Colorblind (A Johnlock Fanfiction)

Twelve; Lime

"Why are you still here?" John asked, sliding into the barstool next to Sherlock. John'd noticed him neglecting his cocktail for the past five minutes, dragging a perfect, pale finger across the condensation until the small droplets of water conglomerated on the glass, and had come over out of sheer impatience. Now, Sherlock turned slowly to see John right beside him, face forward, as if indifferent.

"The constant streak of victories began to get boring," Sherlock said impassively, not making eye contact. "I could ask you the same question."

John briefly looked over at Sherlock to determine how he was taking this conversation. He seemed inattentive, still running his fingers over his damp cocktail glass. John questioned, "Why?"

"No one wants to face against you after seeing what you did to Moriarty."

"I assume you know that because you have a secret sixth sense."

"No," Sherlock bit. "I don't know anything. I observe."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean," he shot off, his voice gaining speed, "no one has bothered to even approach your vicinity in the last half hour, except to marvel at your magnificent poker skills."

"That sounded slightly sarcastic."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Moriarty threw the game. Don't be unbearable."

John snorted. "Alright, Sherlock."

"He likes to play with people's minds. You're no different, John. Letting you win that game was just his way of telling you to have fun while it lasts." Something seemed to flicker in Sherlock's eyes; something bitter.

John shook his head at him, looking doubtful. "You were there," he protested warily. "You saw. I won the game."

"Because he threw it." Sherlock finally turned his whole body to face John, his eyes serious. "Moriarty likes to play with his food," Sherlock continued. "As long as you don't feed into it, you won't end up like these poor bastards." He gestured slightly to the rest of the bar, which seemed dank and classless, as if the clean grandiosity of the main hall slowly melted into some sort of tarred rot. There were too many shadows on this side of the room. John could feel them crawling around under his suit.

They both sank into an uncomfortable silence, lost in their own small worlds. Maybe John had no clue what to say. Maybe this truly was an awful idea.

After what must have been thirty seconds, Sherlock asked John, "Why are you still here," but he didn't phrase it as a question. He sounded impatient, like he couldn't wait for the blight of this conversation to wipe itself away, preferably relocating somewhere very not near Sherlock.

Despite that, John couldn't really fight back the response that was tugging at his vocal cords, his throat. "Because," he said, almost pained, as if the syllables hurt to utter. He couldn't make eye contact with anything except the bar. "I was waiting for some stupid git to buy me a drink."

Sherlock very abruptly stopped running his finger over the rim of his glass, and he fixed a heated gaze on John, looking practically incandescent with anger. "You don't understand anything."

"What the hell does that mean?" John said, "I've been sitting here for an hour, waiting for you to come talk to me!"

"Lower your fucking voice, you daft-" Sherlock seemed to visibly bite down on his comment, choking it back.

"Please, tell me what you think of me," John whisper-yelled. "Give me one more reason to put this on the shelf."

"First of all," Sherlock began, his voice beginning to go rapid fire, "you're being illogical and jeopardizing both our livelihoods with your compulsive obsession with forming an emotional bond with me." Every click of his tongue was snapped out with a harshness befitting a drill sergeant. John sank a bit, fighting back a chill and the soft reddening of his cheeks that he could feel blossoming underneath his skin. "Can't you tell that I'm not interested? I'm not good at putting things gently, John. There comes a point where I lose my patience. You knew fully well that we couldn't maintain anything but a sexual relationship. I made that very, very clear. Implicitly and explicitly, I made that clear."