Colorblind (A Johnlock Fanfiction)

Thirty-Two; Alizarin

A/N: full disclaimer: this is all porn, please skip if this makes you uncomfortable

Writing this actually made me p uncomfortable so yall better fucking like it lmao

The drive was unremarkable and tense. Neither of them spoke; they just watched as fresh snow hit the windshield of the Bugatti and the wipers cleaned it off. When John looked at Sherlock's hands in the low light, he saw that they were splotched white and pink from gripping the steering wheel too hard.

"Where are we going?" John asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Home."

***

John got out of the car as soon as they pulled into the garage, slamming the door shut and stalking across the freezing cold room that was full of expensive automobiles to the entrance that led inside. Behind him, he could hear Sherlock shut the car door and follow him.

He walked in quickly and tried to find his way around the dimly lit hall before Sherlock could catch up and say something scathing about John not mattering to him. "Hey!" he heard Sherlock shout angrily. He kept on walking, only to realize Sherlock was only five or six feet behind him at this point, and he had no clue where to go. "John," Sherlock said behind him with a threat in his voice, "You-"

At that, John pivoted on his heel to face Sherlock, walking close enough so he could see the whites of Sherlock's eyes but not close enough to be able to count his individual eyelashes. His expression was dark and churning and so lost, so unknown. He looked undone. Like something had snapped inside him between the dinner party and now, something he hadn't known was there.

"You're a prick, Sherlock Holmes," John bellowed, his finger coming up to point. "An arrogant prick. I'll pretend I don't care, if that's what you want. I'll act like we don't matter to each other. But God help me - if you think - if you think that I'll allow you to make me your trophy wife when you deem me convenient, Sherlock - God help me." When John turned around to march away, he felt a unwelcome hand pull him back with an absence of precision completely unlike Sherlock.

"Do you think this is easy for me?" Sherlock hissed viciously, grip tightening.

"I don't care!" John yelled. "You don't get to be angry. You chose this. You don't get to be angry."

"I'm not," Sherlock insisted, shoving John away from him.

"Course you're not," John retorted. "'The great violinist Sherlock Holmes could hardly be angry. Machines don't get angry.'" With a hint of utter disbelief in his voice: "Do you honestly expect me to believe that, now? Do you honestly think I'm that willfully blind?"

"Your skills of deduction are par for the course, I'm afraid," he snarled.

"You're unbelievable. Unbelievable, Sherlock. You make it so hard for everyone around you, and in turn all you have to show for it is selfishness."

"What did you expect?" Sherlock shouted in frustration, his face contorting into a mix between anger and incredulity.

"I don't know, alright? But you need to make up your mind. You need to stop stringing me along on your everlasting power trip. I'm not going to sit around to stroke your fucking ego for you."

"What makes you believe that I ever intended to string you along?"

"Because those are the choices you make when you're frightened," John replied. He slumped against the wallpaper and watched Sherlock's expression slowly shift from anger to something much more subdued and ominous.

"Then you knew, and you willfully chose this."

"Maybe," John agreed, slowly. "Maybe I did. But I'm tired of having one foot out for the sake of your leisure."