Johnlock Fluff And Oneshots

Words Not Meant to Be Spoken

'John please forgive me.'

The young blond gazed down at the words spread across the screen, an iridescent glow reflecting off his skin from the small contraption nestled safely between his two hands.

' Come home.'

John reread the messages from his dear friend over and over again, his tear filled eyes long since blurring the letters into a tangled haze of black smudges. But he knew what was on the screen before him. After all, he had read them what seemed to be hundreds of times since receiving the messages earlier that day.

The young doctor slumped against his chair, setting the phone on the table's surface once more.

"God I'm such a fool." He muttered out to himself, swallowing the lump that had been forming in his throat. Just how was he supposed to respond? He couldn't very well just message back and hope that things would return to the way they were.

The man lifted the small white mug in front of him to his lips mechanically, his mind some place far off. As he lost himself in the depths of his own thoughts, his slender fingers continued to slide against the edge of his phone, as if to remind him what it was that had caused so much distress in the first place. As he set the cup down once more, a small buzz emanated from his phone, causing the man to flinch back, His hand stopping in mid reach. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, convincing himself he was strong enough not to cry in such a public place. Then he opened his eyes, and read the new message from the man who had caused him so much grief.

'where are you? I'll come and get you.'

The message read, the miniscule letters weighing down on John's shoulders like a ton of bricks. He was looking for him? What would happen if Sherlock actually managed to figure out where the boy was hiding out? No, John refused to see his face. Refused to give in to the Raven haired man's stormy eyes and childish pout. He would not allow himself to be swept away once more. It was too late for him to go running back into Sherlock's embrace. He had done the unspeakable, and no amount of apologizing could ever make up for what he had done.

The distraught man glanced wearily around him, his paranoia spiking at the thought, but a swift glance assured John that he was safely hidden away for now. Not that the man would admit it, but a pang of grief stabbed at his stomach when those multi colored eyes he had grown so used to never met his own. It was as if he were a boy once more and he had run away from home. The uncertainty gnawed at him like a starving beast and his heart felt as if it would burst from behind his chest.  Perhaps the man was slightly disappointed not to see Sherlock or maybe he was just afraid of being alone all over again.  Not even John knew the true cause of such discomfort. All the blonde knew was how cold and numb he felt. Cold and numb and tired. He was so tired.

"I'm just resting for a bit." John assured himself, allowing his head to fall back against the glass paneling to rest his left cheek on the cool window.  His phone buzzed once more, but he ignored it. Just a few more moments and he would be okay. He would wake from this nightmare and Sherlock would be mocking him for falling asleep in his reading chair again.

But the man didn't wake, and the tears he had tired so desperately to keep locked away soon found their way across his flushed cheeks. John let them pass his still shit eyes, too tired to resit them any longer. It was his fault after all, anything that happens now is due to his own carelessness. John had managed to keep his mouth shut for so long, but that day he finally slipped up.

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The day started like most for the duo living in the cramped flat; John made breakfast while Sherlock hovered impatiently, snatching up bits of egg or bacon whenever his roommate turned his back. It was during one of these occasions when Sherlock was caught in the act and John let out an irritated huff.