Work Text:
John was mad. This was not the normal: “I spilled the tea on your clinic paperwork, John.” Or the, “I’m using your laptop even though mine is right there, John.” Or even the, “I ignored Mycroft’s potentially life-saving advice because I’m a complete and utter twat, John.” No, this was different. Even though it really was not different in any way, it also somehow was.
At the moment, John sat in his armchair with a book and refused to acknowledge Sherlock, no matter how hard he struggled for his attention.
He played violin, nicely at first, as though he could somehow coax praise from the man. Then he began to strike it harshly, creating awful sounds he was sure would make John speak, if only to tell him to stop. But to no avail. He tried an array of other things as well. He tried lighting a cigarette in the house, putting the kettle on, tidying, he even attempted the Hail Mary pass.
John didn’t look up once. Sherlock growled in frustration, and snatched the book from John’s hands. John looked up, though not right away. The lack of recognition in John’s eyes as he looked at him scared Sherlock, though he quickly attributed it in his mind to lack of sleep.
John looked at the clock and once again at Sherlock who was now holding the book high over his head. John stood silently and walked straight past Sherlock and up the stairs. Sherlock thought about standing in front of the door to his bedroom, but thought better of it, realizing John might just leave 221B and may very well not return.
That thought scared him. Sherlock sighed, putting the book down on John’s chair. All would be well in the morning, Sherlock told himself.
However, all was not well in the morning. John continued to ignore Sherlock. He ignored him in the morning during breakfast, he did not answer a single text all week while he was at the clinic, and when Sherlock received a particularly perplexing case, Sherlock muttered what was quickly becoming one of his favourite phrases. “Come along, John.” He was sure John had been in the room when he said it, but two blocks down the street he realized John was not following him.
This would be harder than he thought.
-
It had been precisely one week, two days, four hours, and twelve minutes into Sherlock’s silent treatment that something interesting had happened.
Someone knocked on the door. John stood quickly and made his way to the door. Sherlock wondered who it could be that would make John rush like that. John opened the door, and there stood a woman.
One Sherlock had never seen before. He tensed. Perhaps interesting was the wrong word.
John couldn’t be going on a date. Not after what had happened between them.
And yet, it seemed as though that was exactly what was going on. John took the woman’s hand and pressed his lips to it softly. She giggled, and Sherlock scowled. He wanted to protest, to throw and arm around John and stake his claim, but he felt like he was rooted to the ground.
Before he could do anything, they were leaving. John threw a glance at Sherlock over his shoulder as he left. It was the first time John looked at Sherlock in days and yet… Sherlock wasn’t reassured.
He supposed it was a good sign though, that John returned home the same night, alone.
-
Sherlock was broken.
He didn’t know what to do. He barely knew what he had done wrong in the first place. He sat himself on the couch and silently vowed not to move until John acknowledged him. No matter how mad John might be, he wouldn’t let him die on their couch.
…Right?
Days had passed and Sherlock hadn’t moved. John still walked around the flat with a look of anger despite it having been almost two weeks since the incident. He also seemed nowhere near concerned with Sherlock’s current temper tantrum. Sherlock dozed off in boredom more than once.
It was late, but no later than normal. Sherlock and John were running through London. Sherlock had John by the wrist, and it was wet. Yes, this was what all their criminal-chasing had been leading up to. Dashing home in the rain so the new book Sherlock bought would sustain as little damage as possible so he could read it as soon as he arrived home.
It didn’t take very long before they were in front of their flat. Sherlock stopped abruptly, and John had crashed straight into the front of him. Sherlock hadn’t let go of his arm.
“That was crazy.” John panted. “You’re mad.”
Sherlock only smiled, brushing a lock of wet hair from John’s eyes. John rested a hand on Sherlock’s hip for a minute and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock met John’s eyes and promptly pulled away, rushing into the flat.
It had been too dark to see Sherlock blush.
Once inside, Sherlock didn’t bother drying off. He went straight to the microscope instead and began studying whatever parasite was currently in the petri dish. John stood watching him for well over a minute. Sherlock pretended not to notice.
“Sherlock.”
He was ignored. John was not going to let this go.
“Sherlock!”
Sherlock looked up. John was right in front of him, and he took Sherlock by the small of his back and forced him to stand.
“John, I-”
John kissed him roughly, effectively cutting him off. “Shut up.”
John moved back only for a moment to free himself of his wet shirt and helped Sherlock do the same. Sherlock pressed his hips into Johns.
“Bedroom?” John suggested. The book was forgotten.
Currently, John was taking long strides towards the kitchen, probably for his after-work cup of tea.
“John.”
Sherlock’s voice was small and strained after not having used it for days.
“I’m sorry.”
John stopped cold in his tracks. He turned. “What?”
His voice was also small, but from quiet rage and not lack of use.
“I- I’m sorry!” He cried. “John…”
A tear streaked down his face. John had acknowledged him for the first time in approximately two weeks. He’d only said one word, and Sherlock was crying. John’s eyes widened.
“What are you sorry for?” John asked, his voice now mild.
“For whatever I did.” Sherlock muttered.
John clenched his jaw in anger and turned to leave again.
“No! I mean I… I’m sorry for putting your life in danger.”He looked away. “Again.” He added softly.
John squinted at him. “What? You think that’s why I’m mad? You’re a blathering idiot, Sherlock.”
“John… tell me what I did. I don’t want…” His voice trailed off at the end and he mumbled the last part under his breath.
“You what?”
“I don’t want to lose you, okay?” Sherlock’s voice rose an octave and he spoke almost too fast for John to catch. “I saw you go out on those dates with those girls and I started to wonder why you hadn’t moved out yet and-”
“Shut up, Sherlock.” Sherlock closed his mouth abruptly, half annoyed.
“I am mad because of your blatant disregard for your own life.”
Sherlock rose an eyebrow and opened his mouth but John refused to be interrupted.
“I just got you. We were together and life was worth living and still you put yourself in constant danger like you had nothing to lose. It was offensive to me. And when you came as close as you did last time…” He shut his eyes at the memory. “It was enough.”
John stopped speaking and waited for Sherlock’s sharp retort.
“….we're together? Does that mean…”
“Sherlock…” John sighed and pressed his lips together until they were white. “Are you going to acknowledge what I just said?”
Sherlock nodded hurriedly. “It’s not that I don’t care. Quite the opposite in fact. I don’t want to put your life at risk. I don’t think about what I’m doing or how it could hurt others. Especially when it’s so hard to believe that… anyone would actually care if I died. I’m not used to that kind of…”
"...love." John finished.
Sherlock nodded solemnly.
“I forgive you, but… you’re going to have to get used to it.”
John pulled him off the couch and shoved him against the wall. Sherlock shivered at the contact he hadn’t received in weeks.
“Don’t think you won’t be punished.” John whispered directly into Sherlock’s ear, before pulling away slowly and observing the somewhat tomato-y colour to Sherlock's face. He smirked. “But not before you eat.”