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John had spent almost forty years of his life being the most idiotic person Sherlock had ever met.
He had no idea how could anyone be happy with himself like that, how could anyone live with it.
Not to mention the reliability, honesty and loyalty of John's personality, which just added to the wretched man's stupidity to the point that it became just… ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.
Unfortunately, his being such seemed to bother only Sherlock.
The rest of the world seemed to be perfectly besotted with John's lovable demeanour, and not a soul ever pointed out the discrepancies in his character.
That really didn't help the opinion he had of said rest of the world.
The main problem was that there was much more of John hidden inside.
It wasn’t just his army past or family, to deduce that was child play, Sherlock had needed only a few seconds of the other’s company, so he reckoned a normal person would take a few months with the doctor’s co-operation.
There was something else, hidden under humour and half-expressions. Something that would escape most people, but had intrigued the detective out of his solitude.
He allowed John to help him just because of this spark that he wanted to understand. He could even say that it was just for the love of science.
Because under the layer of a dull Englishman there was an unrivalled passion and impulsivity that had no control, it came out at the most unpredictable moments and made it impossible to fathom John's reactions, especially in matters of life and death.
And hell, Sherlock hated surprises.
Not boring yes.
But how was he supposed to plan things if John just acted like a random jolly?
It had been shocking the first time Moriarty got to them, when John had tried to sacrifice himself, seriously sacrifice himself, just to save him.
Again, who would do that to save a sociopath? Highly functioning or not.
It had annoyed him how John really had so little concern for his own worth.
It wasn't like Sherlock had time to spare to remind him that he was an important part of this world.
And surely he couldn't afford being the one to worry about John's safety just because no one else did.
And now, now he had no idea what to think.
When he was kidnapped, he had been working on a case on his own; he had walked right into a trap like his usual, because it was just more interesting that way. And faster.
He had left behind just enough for Lestrade to follow when he remembered he had a brain.
He had been so confident with the fact that John was safe at home.
Then he woke up sore and covered in tiny bombs, he realized something was terribly wrong, and it was not just his nose bleeding on his favourite shirt.
He was the hostage for the first time in his life.
It was a new sort of dread that spread in his chest as he looked around the empty warehouse, because seriously, who in his right mind would come to save him? Who would accept to be blackmailed just to save him?
He, who most of the time got in trouble just because it was more entertaining than staying at home.
Even Mycroft would have probably left him there to rot, because that would just be the ultimate lesson to teach him to lay low and leave the game to the big kids.
Of course he looked around for anything he could pick up on where he was and who had been so stupid to hope to gain something from this, but the lack of clues gave Moriarty away quickly, because let's face it, no one else was clever enough to hide hints from Sherlock Holmes.
So he wasn’t just a simple hostage, or a pawn in an odd game, he was the final target of this whole machination.
Or better, his heart was.
A heart he had never known he possessed until that fateful night, when it had been hard to fall asleep, fighting tears of relief for not having lost John.
It was another game, a game he really didn’t want to play.
And yet as it turned out, he didn’t even get the chance.
It really wasn’t fair, how Jim Moriarty knew him better than he knew himself.
When he came to the next time, there was John, there was Sarah, there was the void that spread dark in his new heart.
Sherlock was not an idiot, he had been ready with the most logical solution, he was to die to save Sarah, Moriarty would lose his favourite toy, and he would inevitably stop messing with him.
Fancy playing games with a cadaver.
Not that he put it past Moriarty, but it had to get boring eventually.
Yes, maybe John would have felt a bit guilty about it, but time would have been at his side. Marriage and family was much more than Sherlock could ever offer him, and of one thing he was sure, that was what John wanted for himself, for his future.
But that didn’t happen, no, that idiot went and saved him instead, jeopardizing his future, his life, and more than anything, Sherlock's mental health.
Clearly, not even Moriarty had predicted such a choice, which did not make Sherlock in the least proud of his friend.
And what does John do when everything is over? He asks if Sherlock is alright! If Sherlock is alright!
Not his girlfriend, who had been sentenced to death, but him, him!
Who was perfectly fine if not for the thoughts that were rambling in his head too loud for him to do anything other than think.
Think.
Why?
He really had to question his friend's sanity.
Surely his health was compromised, considering how he fainted miserably after the fact.
Sherlock didn't even grant him a bit of worry, and if he stayed by his side for the whole trip to the hospital, it had been purely because he was waiting for a chance to yell at him.
It was just preposterous!
John was taking the definition of war hero a bit too literally, there was no need to sacrifice oneself for Sherlock, the detective could take care of himself very well, thank you very much.
Well, he had been strapped to a bomb and Moriarty had a thing for making him suffer, but that was no excuse!
John’s girlfriend for God’s sake. He would have killed her!
Sherlock had noticed the weird sockets on top of their heads, but he had no idea the remote John had in his hands would not have them killed in one way or another, banner or not.
Moriarty was good at this, the bastard, making everything look so bloody real, when it had been just another sham.
They were all alive today, and Jim was right: the consequences were not easy to face.
Sherlock had the creeping sensation that there was a big chunk of his soul that had been bared the moment he realized John had to choose between him and Sarah.
It was such a terribly emotional thing to do, but he had been miserable for a tiny moment there.
He surely didn’t want to die. It was logical even for a sociopath like him that death was not something to look forward to, what with the nothingness and absence of self.
Ghastly.
He was never going to admit that getting killed by John would have left him with a last minute sour regret he could not understand.
Surely Sherlock was mature enough not to give in to silly fears.
It was just what Moriarty wanted, to make him feel alone, lonely, and for a split second he had felt the full force of it, like a wave crashing on him, sharp in his chest especially when he tried to push John towards saving his girlfriend.
It should have gone like that. It was fair to go like that, because Sherlock didn’t deserve to be saved.
Even though thinking about the possibility of being alive after knowing John had chosen Sarah… Sherlock wasn’t sure he would have been able to look at John again.
He was pretty sure it was what Moriarty had been looking for when planning that charade.
It didn’t work.
Clearly.
John’s passionate idiotic loyalty had ruined Moriarty’s plan, he was sure.
And now Sherlock could call himself obsessed by his flatmate’s same idiocy.
He was trying to understand, really understand, what had gone on in the army doctor’s head.
And yes, maybe he had been quite lost about the reasons behind it, but John didn’t have to be an arse, denying him any sort of hint when he faced him.
I would always choose you, he had said smugly, as if he knew how the world was turning.
Ridiculous.
Sherlock had been so angry then that he didn’t deduce anything from John’s appearance, all he could think about was how much he wanted to strangle him.
How was he supposed to choose the reason he liked best?
What if it wasn't the blasted truth?
It was even more ridiculous, after all, to even fancy the idea of John caring for him above anyone else.
The concept that John would really choose him of all people as the recipient of such a powerful affection seemed to be quite a leap even for his arrogant self.
His curiosity was killing him, and he realized that might have been Moriarty’s purpose as well.
He tossed and turned in his bed even more than usual that evening, unable to sleep and abusing his night stand repeatedly until John came in the room to shush him.
“You can’t sleep.” He assessed quickly, looking at him a bit oddly.
Sherlock was upside down on the bed, but that didn’t mean anything.
“Wrong.” He replied, rolling his eyes. “I don’t want to sleep.”
“Oh yeah?” John said, crossing his arms across his chest.
Sherlock had to blink, John looked oddly handsome from this angle.
He shook his head, what a silly thought.
John was always handsome.
“I simply deem sleep to be unnecessary at the moment.”
“Right.”
“Am I maybe a bit too noisy for your delicate ears, my dear John?” he asked, finally sitting up.
“You woke me up.” He was lying, he always had that twitch when he lied to Sherlock, it was like his body couldn’t even bear the idea of being dishonest.
“You weren’t even in your bedroom, John. You were reading, no wait, you were making yourself tea before coming here.”
The doctor sighed. “Fine, yeah, I wasn’t sleeping… that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be either.”
Sherlock frowned. He had not thought about it, but it must have been quite a difficult day for John.
“What did Sarah say?” he asked suddenly, as if remembering right that moment that there was indeed someone other than him in this world.
How queer to forget that again.
“What?”
“You brought her home, you stayed away for 3 hours and 12 minutes, it takes you 10 minutes by cab to get here from her place, so you must have had quite the conversation.”
“It was due.” Was his quick utterly useless reply.
“Did your girlfriend-“
“Ex.”
“Ex?”
“Ex-girlfriend.”
“Ah.” Sherlock looked at his hands, his train of thought derailing completely. “Of course.” He frowned. “I feel like maybe it’d be good on my part to apologise.”
John’s eyebrow rose questioningly. “You didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, it was clearly your decision only, I surely did not advise you to save me… but it’s not like it didn’t involve me in the end.”
He felt a bit overwhelmed for a moment.
Because the truth was he had never really liked Sarah.
Or maybe he just hadn’t liked the time John had spent away from him just to be with her. It seemed such a boring option for one's time anyway.
“Are you annoyed I saved you?” snapped John. “Because that’s just ridiculous.”
Sherlock blinked. They weren’t talking about Sarah any more, and he had to wonder how it had happened.
He was not ridiculous though.
“Of course I am annoyed!” he replied, perfectly calm, it was logic, pure logic.
Being annoyed was not an emotional response; it was just a pure rebellion against the illogical nature of what had happened.
Right.
John gaped. “You wanted me to kill you off?”
That was a strange question.
He did not wish to die, and John’s eyes had a weird spark in them, as if he would comply presently if he gave a hint that he would have preferred to be dead.
Which he didn’t.
“I am still not sure how I feel about that part,” he confessed.
“The part in which I saved your posh arse?”
“I am not posh!” No, no, do not stray from the subject. “And that is hardly the matter.”
“And what is the matter really? Because this is seriously unbelievable! You don’t want me to care, is it? You don’t want me to care for you,” he concluded, his eyes strangely dark.
Sherlock forgot how to breathe right there.
Which was preposterous, because breathing wasn’t something he could delete from his hard drive.
His mind was on a tangent.
He forced himself to grab control of his lungs again and groaned.
Bingo.
He’s got you.
You lost.
“That is not entirely true,” he tried to protest. “I am just concerned because what you did was highly illogical.”
John’s eyebrow rose again, questioning.
“You had a safe future with Sarah. She had proven to be more reliable than the other girls... you could have had a family eventually. Instead you chose me, triggering a breakup. It doesn’t make much sense.”
There, he had said it, in simple terms, so even John could understand.
“So it isn’t that you don’t want me to care, it’s just that you don’t want me to care for you more than I care for other people!”
Sherlock blinked his shock away, how did John read that into his words?
He thought about what he just said, that definitely wasn’t the same thing, was John even listening?
“I would not put it that way, but it still does make little sense that-“
“You are just too dense to be real.”
He blinked.
“At least I hope you are, because otherwise you are just being cruel, and I would have never thought you would be this cruel with me, not after everything that's happened…”
Sherlock was at a loss for words, what had he done wrong now?
“John, I-“
“No, I understand. It is okay. I don’t know what I was expecting really…”
What did I do? What did I say?
“I’ll just go.”
“Where?” There was not panic in his voice. Not at all.
“Good night, Sherlock.”
He blinked again, and then John was gone.
He didn't realize he had been standing until he fell to the bed, feeling a bit faint.
He had never had a conversation where he wasn’t actually the one speaking the most.
What had just happened?
He had the awful suspicion that John was going to leave, and what truly scared him stiff was the possibility that he would not come back.
He grabbed for his phone.
Message sent 23:54
John is upset. Advise. SH
Message sent 23:59
Did you offend him? MH
Message sent 00:01
It seems like it. All signs point to yes, but I am not sure. SH
Message sent 00:15
Did you thank him? MH
Message sent 00:19
For what? SH
Message sent 00:45
For loving you above everyone else, mostly himself MH
Bloody hell, John was right. He could be so bloody ignorant at times.