The Doctor And The Detective (Johnlock)

Seventeen

Once again, John woke up with the girl he'd had sex with gone. Once again, he was happy about his - he wouldn't have been able to bear the guilt of looking at a stranger's face after he'd become close to her in the most passionate way possible. His head hurt. He couldn't remember anything about the night before - how drunk had he been? John shifted, and cried out. He stung. Gingerly he eased himself off the bed and limped to where his clothes were lying, slipping them on.

It was a long walk home.

John put the bath on as soon as he got back - a shower just wouldn't do. He couldn't bear to stand up any longer. His bad leg hurt like hell. Gritting his teeth, John waited silently for the bath to fill. He wondered why he stung so much. It had never happened before. Supposing he had actually taken home a guy? That would explain a lot. John blushed. He couldn't remember anything. He prayed to god that it was a girl he'd taken back to the hotel.

John turned off the taps and gingerly lowered himself into the water.

................................................................................................................................................................

Sherlock drew his legs up to his chest on the car seat, hiding his face in his knees. Mycroft's arms were crossed and his expression thundery. Neither of them spoke. They'd used up their arguments in the yelling match that had happened just an hour before. He just wanted to curl up so tight he vanished from existence. Sherlock felt like a little kid again. His eyes burned with tears that threatened to fall.

"Why can't he see?" Sherlock wondered under his breath. Mycroft was silent. Sherlock lifted his face slightly. "Why can't he see why I keep coming back to him? It's like he's blind." Anger twisted through him, cold and dark. It settled like a solid object in the bottom of his gut. He felt that if someone was to slit him open the anger would drop out like a big black rock. "If loving him is going to be this hard, why should I even bother?" Sherlock felt an intense wave of guilt wash over him at this sentence, but he bit his lip and swallowed it. Mycroft remained silent, but the silence emanating from him was no longer heavy or filled with anger.

"Maybe I'm stupid. I should have listened to you. Love's stupid. It only breaks you." Now the tears that had threatened to fall pushed forward. One rolled down his cheek, and he swiped it away. As much as it killed him to say it, Sherlock fervently believed this to be true. Nothing had come from loving John. Nothing but this feeling like his heart had split in two. Nothing but the slow thrum of the car engine as it sped away from London. He'd been stupid, right from the start. Stupid to leave the safety of the house in the country. Stupid to have had sex with John. Stupid to have gotten drunk.

"I thought that if I kept coming back he'd see that I loved him. I'm meant to be smart, but I'm so dumb." It felt good to get it out. At least Mycroft listened, even if he was too angry to contribute and console. It was nice to have someone just listen to him rant. Sherlock let another tear fall. It was also nice to be able to cry without being judged - but he wasn't going to cry cry. No way.

The car drew to a halt outside the 'safe house'. Sherlock dried his eyes and hardened his expression, sliding out of the car and staring up at the house determinedly. He'd get over John Watson, no matter how hard it was.

...............................................................................................................................................................

John trooped tiredly out of the flat to find food. He didn't feel like making his own, and had developed a strange phobia of mobile phones from all the bad things that had happened to him involving mobile phones. It had finally dawned on him that Sherlock wasn't coming back, and he felt like all the energy had been sucked out of him. He just wanted to lie down and go to sleep, but the nagging hunger had finally driven him out the door.

John sat dejectedly in the café across the road, staring into a swirling hot chocolate. He was going to get a nice steaming coffee to wake himself up a bit, but there had been a young girl in front of him in the line and she'd gotten a hot chocolate and the temptation had been too great. He longed for the feeling of being a child again, of being so naive about the world, about love. The marshmallow on the top of his hot chocolate had started to melt. He'd long since finished his food, but didn't feel like returning to the flat yet.

"May I sit here? All the other seats are taken." It was a woman, maybe in her early twenties. John nodded wordlessly and she smiled and sat. He noticed she was cupping a hot chocolate in her hands as well. She took a sip. "You look sad."

"I'm just trying to wrap my head around everything that's happened to me recently," John murmured. The girl sat forward, resting her elbows on the table.

"I can help you if you want. I'm involved with the suicide prevention hotline, so I know a lot about helping a person clear their head and get a grip on their thoughts."

"I- I'm really confused. There was this guy who I moved in with and he was really distant and introverted and didn't really show emotions, but he faked suicide one day and it broke me. And then he came back years later and I cherished him more, but then he disappeared again and then he came back and he kissed me and we- we had sex, but when I woke up I thought I'd made a mistake and then he left again and I haven't seen him since. And I don't know if I actually love him or not. I thought I was straight, and I thought I only liked him as a friend but I've been second guessing myself lately." Hearing it all come out at once made it seem crazy. John sighed.

The woman frowned. "You said you thought you made a mistake in having sex with him. Have you changed your mind?"

"I don't know! I think so...? It's complicated," John groaned. The woman nodded slowly.

"List some things you hate about him."

"Hate? I don't know, the way he's so smart all the time...? It makes me feel dumb. And the way he seems to ignore me sometimes. The fact he doesn't seem to care about my emotions. The fact he doesn't show his own emotions," John shrugged. The woman smiled.

"Great, now list the things you love about him."

"I love his voice. And I love the sassy, sarcastic way he laughs. And when he laughs properly, I like that too. And his purple shirt. Oh, his eyes. I love his eyes. And I love the way he says my name. I love his name. I love his hair, and his smile. I love his company. I love the way we can just sit in silence on the couch and it won't feel awkward. I love his violin music. I love the fact I know him," John smiled, painting a mental image of Sherlock in his mind. The woman watched with a small smirk on her face. John realised what she'd done. And he now knew that he did in fact love Sherlock.

"Thank you. I- That was amazing. Wow," John remarked incredulously. The woman tapped the side of her nose mysteriously and stood, bidding him farewell as she left.

(OMG IM SO SORRY I HAVNT UPLOADED IN LITERALLY FOREVER I FEEL LIKE A BAD PERSON. To make up for it, here is an extra long chapter. Sorry!)