Work Text:
Sherlock never thought John looked nice. John was art and the purpose of art isn’t to look nice; It’s to make you feel something. John is the only person to make Sherlock feel something and he was about to lose him.
As Sherlock sat in his wing-back chair drinking his piping hot tea with a glazed over expression, John was pulling out his suitcase and yelling to himself. Sherlock didn’t know what exactly John was saying, he could only hear the screaming emptiness of his own mind. He didn’t understand how his mind could betray him at such a crucial moment as this. It’s what he had relied on his whole life and now at the most important moment it abandons him; Leaving him sat helplessly in the corner, drinking tea while John was in the process of leaving him.
“You’re ignoring all of your problems.” The accusation cut through the emptiness of Sherlock's mind with its malice tone.
“I know.”
“You know it’s also an unhealthy coping mechanism”
Sherlock raised his head just enough to make eye contact with John. “I am ignoring that fact as well.”
John glared back at him for a moment, his eyes were burning with anger, before stomping off to his room coming back with an arm full of clothing and throwing it in his suitcase. What did Sherlock expect from John? Other than confusion. Art had always confused Sherlock anyway. He always looked to deeply for the meaning behind it; and eventually missing it entirely. Sherlock was still trapped in his head; Its deafening silence was too much for Sherlock to escape.
***
His body instinctively lifted his cup of tea to his mouth. It’s cold. Sherlock sat with that thought for a moment; a weight fell in his stomach as he realised how much time must have passed. He looked over at Johns suitcase and saw how much progress John had made in Sherlock's absence. The floor creaked as John re entered the room with a small amount of clothing. That’s the last of it Sherlock thought, hoping he might be wrong. Hoping he would have just a little more time to work out what to say to John that would make him stay. John placed the few folded sweaters into his suitcase, pushing down on them to make it easier to close.
John stood looking down at his closed suitcase. Most the rage he felt about Sherlock had now gone and was being replaced with disappointment. John didn’t want to leave Sherlock. But Sherlock's drug use had become far too much for him to cope with. He couldn’t see Sherlock like that again. John looked up at Sherlock his eyes where no longer blood shot as they were the night before when John had found him draped across the floor, a weak pulse and a needle on the table across the room. John studied Sherlock's expression; eyes sunken and blank, skin pale as if he would be sick. As much anger as John had felt, seeing Sherlock like this was unbearable.
“I don’t want to leave you Sherlock” John broke the silence lingering in the room. Sherlock lifted his head slightly to let John know he was listening but could not look at him.
“You told me you had no use for drugs anymore.”
“I didn’t” Sherlock's voice was small, almost scared.
“Then explain to me why I found you like that last night.”
There was a long pause. Sherlock thinking through his available responses, unsure if he should lie to John or to finally tell him the truth.
“Sherlock” John began, knowing that Sherlock was considering lying to him. “If you dare lie to me, I will leave.”
Sherlock sighed attempting to come to terms with what he was about to admit to both himself and John.
“Because I’m an addict John. I had lost my drug of choice, so I was forced to use the next best thing.”
John knew Sherlock wasn’t lying but he wasn’t telling him the whole truth either.
“What was your drug of choice than Sherlock?”
“You’re my drug of choice John” Sherlock finally lifted his head to meet Johns eyes looking down at him from across the room. He could tell John didn’t know how to process this information and Sherlock was reluctant to say anything more on the subject.
Johns heart was pounding in his chest. He knew the answer he wanted but he was unsure if he would get it, but this was his only chance to ask.
“What does that mean?”
Sherlock sighed knowing he was going to have to tell John how he felt about him. He was never planning on confessing his feelings to John as John has stated multiple times that he isn’t gay. However, John was going to force it out of him none the less.
“It means I am addicted to you John. Everything about you”
John was amazed to have gotten the answer he so desperately wanted. Still wanted to hear Sherlock say it properly, without comparing him to drugs.
“Sherlock”
“What is it John?”
“What would you ask me, if you knew the answer was yes?”
Sherlock frowned, surprised at Johns question. He tried to study John for a moment to understand the questions purpose, but John was being oddly ambiguous. Sherlock decided he was already down the rabbit hole and should just confess to John.
“John…I would ask you if you felt about me the way I feel about you”
John didn’t say anything, he just stared at Sherlock letting the silence hang between them for a long while before walking over to him. John looked down at Sherlock who was looking back up at him, more confused than John had ever seen him, before moving his own face in closer. John looked straight into Sherlock's eyes. He could almost hear Sherlock's heart beating furiously in his chest.
John smirked at Sherlock, taking his face in his hands, closing his eyes and pressing Sherlock's lips to his. Sherlock's eyes widened unsure that this was his reality. John moved away slowly from Sherlock giving him the sweetest smile Sherlock had seen on Johns face.
“Yes” John said.