Dangerous Love

chapter 3 - Sherlock's POV

Sherlock could tell something is wrong with John. Something to do with the war. But what was it?

Sherlock had changed already, but he went into his bedroom anyhow, and looked through his dresser drawers. Nothing seemed to catch his eye, so he sat in his bed, trying to go into his mind palace.

He just couldn't get his mind off of John. Why was John crying? Was it really because of the war? Or had it been something to do with Sherlock?

Sherlock couldn't take hearing John sobbing any longer. He opened his bedroom door and stood in front of the bathroom door. John had been in the shower for longer than he normally was, but Sherlock knew why. John was trying to have the steam help him calm down so he didn't have a puffy and tear stained face.

Sherlock stood in front of the bathroom door for what seemed ages, trying to figure out the correct words to use.

As soon as Sherlock was going to knock, the water stopped. Sherlock groaned, knowing he missed a chance at figuring out what was wrong with John. Maybe just maybe, Sherlock could help John. If Sherlock helped John enough, then maybe John wouldn't be so angry with him when Sherlock did what he needed to do.

Sherlock quickly backed away from the bathroom door. He walked swiftly to the living room and picked up his violin. His violin had been there for him through the thick and thin. No matter what Sherlock had been through, playing his violin helped him to deal with his emotion.

Sherlock played his violin when he needed it. He never played it if he wanted. His violin was played mostly for sad things. Sometimes happy things. His violin was like Emojis for him. It helped him show emotion when he couldn't with his words.

Sherlock had been playing a sad tune. It was a mixture of both heartbreak and stress. Sherlock knew the reason his fingers were going to the notes, the notes that were telling his story. The notes that were telling his emotions.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock whipped his head around to see John standing there. Sherlock gave an involuntary sigh. Sherlock was going to miss this man. This man with his wet soppy hair. This man who had been crying. This man who had been his best friend, and he was going to lose John.

"Yes John? What is it?"

Sherlock looked up again, not realizing he had looked to the ground.  Sherlock had his violin in one hand and his bow in another.

"Sherlock, why are you staring at me?"

"I uh, well John, I heard you crying. Are you alright? What is the matter? Is it me? Oh God, it's probably me. John I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

John was gaping at Sherlock. Sherlock​knew he messed up. Of course he did. All Sherlock was trying to do was make it so when... so that John wouldn't be upset with him. And now
John would hate him, because he messed up.

"Sherlock, what's with expression on your face? And why do you think it is your fault. It's not your fault. It's mine actually. It's all my fault. I messed up. I messed up and he is gone. He's gone because​..."

John faltered as if he knew he shouldn't say anymore. Sherlock couldn't think of anything to say. John turned around and walked up the stairs to his room.

Sherlock went into the kitchen to make tea for John. John liked a certain kind of tea, and Sherlock couldn't remember it to save his life. And if only it were that simple to save John's life.

Sherlock made tea for John and poured it into John's favorite cup. Sherlock spilled some of the tea on his arm as he was walking up the stairs to John's bedroom. Sherlock dropped the cup and it shattered.

John rushed out to see Sherlock drop to the ground so upset that the cup is broken. Sherlock couldn't believe he broke John's favorite cup. He had tried so hard to please John, to make it more bearable for John. And today he is failing miserably. In just a week, just a week, Sherlock has to do something that will forever change his life and John's. And Sherlock is trying so hard, just to fail at pleasing John.

"Sherlock, are you alright?"

Sherlock looked up and saw John's concerned face. And all Sherlock could do was cry.