Lines and Numbers (Johnlock)

Chapter 16

I'm back, babeyyy!! Been editing old chapters to fix grammar, spelling, and paragraph spacing mistakes. Wrote all of chapter 15 while watching tv. I'm on a roll.

This chapter is gonna be really cute because I made the last chapter end sadly and now I'm sad about it so I'm gonna let them be happy for once.

(Tw: SH)

His violin playing was always beautiful.

Waking up to a soft, quick tune coming from Sherlock's room put a smile on my face. God, I was glad to have him back.

The smile dropped when I remembered what happened the previous night. Was he angry at me? I really, really hoped he wasn't. I shouldn't have asked that question so... straightforwardly. It was insensitive. And with me having just bandaged him up after he had come to me for help... it was just stupid on my part.

I stayed in bed for a little while, listening to the music. The melody was somewhere between sad and happy- it was bittersweet.

The music ended, and I finally pulled myself out of bed. I dressed slowly, not particularly wanting to go face Sherlock.

Eventually, though, I just couldn't stay away any longer. It was past 10 A.M., meaning I'd stayed in my room for over an hour longer than I usually would.

The first thing I did was had to the bathroom, to brush my teeth and comb my hair. I was somehow still tired after staying in bed an extra hour; I looked tired, to be honest. Splashing water on my face didn't really help much with that. Oh, well. I hadn't planned to go out that particular day anyway, so how I looked didn't really matter.

Sherlock was sitting cross-legged in his seat with the laptop in his lap. He looked up at me when I came in, and we were both silent for a few (very awkward) moments.

"Erm- morning," I finally mumbled to him.

"Hi."

Eating breakfast was just horrible. I could feel Sherlock's eyes on my head the whole time, and my mind was racing with what the hell I should say to him. It was so goddamned quiet in the flat, I felt like I was about to lose my mind. When I put my dishes in the sink, they clattered loudly enough that I flinched. Just another side effect of the anxiety I was experiencing at the moment.

"John-" Sherlock began, starting to stand.

I cut him off, staring into the sink as I spoke, my voice rushed and shaky. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't- you're not a freak- I don't know why I asked- I didn't mean to upset you."

Sherlock stared at me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, or what emotions were going through his head right then. If only I could read his thoughts, see what went on in that mind of his. Instead, I waited for a response. After an agonizingly long minute, the response finally came.

"Don't apologize, John," he said. His expression was so neutral, I could barely process my own emotions- mainly, confusion. Why shouldn't I apologize?

"I overreacted," Sherlock continued, his eyes on the floor by his feet. I opened my mouth to say something, but he spoke first. "I did. I shouldn't have yelled like that. I shouldn't have left like that, either. I was- stressed. I'm sorry. I was panicking. I didn't know how to answer. I know it's not a great apology, but I don't want to have to think about last night. Can we just put it behind us?"

I didn't know how to reply to that. Why was he apologizing? It was a strong reaction, but it was fair overall. I shouldn't have asked what I did, and especially at that time.

I just shook my head, not able to come up with any words to say. My mouth felt oddly dry, but at the same time, a cool feeling of relief was coming over me. I cleared my throat.

"It wasn't your fault- I don't know whose it was." I turned to face him. "But I agree. Let's not think of that right now. It's not- it was just a series of mistakes. I'd rather be happy with you about you being back home."

His smile warmed me from a spot right in the center of my chest.

"Yes. Let's sit, shall we?" He walked over to the couch and dropped onto it. "I haven't been near you for so long. I've missed it."

I smiled softly, glad to be able to be near him again. I came over and sat by him, not close enough to be touching, but getting close.

Whatever I had expected, it hadn't been him reaching over my shoulder and pulling me closer to him. My breath hitched as he did, and I stiffened, not sure what to do. He arm stayed around my shoulder and he seemed to lean into me just slightly.

Probably, sitting like a statue wasn't what I should do. Instead, I did what felt right. I pulled my legs up onto the couch and leaned into him. I was curled up beside him, my head pressed between his chest and shoulder. His hand stayed firmly around my shoulders, keeping me close, and a small smile made its way onto my face. My eyes slipped closed and I leaned closer, the calming feeling of being close to him again making me more comfortable than I'd ever been before.

"I love you, Sherlock," I murmured.

"I love you, too, John," he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

If only we could stay like that forever.