Data Doesn't Lie (Johnlock)

Chapter 2

-MH

A powerful falling feeling entrapped me. My mind whirred at a hundred miles per hour, and for a brief moment I felt lightheaded. I knew I'd killed off the rest of Moriarty's men, I knew I'd ended it. John...my blogger. Rage built up somewhere beneath my panic, a dramatic amount of murderous intent rushing through my blood for whoever did this. Something beneath my emotionless heart and poker-face urged me to go to him, to heal and take care of him just as he had done for me, and I was far too upset to shove these feelings down. The information I'd just received had left a pressing weight on my shoulders, and a desperate need to be back in my home in 221B, back with John...

My head snapped back into reality. What was this? Bloody sentiment?! I was angry at these new-found emotions, making me even more hostile than before. My response was typed tight and agaitated.

Get me a car or suffer the consequences

-SH

I knew I shouldn't have been so snappy with Mycroft, but something uncomfortable was settling over me. I didn't like to be uncomfortable, but after three years without everything I'd been accustomed to, I should have been used to it. It was uncomfortable to live so long without 221B, without a proper case, without Mrs.Hudson and Lestrade...

So long without John.

And now because of me, he was hurt. My John...in the hospital again. Because of me.
My text alert buzzed.

Very well brother, dear, if you are to be so impatient. Pity you couldn't have been as eager to return to him any sooner.

-MH

I was far too upset at this comment to respond to my brother's insensitivity. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this guilty. Not since childhood. Then again, this wouldn't be a first for any time John brought out my forgotten emotions. When everyone thought I was nothing but a machine, an emotionless arse who cared not for other humans, John proved them wrong. John brought the closest thing to kindness out of me, actual sentiment and guilt. I couldn't stand to see him in pain, in danger, and knowing that any attack would be my fault. That's why I had to jump, and I knew I would explain it all to him. He might be grateful, he might be happy to see me. A slight jump in my heart broke these thoughts. I was back to thinking dangerous thoughts of "what if's" as I grabbed my coat and scarf from the thumbtacks I'd shot into the wall.

I heard Mycroft's car before saw it, and with a heavy shudder rushed from the horrendous flat of which I hoped I'd never have to see again. Quite a bit of me was convinced that John would survive and things would proceed as they were before my fall. Oh, how I hoped it would reign true.

The sudden morning sun stung my eyes, but I refused to retreat back into the mold. I climbed into the jet black model car with haste, frustrated over my fighting emotions. Half of me wanted to die inside for leaving my blogger and allowing him to get hurt. The other half had a strange but pleasant excitement of the thought of coming home.

I allowed myself to grumble nonsense in the back of the car, knowing the driver would not ask questions except "Where to, Mr.Holmes?" I looked up at him for a mere second, the haunted location rolling off my tongue in an irritated snarl. How dare he interrupt my thoughts? "St.Barts hospital, London. As fast as possible thanks."

The driver nodded, and didn't think twice about asking me anything else.

I made a few quick deductions about him to keep my mind off John. He was married, unhappily. The ring on his finger was clean and polished. His wife was the unhappy one, she wanted end it, he still loved her. Wrinkles on his chin, bags under his eyes, frequent blinking. He'd been crying recently, getting little sleep. She was cheating. Emotional, they'd been together for eight, no, nine years. He'd become more and more interested in his work, based on how firmly he held the wheel. He worked later and later each night, afraid to come home and catch her in the act. Poor bloke had no idea she already filed for divorce.

But still, my thoughts drifted to John. I was happy...relatively pleased, correction, to be seeing him again. But there was also doubt, a tight, knotted feeling in my stomach that told me that he would never forgive me and that I'd be cast away and forgotten as if I truly were dead. What if he didn't want to see me? What if the doctors found something unsolvable in his blood and he died? How would I live with myself without knowing if I'd hear his voice and see his smile once more? What if it's too much for him?...

What if he hates me?

More importantly, why do I care? Of course I care, he's my friend isn't he? My best friend. Of course I care, it's only natural. It's normal to feel this way.

Though I wasn't exactly normal. What could possibly make me feel so inclined, so certain and nervous at the same time? Oh...now this was a challenging case indeed.

  I steepled my hands under my chin, surrendering to the calls of my mindpalace and walking through the room that stored my fondest memories of John and me. I smiled to myself, and made  silsnt promise.

Hold on John. It'll be over soon.