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The hell is this about you going solo? You haven't said a word to me and yet you're scheduling tv appearances? What the actual fuck. --JW
It was necessary. --SH
If I scheduled an appearance with her, I could not back away from this as I have so many times in the past. --SH
There is something I should have told you some time ago, John. --SH
I'm not doing this over text. Stay where you are, I'm coming over. --JW
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Sherlock is sitting in his chair when John arrives at their flat (although they rarely use it, they couldn't bear to give it up, not when so much of their shared history was built there, and oh god, after today, Sherlock realizes, he will have to give it up, and that hurts almost as much as the thought of giving up John) and his hands are steepled in what John has deemed his "thinking" pose. Today, Sherlock is not thinking so much as waiting: waiting for the moment he has finally forced himself to face.
John tosses his coat on to the sofa and stands in front of Sherlock with his hands on his hips. Sherlock can tell he is angry but trying to reign it in and remain calm- jaw set, deliberately controlled breathing, clenching and unclenching of his right fist.
John tightly offers a start to the conversation: "Explain."
Sherlock nods and unfolds himself from the chair to stand in front of John. He meets John's eyes, takes a measured breath, and begins speaking, his words and tone carefully chosen and practiced so that there will be no shaky pauses, no over-emotional twists to his words.
"John, our musical partnership has obviously been a success. I have no wish to see that success end; however, I can no longer ignore the truth that the closeness of our personal relationship is beginning to affect me in ways that could be damaging to that success. For that reason, I have decided to leave before any damage can occur."
John's face is a mixture of confusion and hurt as he sorts through that sentence, mouthing words closeness and damage while shaking his head slightly.
"So what you're saying is that because we're close friends, we can't- but that doesn't make any sense, Sherlock, we've been friends since the beginning."
Sherlock nods. He'd anticipated John would say that. "Friendship is an integral piece of our music, John. But what I feel for you-" and here, on the precipice, he can't help but pause shakily, damn, "-is more than that."
John' bows his head, so Sherlock can't tell what he is thinking. He has no data to theorize on, and is out of words, so he just stands like a convict waiting for the judge's verdict.
John looks up and meets his eyes, and there is something…light there, that wasn't there before. "How much more?" John steps closer to Sherlock and rests his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. He licks his lips and the edge of his mouth quirks up a bit as he asks, "Would you say you love me?"
Sherlock is honestly bewildered. Nowhere did this scenario factor in Sherlock's many plans of John's reactions, so between that and John's mouth being so close and the earnest look in John's eyes, Sherlock cannot focus enough to answer with anything but the god's honest truth. He nods.
John does a quick nod of his own and exhales. When he looks up again, he's smiling a little more than he was before. "So, you think that you need to leave because you love me and that makes you unprofessional?"
"Yes." Now John understands. But he's still smiling, which Sherlock doesn't understand.
"Wrong."
Sherlock is startled, and it must show on his face, because John chuckles a little sheepishly. "Sorry. I've wanted to use that on you for so long. But I do think you're wrong. In fact, I know you are."
"Based on what evidence?"
"The last 12 months of my life."
Sherlock mentally flips back, but cannot think of anyone John has been in love with- unless- "John."
John gives a nervous little huff of laughter and squeezes Sherlock's left shoulder. "I've been in love with you for over a year, Sherlock, and nearly every song I've written in that time has been about you."
Sherlock stares at him.
John shakes his head wonderingly. "I thought you knew. How did you not notice?"
Because for the past year Sherlock has been focused on not singing every song as if it were written about him and John, for fear that he would give himself away. "I…"
He never has a chance to finish that thought, because John leans up to kiss him. It is light and sweet, and the touch of John's mouth to his makes everything that has just happened hit home suddenly: John loves him and they don't have to split up and give up the flat and John wants to touch him and kiss him and-
When John pulls away, Sherlock is grinning in a way that he is sure makes him look mad, but it makes John grin like he's mad, too, so who cares?
Sherlock slides his arms around John's waist and leans down to kiss him again, deeper this time.
-and I get to touch John and kiss him anytime I want.
When they pull apart again, Sherlock rests his forehead against John's, trying to catch his breath and wondering if he even wants to (breathing is boring compared to this).
"We belong together," John says, quiet and breathless, and Sherlock will never forget the sound of it, nor the way it makes him feel- a warmth starting in his chest and radiating throughout his entire body. Sherlock pulls John closer in an unspoken yes.
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