Chapter Text
The case was a disaster. The storm had come early, and they were stuck in the hotel. John didn't want to be in the room, not now. Not with Sherlock right there. Just within his reach. If he wanted, he could reach out, pull Sherlock close, hold him, kiss him, love him. But he wouldn't. John couldn't. Because Sherlock didn't have feelings for him.
But John couldn't stop his thoughts. He had closed his eyes a while ago, but he was unable to fall asleep. Aside from Sherlock, the chair was hard as hell, and so was the wall. He doubted he was going to get much sleep at all.
Lestrade had given them this case. A young woman had shown up dead at the local beach. Police had taken her fingerprints. Her dental. But she wasn't in the system. She wasn't anywhere. She was unidentifiable. So, naturally, Lestrade had given it to Sherlock. The case, however, wasn't in London.
It was in Manchester, UK. Not only was it far, but the forecast had said something about a big storm. Sherlock had, of course, ignored it. Bustling John into a taxi, yelling at him for taking so long.
They had been on the case for three days now. Three long, rainy, dreadful days. Three days Sherlock Holmes had been unable to solve the case. He thought Sherlock would have it figured out within minutes. But it had been three days.
John wondered how long Sherlock would go before he tried...other methods of thinking. The longest he'd seen Sherlock go on a case was a week. It had been an assassination. But not just one, multiple assassinations.
Moriarty.
He didn't think he could go a week like this. He was always tense, and his mind was always wandering, and always at the most inappropriate of times. When they were surrounded by people, or when Sherlock would actually eat and he would tell his love of the food through his throat.
God, how John hated when he did that. He hated it, with everything, but he loved it just the same.
And Sherlock...Sherlock was ruining him.
And just by sitting there.
John wanted to open his eyes, to lean forward. He wanted to tell Sherlock everything.
But something held him back. He was afraid. If Sherlock didn't have feelings for him, he would ruin everything with just three words. And that was the last thing he needed. To lose Sherlock. He wasn't going to lose Sherlock. Not now, when John needed him the most. He would do anything to keep Sherlock close, to know he was there.
He was not going to do anything to push Sherlock away.