Sherlock was sure John's eyes had lingered too long on his. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Paranoid? What on earth would he be paranoid about? It wasn't like Sherlock's eyes could give away everything. The fact he might have to disappear again for a while. He knew he should tell John, but couldn't bring himself to. To be honest, Sherlock was scared of his flatmate when John was angry. He just got so... unlike John. It was as if John had left and a different person stood where the doctor used to be.
John looked down, a mild blush creeping over his cheeks. Sherlock frowned. Why on earth would John be blushing? Had Sherlock said something embarrassing? He looked away too, suddenly feeling awkward at the silence. Sherlock tapped his foot and drummed his fingers on his leg. He only had to wait for Mycroft to give the signal, and then he could go. It would only be for a week or so.
"Is something wrong?" John asked. Sherlock raised his eyebrows.
"What makes you think something's wrong?"
"You're unusually restless. And you keep looking to the window. Are you waiting for a sign from someone?" John asked. Sherlock was slightly surprised.
"Well. You're learning fast, John. Been around me too long, I suppose!" He attempted a laugh, falling silent when John didn't join in.
Instead, John frowned. "You didn't answer my question."
"What question." Sherlock looked away. John gave a frustrated sigh.
"Sherlock, what's going on? Who are you waiting for?"
"Who's waiting for who?" Sherlock continued to play dumb. John growled.
"Sherlock, look at me."
Sherlock kept his head turned away from John. All of a sudden course but gentle hands grabbed his lower jaw and swung his head around, and he found himself staring at the hazel eyes of John Watson. Their faces were only inches apart. Sherlock swallowed, suddenly finding himself nervous. Why was he nervous? He didn't let it show. Suddenly a bird thumped against the window, breaking them apart.
John rushed to the window, craning his neck to see the limp body of the bird disappear onto the street below. Sherlock sat up straighter. Mycroft's sign! He stood. "I'm just going for a walk."
John whirled around. "Please don't leave me again," he said. Sherlock stopped. John repeated, this time in a whisper. "Please, Sherlock. Don't leave me like you did last time. It... it broke me, Sherlock. Please." His voice broke on the last word, and Sherlock turned in dismay to see John standing with his hands balled into fists and hanging by his side and tears trickling down his face.
"I won't leave you, John." It only took Sherlock five steps to get to the doctor. He hesitated, then wrapped his arms around John. "I promise I'll be back. I promise." He let the doctor cry into his chest for a bit, then pulled away, feeling awkward. He stepped back and turned around, walking away before he could have any second thoughts about leaving.
Mycroft was a couple of streets away, leaning against the bonnet of his expensive looking car. He smirked when he saw Sherlock. "You're late. Hmm, what could you have been doing? Cuddling with your flatmate, say?" He raised an eyebrow and Sherlock shot him a dirty look. "
He was crying."
"Yes. And you comforted him. What was it you said before, Sherlock? Something about sentiment being a chemical defect found in the losing side?" Mycroft smiled slightly. Sherlock felt like giving him the one finger salute, but stopped himself.
"This is a very nice car, isn't it? Expensive looking. What a shame it would be if something were to happen to it..."
Mycroft laughed. "Is that a threat, dear brother?"
"Maybe." Sherlock crossed his arms. Mycroft pushed himself off the car.
"I can always get another. Now in we go, and off we go!" He opened the door, gesturing for Sherlock to go in. "Ladies first."
"Haha, very funny." Sherlock responded sarcastically, sliding himself into the car. Mycroft smiled and shut the door, hopping in beside him. The driver pulled away, and Sherlock itched to turn around and look back in the direction of 221B, where John was probably waiting for him to get back. He felt terrible, so guilty. He'd promised John not even ten minutes ago that he'd come back, and yet here he was driving away. Sherlock had to sit on his hands to stop himself from opening the door of the car and jumping out.
Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side, Sherlock reminded himself.
I hope you like it! Am I portraying the characters properly and capturing their personalities and relationships? Please let me know if I am, and what I could improve on! Thanks for reading!