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“Sherlock are you insane?!” shouted John from the kitchen, to a bored Sherlock.
“No, I fancy myself very sane to be honest” he replied calmly, “I don’t get how my sanity has anything to do with taking this case.”
“No! Of course not! You are just taking a case where we might DIE, no big deal right?!” sarcastically shouted John who was still in the kitchen cutting vegetables. “There really is no other option?”
“My dear John, I never said we were doing this one together”, said Sherlock aware of what reaction he might receive from his boyfriend. His one and only partner.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN- “started to shout John from the kitchen but decided he should face Sherlock.
With the knife still in his hand, he sat down in his chair. Sherlock wasn’t facing him but he was sitting in his chair too, he knew John had the pink apron he had gifted to him last Valentine’s… That sort of distracted him.
“You won’t go alone.”
“John, I won’t allow you in this one. Besides, I don’t really need your help in it… You’ve got your work too. I’m going to DIE soon if I don’t do something exciting”, explained Sherlock.
Although Sherlock had gotten better at emotions and feelings since he started dating John, he still was quite blunt about somethings. For example, not realizing he just called his daily life with John boring. Which hurt John, a little, actually a lot. He knew Sherlock had dialed down his number of cases and the magnitude of them because of his relationship with him but he still believed Sherlock was feeling good with him. However, as bothered as John felt by that explanation, his pride got the best of him. He almost never let his pride win; he was not like Sherlock. But now he felt the need to do it.
“Fine. Then go by yourself. I’m warning you I won’t attend another funeral of yours.”
Sherlock now looked directly at him. This definitely not the reaction he had in mind. John was sitting legs crossed and playing with the knife as he did in his military times, in his free time. He looked hot. Nevertheless, Sherlock killed the thought and concentrated in the fact John was acting strange. Maybe he felt bad being left behind, but it was for the best.
“Ok then” replied Sherlock as he got up, “I’ll be off soon.”
John opened his mouth. That clearly concerned him. A lot. Despite being hurt by him, he was not sure he wanted Sherlock to go. The case was in an African country, it had to do with a pen drive filled with mafia secrets. John skimmed through the case when Sherlock passed him the petition he had received, he hadn’t thought about Sherlock taking it, reason why he payed little attention to detail.
Sherlock was in their bedroom, changing and packing a little bag of necessities. John was still scared for Sherlock. However, he remained quiet. Perhaps it was best for Sherlock to feel excited again… John didn’t want him to feel caged with him, he didn’t want Sherlock to break up with him because he didn’t let him live the way he wanted.
John returned to the kitchen in silence. Not a word said to Sherlock. Surprisingly, Sherlock came out their bed room with his curls sleeked and carefully groomed. His body was covered with an earth-tones cloth wrapping him like a big shall or some similar accessory.
“I assume you’ll be going now then” said John in a cold manner when Sherlock was trying to get close to him.
“Yes” replied Sherlock, feeling the coldness in his partner’s words, he was unsure of how to continue.
He decided it was for the best if he went ahead with his case. As he went down the stairs, John sighed and with his chest feeling tight and bad images invading his brain he whispered:
“Be careful my love.”
- - - - - - - - -
Two weeks had passed. John looked dead. He was home from the hospital and as he let down his bag he checked to see if Mycroft had replied to him. Truth be told as soon as Sherlock shut the front door he had texted Mycroft to be sure Sherlock wasn’t getting into anything too dangerous. Then he texted Mycroft again when five days had passed asking if he had any information regarding Sherlock. Anything would have been fine. All he got was a “I’ll look into it” and then nothing. Yesterday had completed the two weeks and John once again texted Mycroft. He tried calling but he never picked up the call.
John was getting paranoid. Every news regarding Africa and deaths made him feel a tiny heart attack. He was so tense and worried, but most of all he was regretting letting his emotions gain control of how he acted. If Sherlock didn’t come back… If Sherlock didn’t…
No.
He will come back.
He has to, right?
John was curled like a little ball into Sherlock’s sofa chair. Hoping that was going to make him feel less… lost... Less alone. All for that little comment… How stupid he felt. He shouldn’t have let that affect him. He could’ve seen a way to accompany him. He felt the warm tears rolling through his face, tracing his eyebags which where there mostly because of the emptiness he started feeling when Sherlock showed no signs of returning, or even being alive.
Lestrade called a few times to assure him Sherlock would return in one piece. He just had to remember his last funeral… Sherlock even came back from the dead he had said. Lestrade would never know how much worse John felt after those calls. Spending sometimes hours in his office, playing over and over images of Sherlock dying, of another funeral. Tormenting his soul every passing day.
He couldn’t get up to eat. He started losing his appetite since the three days mark. Now he couldn’t even cook lunch. Going to work was just an excuse to escape what was left of Sherlock in his apartment. Being there reminded him that if he just INSISTED in going, they could’ve been together now.
The crying ceased. Right on time because the doorbell rang. John was confused, he wasn’t expecting anyone. And most certainly he wasn’t accepting any cases. He had written in his blog that they were taking a break, he still wrote they as if Sherlock was there with him.
First, he sat down properly and took a deep breath. Maybe Mrs. Hudson had forgotten her keys. Pinching his cheeks, he could muster the energy to stand up and make his way down to the door. He was most likely a mess. Showering was not in his schedule although he often did it at work, for hygene porpouses. The doorbell rang once more and John grabbed firmly the doorknob trying to put on a smile. He couldn’t but he still opened.
Wait- WHAT?
“Hello John.”
It was Sherlock. A wave of relief filled John’s body. However, his eyes made it difficult for him to be completely relieved. Sherlock had a broken arm, hence the cast, the messiest shirt he had ever seen him wear (definitely not his), apart from a black eye. Not to mention he had dried blood over his face and hands. Sherlock looked awful. He was half smiling and it was mostly due to his injuries and the bruises in his face, but also because he didn’t know what to say to John.
“What the-! What the hell! Sherlock!” John had snapped back from the shock.
He was already carefully pulling Sherlock inside. Many things crossed his mind, but before all, he had to nurse Sherlock back into some sort of living human being. He was sure the cast, the shirt and new pants, also the somewhat better-looking injuries were Mycroft’s doing. Despite all that, John was not happy with how Sherlock had come back.
He helped him through the stairs although Sherlock had tired to refuse his help and it himself. He almost fell and John had to keep in a “told you so”. They got to their bedroom, where Sherlock noticed John hadn’t been sleeping there and-to top all of his injuries- he felt concerned about John’s sleeping whereabouts. It couldn’t possibly be cheating. No way.
John was looking for his medical kit, the one he kept prepared for all types of injuries ever since he got back from the war. It was a habit that didn’t wear off. Sherlock was looking for more clues in there and saw that his boyfriend had been through his closet, various times. This was a relief because it meant he was too busy thinking of him to have cheated.
“This won’t hurt so stay still” said John while sitting beside him at the edge of the king-sized bed, cotton soaked in alcohol in hand and ready to disinfect the wound on his head.
Sherlock felt John’s cold hand brush against his skin. His touch made him flinch, not the alcohol as John had thought.
“What even happened to you?” asked John while disinfecting the other wounds too.
“Long story” replied Sherlock for he did not find pleasure in talking to John about what he had lived out there. It had been a long time since a case of that magnitude. He looked at John who had stopped moving and was looking directly into Sherlock’s eyes.
Sherlock could feel John’s curiosity. They were both blushing, it was a long time since they held eye contact for so long. Besides, the atmosphere was tensed they still had things to talk about. Although Sherlock couldn’t resist the urge to kiss John. He leaned in, although his body ached, and softly touched his lips with his own. John gave in and get for a full kiss. The kiss was short but it mended a bit of what was wrong.
Before John could finish curing Sherlock’s injuries he had to get rid of the uneven beard and mustache that Sherlock had going on.
“I’ll do it for you so just, go sit in the bathroom and wait for me” said John.
With a sigh, he knew he had to talk with Sherlock about how he had felt and try to convince him to talk about his true feelings in their relationship, not to forget he had to get him to tell what happened during this case.
He was in the bathroom, nervous, looking for the shaving cream and the razor. It was right in front of him so Sherlock had to point it out. Letting out a small laugh he grabbed them. Spreading the cream over Sherlock’s face, he furrowed his eyebrows as a form to gather strength. He might not hear what he wishes. Not even the kiss was proof enough that Sherlock wasn’t holding himself back or sacrificing too much while being with John.
He leaned in to shave carefully and as soft as the razor could go. Suddenly, he stopped as soon as the razor touched Sherlock’s skin. And he leaned back. He was standing close.
“Sherlock… I’m sorry for being so cold when you left, I mean I could’ve convinced you to let me go with you… But I didn’t and now you’re, well, a mess. I’m being honest and if I don’t speak out this, I’ll probably explode soon.” Anticipated John.
Sherlock remained quiet. His chin was covered in cream and John was standing, fidgeting with the razor as he always did with everything he had in hand when he was getting too scared but wasn’t willing to share that fact. Sherlock picked up the little things John did as if it was his first time seeing them but he understood everything.
“I wasn’t my usual self the day you left for this case because what you said hurt.”
“John-“
“Wait ‘til I finish.” Shushed John and continued; “I wasn’t… I am not sure if you are happy in this relationship but what angered me is that you said I wasn’t useful for you.”
“That’s not what I said John…”
“But THAT’S HOW I HEARD IT!” he raised his voice unwillingly and sighed, he turned his back to Sherlock who had his eyes wide open in shock, “I feel like you’re not feeling…good in our relationship, I guess you can say it cuts your freedom.”
“Lord, John… Is that what you think? Is that what you honestly think?” He got up and gently put his hand on John’s shoulder. “No, no, it’s nothing like that you have to believe me.”
“But how can I believe that when you do shit like this?” asked John with a broken voice from holding back tears. He turned to face Sherlock.
“It’s not your fault, and by that I don’t mean that I’m not happy, I am just not used to being so cared for. I have never had someone waiting for me at home or someone that saw every single part of me. I am a troubled person John. I felt off, like I didn’t deserve this and I ran. I ran because I felt the need to do something that reminded me I’m good as I am and that I can be the man you deserve. I… Feel you shouldn’t settle for me. I have all these traumas and the fact that you are constantly questioning how I feel and our relationship… You felt awful here alone while I was trying to prove a stupid point to myself…”
Sherlock never talked about his feelings like that. He opened up in a way he had never done. At least not that directly. Each word hit like a wave in John’s chest. The storm had ended. Not a single doubt was left inside his brain. Sherlock was, after all, the only man he would ever love. His one, his only. The moon and the stars, he completed him. Everything was good now.
He grabbed firmly Sherlock’s neck and pulled him lower. He kissed him very gently, but his kiss was filled with so much love, that it felt different. This wasn’t a “I love you” kiss, it was the confirmation that from now on, they would never depart each other’s side. It transcended all physical implications; this was the kiss that sealed them as what they were. Soulmates.
When they stopped kissing and their faces were a shaving-cream mess, John smiled brightly. Brighter than he usually did.
“You are the only man I need, the only man I want and I will forever be by your side. Issues or no issues, you won’t be able to get rid of me… Next time let’s talk. I never want to feel what I did when you were gone again. More importantly, you can retake dangerous cases, NOT like this one, but yes dangerous ones.” Said John and as Sherlock raised his eyebrow inquiring what he meant, he continued, “but only if you take me. If it starts to feel too home-y, too “soft”-“
“No” said Sherlock, cutting John off, “We’ll take the interesting cases but not because I feel too pressured by the warm environment. We’ll take them because I want to share every fun moment with you. I want you to… help me. Help me get more used to a warm, very domestic environment. Because that is what I want to have with you. I want a home with you, a proper home.”
John’s pale face and white ears were painted a shade of red that had never crossed his face before. Every good feeling, every good sensation he felt at some point in his life, none of those could compare to what he has feeling in that exact moment. He was left speechless. John could only do one thing with all he was feeling, so he hugged Sherlock so hard the other had to say that it hurt. To which John repeatedly replied with “I’m sorry”.
“I want a proper home with you too.”
“Well, first we’ll have to clean up. And after that perhaps you’ll have to finish cleaning my remaining injuries. Mycroft’s health service in the plane back wasn’t that good.”
“At least you got the cast,” replied John, coming back to that normal tone and comfortable atmosphere, “let’s finish getting rid of that hideous beard.”
“Hideous? I thought I never looked bad and would always be the handsomest man you’d ever seen” teased Sherlock, referencing to one of their first cheesy conversations of when they first started dating.
“Yeah, well even handsome people have looks they can’t pull off.” He said, laughing a bit.
Sherlock quickly stole a peck from John while he was sitting back down. John would never be sure of how he managed to be so fast and have such sharp reflexes even in that state. However, he enjoyed it.
“I love you” said Sherlock with that deep, calm voice of his.
“I love you too.”
The sun started shining a little bit brighter from that day.
Sherlock never grew a beard again.