To Be Happy

To Be Heartbroken

"John," he started, glancing at his friend. "I have to tell you something."

"What is it, Sherlock?" He called from the kitchen lightheartedly.

"Maybe you should come here. Sit down."

Sherlock's words worried John, who walked in with a concerned expression. "What wrong?" he asked, sitting down.

"I just have to tell you something." Sherlock wouldn't meet the doctor's eyes.

"I just ... thought you should know. I'm sorry. I can't .. do anything about it. I've tried. It won't go away. Just please don't let this change anything, John, please..."

"Sherlock," John interrupted, "what is it?"

The taller man finally met his flatmate's eyes.

"I'm in love with you, John."

—— end intro ——

Dr. John H. Watson's Point of View

He's in love with me.

No. Sherlock doesn't . .. feel that way about people. Does he? But... about me? Now what do I do? My best friend, he's in love with me. With me. Sherlock Holmes.

And I had absolutely no idea what to do.

I realized, for the first time since his confession, that Sherlock was staring at me, waiting for a response. And I owed him one. But what am I supposed to say?

"Sherlock," I started, my voice cracking. "Sherlock, I don't know what you want me to say."

"Well you bloody know what I want you to say, John." His sassy remarks were back. I almost laughed, but now wasn't appropriate.

"Sherlock, I can't... I don't..." I didn't know what to do. How do I tell him no? How do I tell the best friend I've ever had no?

His eyes looked away from mine. "I know John. It's fine. If you'll excuse me." He began to walk away, but I grabbed his wrist and pulled him so he was facing me. His eyes were full of tears.

"Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

And then those tears fell. So I did what any best friend should do when they've just had their heart broken. I pulled him in for a hug, and I comforted him. I held him as he cried. And it was wrong, because I was why he was crying. But I was Sherlock's best friend, and no one else was going to do it.

"John," he spoke between sobs, "I'm so sorry... I shouldn't have told you... you shouldn't have to see me like this..."

And he started to get up, and I didn't stop him, because I didn't know if I was making things better or worse.

"Sherlock," I told him, "I just want to help. Tell me what I can do to help."

He didn't look at me. "Just leave me be, John."

"I'm sorry, I can't."

He looked at me.

"Not while you're like this Sherlock, I can't leave you alone like this."

"And why is that?" He was trying to keep his confidence, despite the fact that he was falling apart before my eyes.

"Because you're my best friend, Sherlock. I care about you. I can't leave you by yourself in this state. Just in case."

He looked at the floor for a while, before sitting on the couch in a ball and wrapping his arms around his legs. I sat next to him, glancing up at the spray-painted smiley on the wall.

Oh, Sherlock, I hate that I'm hurting you.

"What do you want to do?" I asked him.

He didn't look up at me. "Just sit here, if that alright with you."

And so we sat, me staring at the man that had confessed his love to me, him drowning in the sorrow that is the ultimate heartbreak.