The Gay Is On (Johnlock)

Chapter 14

John, as Sherlock guessed, woke with a bad cold the next morning.

"Oh, shi--", John began to say, a fit of coughing interrupting his cursing. The clock at his--their--bedside read 7:30 a.m.

Sherlock jumped up, letting John roll over and occupy the entire bed.

Before John could thank him, Sherlock bounded into the kitchen to get some morning tea. Sherlock's mind was racing, trying to think of what medicines people used to rid illness. He had probably written something about it on his website, but his mind was so occupied with John nowadays that everything he'd ever written had started to blur and disappear.

Sherlock walked in, setting the tea on the bedside table. "I'll be right back," he said in The Voice. John smiled, his eyes closed even though he knew he wouldn't get back to sleep anytime soon.

Sherlock walked back in, carrying armloads of assorted tubes, bottles, and boxes full of any type of medicine you can imagine.

"Antihistamine, Benadryl, cough syrup," he counted off, pouring some cough syrup in the lid of the bottle and setting out four antihistamine tablets and four Benadryl tablets.

"Sh-Sherlock," John said, coughing while he spoke. "Eight tablets and a shot of cough syrup? That's enough to put down a h-horse." He laughed hoarsely.

Sherlock blushed slightly and held out an antihistamine and the cough syrup. John accepted them and coughed roughly after swallowing them.

He waited for Sherlock to get back from the bathroom, putting the medicine away, before he spoke. "Sherlock."

"Yes, John?"

"What's...wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seem...off. Different."

Sherlock ruffled his hair (adorably). "I know. I'm not sure what the matter is. Ever since I've realised that you love me just as much as I love you, you've occupied 99% of my mind. As clever as I was before, I'm not nearly half that clever now. When I was certain you were heterosexual, it was so easy to just push the thought of my love for you to the back of my mind and continue on with my work. And now," he said, eyeing John's engagement ring, "I'm not sure I'll ever be clever again."

John sat up, his face a mask of surprise. "Oh, God, Sherlock, I didn't--"

"No, John, don't apologise. It's not your fault at all. I just don't know what to do."

John realised that this was the moment he'd feared would happen for so long. He slid off his engagement ring, and held it out to Sherlock. "When we first met, you told me that you considered yourself m-married to your work. I know you couldn't live without it. I am merely a distraction. I-I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes widened with horror. "No, John, no, you--no"

"I almost know you better than you know yourself," John said quietly. "And I know you well enough to know that you love work more than anything--"

"I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING!" Sherlock bellowed suddenly.

John flinched, and looked at Sherlock, looked down, and looked at Sherlock again.

"You know that's the same for me too," he said. "But if y-you're going to become a shell of a man you once were, without the cleverness and wit and the knowing everything thing you have, I couldn't bear to see it."

John was still holding the engagement ring as he said this, so he shakily reached for Sherlock's large hand and opened it. Dropping the ring inside, he said "The worst thing that could ever happen to me is not for you to leave, but for me to force you to become someone you aren't. I l-love you too much to let myself do that." He turned, mostly so he could hide his face from the detective. Sherlock was grateful for this, for he could not conceal the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Sherlock slowly padded into the main room. He picked up his violin.

Almost immediately, John started to hear Sherlock's violin sing the same sad song, the one it had played so many nights ago, the same night that Sherlock had first shown human emotion.

John buried his face in his pillow and cried.