Work Text:
Tell me I'm frozen but what can I do?
Can't tell the reason I did it for you
When lies turn into truth I sacrificed for you
You say that I'm frozen but what can I do?
A cold light harshly highlighted the room's features. Shadows danced on the walls and under cupboards, spirits of the past haunting the place.
It was so quiet.
This was not what he had expected to come back to. Now, now he wished that maybe he had paid more attention to the events that had occurred during his absence. Then, maybe, a lot could have been avoided. Maybe he would not feel so empty inside. So alone. It was a crushing feeling, threatening to overwhelm his soul. He hated this. All the emotions.
And that was part of the problem. His emotions.
"You machine!"
Sherlock winced as a memory slipped through his mind. Those words had been the last said to his face two years ago. Until now. And their reunion had not been much better. Maybe he should have warned John. He had gone about it the wrong way, he saw that now. But he had been so eager to see his friend, yes that was what they had been. Once. He had not thought about the consequences. The effect his fake death would have had on John.
He did see the logic in what John thought. About Sherlock being emotionless. He was, in a way. Frozen inside. But he had thawed in John's company. John had been the only person who could get through to him. Now he did not even have him.
Because John had moved on. John had Mary.
Sherlock knew what he saw in her. She was perfect. Everything Sherlock wasn't. Even if there was something off about her, something Sherlock didn't trust. But he would not tell John that. John wouldn't listen to him, anyway. They weren't friends. Not anymore. Sherlock wasn't even sure if they were still on speaking terms. He didn't know.
He hated not knowing.
Slowly, he forced himself to get up off the bed. It was early morning. That he knew. But he had stayed in this room, this very room, for two days. It had been John's room. Once. Now it would be empty. When Sherlock went back to his normal routine.
Which he had to. He had to continue as if nothing ever happened. Try and win John's trust again. Maybe they could go back to what they once had. Sherlock doubted it. Too much had changed. John would never truly forgive him. He had been through too much. Sherlock could see now how selfish his sacrifice had been. How keeping the truth from John had not helped. Not at all. He may have saved John's life, in a way. But his death, even fake, had destroyed a part of John. That much was obvious. And Sherlock doubted that much was true.
"I don't care how you did it, I want to know why!"
Even Sherlock's apologies, his attempts to explain, had not helped. He was not good with words. Not in those kind of situations. Not when he was trying to be genuine.
Again, he was frozen. At least in the heart.
But he knew that wasn't quite true. Not in reality. It was what he tried to be, what he had been for most of his life. What John, everyone, though his to be. Cold, emotionless. With a heart of ice.
But John had thawed it a little bit too much.
Yes, Sherlock was in love with John. This revelation, discovery, did not shock Sherlock. The feeling had been there, buried, for a long time. He had only just put a name to it. The strange excitement about returning. The guilt. The worry. The pain he felt, similar to John's, during those two years. The way they had laughed together. The way John killed for him, after having only known each other for a few hours. The good times they had had. Them saving each other. In different ways.
Yes, it was love. But it was something he could never have in return. John loved Mary with all his heart. He was, as he claimed, not gay. Any idiot could tell that. He would never, ever love Sherlock. Sherlock doubted it would have been unlikely before the fall. Now... Now it was impossible.
And not many things were impossible.
The lack of John was pointedly obvious as Sherlock entered the living room. His chair had been removed. Sherlock couldn't stand looking at it without an occupant. The empty space, distinct lack of it altogether, was better. There was no one to tell him to eat. So he didn't. No one to tell him to sleep. So he didn't. Not one to hide his cigarettes. So he smoked. He didn't care about his body. His transport. There was no point in stopping things that were unhealthy. Trying to prolong his life. He had nothing to live for.
That wasn't to say that he wouldn't continue. He would. He knew that John would be able to survive his death no matter what. He had Mary. But he didn't want to cause unnecessary pain to the man he loved. Even if Sherlock would never again live what could truly be called a good life. In truth it had been John that had shown him what life was meant to be like. Before he had been a shadow of a man. A thing he revisited now.
The tea was tasteless. Bland. Sherlock had lost his taste for it. Not when it wasn't made by John. John had always made the nicest tea. Sherlock wondered if Mary appreciated it as much as he did. He doubted it.
It was so cold. He hadn't remembered it being this cold before. Maybe it was the emptiness of the place. The emptiness of his heart. Yes, that was it. Because without John he was frozen. He had no emotions when he wasn't with John. His whole world had revolved around John. Even when he had been away.
Well, it still could. Just it wouldn't be the same. Their relationship wouldn't recover. As socially inept as Sherlock was he knew that. Hated it, but knew it to be truth.
From now on he would protect John, and whoever he held close. In every way possible. At whatever the cost. Even if it destroyed Sherlock, seeing John so happy with someone else. Seeing the hatred in his eyes as he looked at Sherlock. Those eyes would soften to him, eventually. But it would always be there. He would never be forgiven. But it had to be done. John would never know what Sherlock was doing for him. He would never know of that he was the only love Sherlock had ever had.
The fall had been Sherlock's first sacrifice. And it would not be his last.
I can feel your sorrow
You won't forgive me,
But I know you'll be alright
It tears me apart that you will never know but I have to let go