Colorblind (A Johnlock Fanfiction)

Thirty-Two; Alizarin

"Then why don't you make it easy on both of us and just go back with her?" Sherlock spat.

"For a genius, you're incredibly thick."

"Answer me," Sherlock demanded, voice like acid. "Tell me why - I'm dying to know."

John took a large inhale. "Because I don't weigh my decisions on ease, Sherlock."

"What do you weigh your decisions on? It can't possibly be rationale."

"Always with the attitude." John's voice became low and restrained with tired, frustrated sincerity. He enunciated each word as if he felt Sherlock was struggling to hear him. "I didn't... go back to her because I don't... want her."

"What do you want?" Sherlock asked in a tone that connoted no hopefulness whatsoever. He acted as if all he was interested in was hard, cold facts - as if he was an outsider looking in.

John's eyes slid heavenward in exasperation. He crossed his arms as he spoke, looking upwards like he was lost in prayer. Taking a few moments to fully appreciate the absurdity of this conversation, John finally looked at Sherlock, who remained clueless. In an overly patient voice: "I want you, alright?" The tension in his voice dissolved into resignation. "I want you."

His confession was met with distinct silence.

"I want you more than I hate that you sat down next to me with Elizabeth practically fondling you, knowing... that I..." John trailed into the empty air. An emotion that John didn't have pinned down yet flickered across Sherlock's features. He took a step back and his eyes widened, silent like he didn't know what to do with his thoughts.

"And I want you enough to explicitly tell you so, because you're an annoying dick that refuses to see what's right in front of him," John supplied.

Still, Sherlock stayed unmoving, watching John carefully in the dim light, trying to pick apart his expression. (John felt that he was succeeding with little difficulty. And that was scary - because then Sherlock knew how scared he actually was.)

"Can you say something?" John finally asked after a minute-long pause. His palms were sticky. "Anything? Just so I know you haven't gone mute."

"Mm," Sherlock offered.

"Thank you." When Sherlock said nothing else, John nodded briskly and started walking away again, into the next hallway.

"John," Sherlock said to his back.

"Yeah," John mumbled, even as he kept going.

"For the record," he called, "My father ordered the seating to be changed without my knowledge."

John slowed his tread slightly, Sherlock's voice becoming less confident as he continued.

"He wanted me to negotiate with Claire's father. And you're right when you say that I'm frightened. I don't know what to do." His voice faltered, becoming quiet as he took a timid step in John's direction. "I don't know how to feel."

"If you don't know how to feel, then what am I here for? Your entertainment?" John asked the wall he was facing in a voice that was more pained than challenging.

"I don't know how to feel, but I do know how I feel. I hope that makes sense."

John was quiet, but he nodded.

"I want you. And this," Sherlock whispered. "Sorry. For not telling you sooner."

John turned slowly, finally letting himself look at Sherlock like this, Sherlock coveted by darkness and a quiet honesty. John was hesitant to speak in fear that his voice would give out - even though he had so much, too much to say-