Work Text:
It wasn’t a surprise that John and Sherlock had begun fighting again.
There was just something about the two that would always clash on certain things, and Sherlock loved to push buttons. Whether he knew it or not. John knew that the majority of the time, Sherlock didn’t have any malice when arguing and disagreeing with him; it was simply because his brain didn’t move at the same speed as the genius’s. He couldn’t be terribly mad at the man, after all, it wasn’t intentional. Plus, John did like their dance, a game that he would never admit to thinking about.
Sherlock was ranting in his own way. Which meant the man was calmly stating everything while also allowing some inflections to worm their way into his tone.
While he was going on, John heard his phone ding. He usually would have gone for it, but this time, this argument made him believe he should try to stop Sherlock for a moment. Lifting his hand in a way to ask the genius to hold on.
John didn’t get to fully hold his hand up when he saw Sherlock flinch.
Flinch.
All thoughts of checking his phone left John’s mind at the sight. Sherlock never flinched, so why now? What could he have done?
That’s when John remembered the physical altercation between them, where John punched Sherlock in the face, causing blood to flow from his nose. Horror filled him at the realization that Sherlock was afraid of John. Afraid that the former doctor would hurt him again.
“Sherlock…” John whispered. He didn’t even hear himself speaking. It was more of a breath falling from his lips.
Sherlock glanced back at him before he stood taller and left. Even though he didn’t slam the door, John flinched as if he had.
It took a few minutes for John to stand there in the middle of the apartment before he remembered his phone. Slowly walking over to the side table, he picks up his phone and opens it.
It was a message from Mycroft about him needing John and Sherlock’s help. Apparently, between the first message coming in and Sherlock leaving, the government worker had sent another message.
Mycroft: I have already gone through all other channels, and none of them have helped.
Whether that was true or not didn’t matter as the man continued, demanding why John hadn’t responded yet.
The only thing John could do was message back saying that they wouldn’t be able to help for a while. He refused to explain further, and Mycroft was concerned. John might not know that, but he was going to get a visit sooner or later.
It was an hour later that Sherlock arrived back at the apartment. When he walked in, he saw John fast asleep in his armchair. That wasn’t the most shocking part. It was surprising that John didn’t usually allow himself to fall asleep on his armchair, but it was also the time of day. During this time of day, John would be roaming around the apartment, going on walks, or doing something. But not right now. Not with the signs of crying, even if minimal.
Shaking the man awake, Sherlock questions him. “John? What are you doing?”
“Sherlock!” John exclaimed, sitting up straighter. Sherlock could see that John wanted to grab his hand, but refrained. What was going on?
Sherlock didn’t get to say anything, and unfortunately, neither did John. For Mycroft had messaged both of their phones, determined to get an answer. They would resolve in their heads to come back to this conversation and what happened before Sherlock left, but would ultimately not be able to do anything.
Sherlock refused to acknowledge that he had been afraid of John. To him, it was a weakness that could be exploited just as much, if not more so, than his admitting that he cared about the former doctor.
And John? John knew that Sherlock wasn’t going to be able to speak on it. No matter how much he wanted to bring the attention back to the problem, he knew deep down that Sherlock would either ignore him or brush him off with a coarse remark. One designed to sting, but not make an enemy. Because, despite what the detective says, he liked John and wanted to keep him around for as long as John would allow.
That was why, when John looked like he would strike Sherlock, he flinched. If Sherlock could have a pick between John hurting him and staying, or leaving him altogether? He’d rather take the first option, no matter how much he hated the idea of such a situation befalling another. He had come to love the time spent with John to the point where he would be willing to take abuse from him. Mycroft would be so disappointed in him if he ever found out.
The good part, he assumes, would be that John hadn’t actually been about to hit him. The confused look on his face after Sherlock’s involuntary flinch was evidence of that enough. The horror in John’s eyes was what caused Sherlock to run, even if he would never admit to doing so. He couldn’t stand the idea of John realizing what he had come to realize.
That if it came down to it, Sherlock would take abuse to have John by his side.
But John did realize that, and he was devastated by the notion. If he could go back to that day when he struck Sherlock, he’d wish to stop himself. Even if Sherlock had deserved it at the time. That didn’t matter right now. What mattered was that Sherlock believed that in the argument they had just had, he deserved to be struck. That was what hurt more than anything.
They went to assist Mycroft with his work, but neither of them could bring up what happened.
Sherlock thought his brother would think him weak and be disappointed in him. While John knew that if Mycroft knew about what he had done to his brother, John’s head would be on a pike outside his window. Mycroft might not show it, but John knew he cared a great deal for his younger brother and would be willing to kill if the situation called for it.
So, no. Neither John nor Sherlock wanted to speak up on the matter. They continued their lives as if nothing happened. But it did. And there was nothing they could do about it besides make sure it didn’t happen again.