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“John?”
The newspaper in John’s hands didn’t budge. “Mm.”
Sherlock set his tea down. His right hand trembled. He gripped the arm of his chair in an effort to calm it. It worked. For now.
“John.” Sherlock tried again. “John, please look at me.”
The newspaper crinkled, and slowly, John folded it up and set it on the carpet at his feet. His jaw was set firmly, and his eyes betrayed annoyance. He wasn’t ready to talk about Dartmoor yet.
But John had been silent and upset since they left.
And it was Sherlock’s fault; he’d used the poor man as a lab rat – literally. He had solved the case, but he had hurt his friend. And Sherlock couldn’t bear the silence any longer. It was killing him. They were talking whether John wanted to or not.
“I know you’re upset about what happened at—”
“Upset?” John cut in. He lowered his head, and his mouth twitched a bit. He was more than upset.
When he looked up again, the betrayal in his eyes pierced Sherlock’s heart. Sherlock had done more than hurt him. He’d cut him to the quick.
“You tried to drug me,” John said “And when you realised that the drug was not in the sugar, you went a step further. You planted the idea of that hound, and what it looked like, in my head and then locked me in that lab! I wouldn’t be surprised if you made sure those pipes were leaking because you knew – you knew – I would go in there. You did all of that just to test a theory. OF COURSE I’M UPSET! ”
Sherlock nearly jumped at John’s outburst, and would have had he not been expecting it.
“John—”
“I’m not finished!” John snapped. “You are fully aware that it is possible for someone to die of fright, yes?”
“You’ve had bullets flying at you! Certainly, a rabid dog has nothing on war!” Sherlock’s retort was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted it.
“No, it doesn’t, but what you pulled in that lab was—”
“Stupid, I know!” Sherlock said. “But you don’t think I was terrified when I saw it at the mire? I was, John. I saw something I couldn’t explain, and it was hours before I could think straight enough to come to the slightest possible conclusion of what it could be!”
“And you thought it necessary to transplant that exact image into my head?”
“Yes! Well, not that exact image, but—”
“Ugh.” John stood from his chair, nearly knocking over the side table. He stood near the centre of the room, his back to Sherlock.
“It was for the case, John!” Sherlock protested.
John turned around and looked Sherlock right in the eyes. “It was for the case, it was for the case,” he mocked. “When is it ever not about the case?”
“I had to, John,” Sherlock said. “I needed—”
“Do you ever think about the consequences your actions could have?” John interrupted. “I was scared out of my wits while you played your little game, watching me in that lab. But it’s always about you. You, you, you .”
Sherlock couldn’t take it anymore. He got out of his chair and approached John. He had to apologise. But how?
“There are consequences to that, Sherlock. Actual, real conseque—”
Before Sherlock knew what he was doing, he took John’s face into his hands, and kissed him. Hard. On the lips.
John was quick to withdraw. “What the hell was that for?”
“I don’t know!” Sherlock cried. He backed away until he stumbled into the desk. “It just... happened... I don’t...” He cursed mentally. You are an idiot, Holmes! What did you just do? Why? What the hell?!
“I’m sorry!” he blurted. “I’m sorry about the sugar, I’m sorry about the lab, I’m sorry about the kiss... I’M SORRY FOR EVERYTHING!”
Sherlock felt his legs go weak, and he turned around, leaning on the desk for support. His heart was pounding, fast and hard; he willed it so slow down, but it refused. Can John hear it?
“Why?” John’s voice was quiet, confused. Yet, somehow... calm.
“You know why,” Sherlock answered. “For the case, for the—”
A gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“No.” John’s voice was equally as gentle. “I mean, why... that? Wh-why did you... kiss me?”
Sherlock allowed himself to turn around, to face the man he’d just humiliated – on top of everything else. Butterflies flew frantic within the knots his stomach had tied itself into and words failed him. But he’d gotten himself into this mess. Now, he had to admit something he had fought to keep secret for over two years.
He took in a deep breath. Here goes nothing...
“Because I love you.”
There. I’ve said it.
“And because what happened at Baskerville...” Sherlock stammered. “I hurt you... I betrayed you, and I don’t... I didn’t know how else to make up for it, and...” His hands joined the conversation, his right one trembling slightly. “And I know I had no right doing what I just did, any of it, including kissing you, and I know it’s not okay, and—”
Suddenly, Sherlock’s hands were in John’s, and Sherlock felt his heart rate slowing, the butterflies calming down, the knots letting go. His hand stopped shaking.
“It’s fine,” John said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s all fine.” He leaned up, and took Sherlock’s lips with his, soft and gentle.
Every muscle in Sherlock’s body relaxed, as he and John withdrew, looking into each other’s eyes. Sherlock brought John into his arms and held him; relaxing further when John did the same.
Then he smiled. “It’s all fine.”