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John has never been more willing to wait Sherlock out. They are currently on either side of an attic door, and Sherlock is being so damnably quiet inside, John suspects he may actually have gone out the window to avoid talking about his feelings. Sherlock has the dramatic sense for it, certainly, and also the - possibly inbred - phobia of his own emotions, which, as far as John can tell, boils down not just to his own fear of vulnerability but to the knowledge of his own - again, possibly inbred, from all John’s heard of the Blacks - former cruelty and what it would mean to face it head-on.
Leaning his head back against the door, from where he’s sitting against it, John stares up at the ceiling and says, “So you’re human. It’s not the worst thing that could happen.” His reward is the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. John thinks he hears Sherlock lean against it, but he can’t be certain.
“It’s intolerable,” Sherlock says. “It’s interfering.”
“Yeah, well, it’s also life,” John says. “You should probably get used to the idea.”
Sherlock goes quiet. John can hear the very loud clock a staircase below ticking; somehow it seems to make the time stretch out even longer - John can hear every second pass, every moment Sherlock could say something slipping away.
And then, suddenly, Sherlock says, “The most bloody crimes are crimes of passion,” which sounds like a non-sequitur but probably isn’t, in Sherlock’s mind.
“People feel things, Sherlock,” John says. “Sometimes they feel a lot - they do stupid things.”
“Not ‘a lot’,” Sherlock says. “Too much. Intense emotions disrupt mental faculties. You might say emotion and rational decision-making are mutually exclusive.”
“You might,” John says. “You also might say it’s a bit too late for worrying about that, seeing as you’ve already locked yourself in an attic over it.”
Sherlock is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “I could stop.”
For a moment, John thinks he means hiding in the attic. Then he catches on. “You can’t just stop loving someone, Sherlock. That’s not how love works.”
“‘Love is a grave mental disease’.” Sherlock says, and John may not be a genius, but even he recognizes Plato.
“‘Have you ever been in love?’” John says because he’s perfectly capable of quoting things, too. “‘Awful, isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It, uh… right, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, and then one stupid person wanders into your stupid life, and then your life isn’t your own anymore.’” He’s quiet for a moment, and then says, “I’m not going anywhere, Sherlock. Also, if it’s any comfort, I’m not going to murder you horribly. And I’m fairly certain you’re not going to murder me, either.”
Sherlock is quiet for a moment and then says, “You are not nearly clever enough to get away with murder.”
“Yes, well, you are. So I think of the two of us, I’ve got more to worry about,” John says.
John can hear Sherlock making a vaguely amused noise on the other side of the door. He smiles. “Romantic love is a mental illness,” John tries. “But it’s a pleasurable one.”
“Not the finest quote to pick,” Sherlock says. “Considering the rest of it.”
“Maybe not. But I’m in love with an idiot who’s hiding in an attic,” John says. “So apparently there is something wrong with me.”
Sherlock is quiet for a moment - the house creaks and settles, and John can hear people talking down below, their voices no more than murmuring from this many stories up - and then Sherlock unlocks the door. John scrambles upright as he opens it, turning around to face him.
Sherlock watches John. John watches Sherlock.
Then he hits him upside the head.
Sherlock makes an affronted noise and raises one hand to where John had hit him.
“That’s for being an idiot,” John says. Then he kisses him.
When he pulls away, Sherlock says, “And that?”
“Pretty much everything else,” John says. “Also, it’s alright if you hex Snape for being an arse. I’ll go on and pretend I didn’t see.”
“What love does to us,” Sherlock says, dryly, then follows John downstairs; they descend side by side, shoulders brushing, into the house waiting below.
