Johnlock
~
Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Time ticked on teasingly, each second dragging out longer than the last. God, he still had to endure another forty minutes. He leant forward, taking the woman's left hand: "If we could just skip all the boring talk of emotions, we can talk about what's really been interesting me. Why do you think you're in any way capable of offering my partner and I worthwhile advice on how to communicate more effectively and improve our relationship when you're having a love affair with your husband's best friend's younger brother?"
"Sherlock, how many times? You're doing the thing."
"What thing? I'm not doing a thing, John, I am just looking at her and saying what I see because I'm bored. See if you can deduce that. Or, even better why don't you try deducing how much of a waste of time 'relationship therapy' is."
"Sherlock."
"Yes, John?"
"You're not holding Mr Rabbit. You know that only the person holding Mr Rabbit is allowed to talk. Are you holding Mr Rabbit? No, because I am, I'm talking and you keep interrupting me."
"Thank you," said Sherlock, turning away from him and slumping back into the sofa, "for proving my point. Waste. Of. Time."
The first session. The first of many sessions and Sherlock couldn't bear to think of all the lost hours ahead of him. The simple knowledge that all the hours would accumulate into a time he could be solving several cases in, irritated him. When John approached the subject a few weeks ago, Sherlock laughed in his face. They didn't need help in their relationship and seeing John thinking they did need the help of some stranger sickened him. But John had dropped the subject and Sherlock had begun to hope it had been a passing phase, until yesterday when John had arrived back from the hospital with an address card card poking out from his jacket.
Banging on the bathroom door, Sherlock called out to John. "Yeah? Give me a minute," he replied but either Sherlock hadn't heard him over the sound of the thrashing water or he had decided to ignore the request, bursting in. Poking his head around the slightly transparent shower curtain, hugging it to his partially exposed body, he asked Sherlock what was wrong. In response, Sherlock held up the appointment card and scowled despondently, unable to mask how much John thinking their relationship wasn't ok tore him. What had he done wrong?
