldn't worry about that right now. Instead he texted Sherlock.

Sarah got called in so she's not coming. If you're hungry, come eat with me. My treat. Unless you'd rather I get takeout. -JW

No. SH

No what? - JW

Not hungry. SH

John shook his head. Typical. He got up to leave and decided to get take out anyway. He was still hungry and figured that if he got Sherlock's favorite, he might convince him to eat a bite or two. He called ahead to their usual Chinese restaurant and placed an order knowing it would be ready by the time he got there. Besides, he had to pass it on the way back to Baker Street.

He arrived just as they were boxing up his order and it would be a minute or two more. He sat in a chair to wait, and his mind drifted back to his earlier revelation. The more he thought about it, the more he tried to second guess his conclusion. Yes he cared about Sherlock, but just how deep does that river run? He made a mental checklist: 1) he always made sure Sherlock was fed. OK, any friend would do the same. 2) he always made sure the flat was tidy and the kitchen stocked. That only proves that he's the responsible one between the two. Nothing unusual there. 3) His temper boils at the slightest negatively thrown in Sherlock's direction. Hmmm, OK so that can be seen in a number of ways. John decided to ignore that for now. But the heart of the matter was simply this: no matter what he was doing, if he was away from Sherlock, then Sherlock always seemed to find a way into his mind. He admitted to himself that he did spend an unusual amount of time thinking and worrying about him. But could that really mean that he....

He shook his head. He was just overanalyzing everything, he was sure. Absentmindedly, he reached on the counter for a fortune cookie to use as a distraction. They were always so ridiculous they never failed to make John laugh, and right now his tired brain could use some levity. He broke it open, read the fortune, and his heart stopped completely.

"HE WHO IS LOCKED IN YOUR MIND HOLDS THE KEY TO YOUR HEART"

When they called his name John quickly grabbed his bags, threw a handful of bills on the counter, and bolted to Baker Street.