Johnlock: Tulips for the detective

Just checking in

(A/N: from this point on stuff like self deprecation will be mentioned, ptsd related things, angst stuff you get it)

(—John—)

John fidgeted with his wedding band as the phone rang. Pacing aimlessly around the living room, he couldn't bare to sit still.  Each sound of the phone ringing sending a volt through his stomach. He hated the nervousness. Hated waiting. Hated the dreadful ringing.
The phone clicked.

"Hello? Sherlock?"

"Yes, what is it? I'm very busy." The enigmatic mans voice was low and monotone.(he was lying, of course, but he was very good at hiding it over the phone.)

"Ah, well-" John felt his chest tighten. Busy without me. He thought. What is this feeling? A lump sat in his throat preventing further words from leaving. They rarely talked to one another over the phone. Sherlock tended to prefer texting, but even those were few and far between these days. John almost missed his nonsensical texts. Each new notification ding sending a rush through his chest. Hearing his voice now sent a wave of relief over him. He missed his best friend. No matter what, that's what it came down to. John didn't know who he was trying to convince.

"Get to the point, John."

"I've barely spoken a word!"

"And you've taken up that much more of my time. Busy, busy, doctor."

John laughed, Sherlock was being dramatic, as always. "I was uh, just calling to um- check in." He cringed at his own hesitation. It wasn't a lie, that was why he was calling. Admitting it felt... embarrassing.

"Check in?" The voice asked asked suspiciously.

"Yes?"

"Check in on what?"

"You, Sherlock."

"What? Why would you want to do that?"

Why. Why? Why was he checking in? It wasn't weird, was it? Sherlock is his best friend. It's not weird to wonder how he's doing. It's not weird to feel upset that Sherlock's been "busy" without him. John felt himself begin to sweat. Why was he second guessing himself all of the sudden?

"I just- because I- look would you stop being difficult and just tell me how you've been doing?!" John eventually managed to blurt out. He knew Sherlock would make this more difficult than it needed to be, he was never a very open man. They never really discussed... feelings. Especially not their own.

"I'm fine, absolutely fine. Why? Did Mycroft put you up to this? You tell him I'm-" Sherlock's voice grew louder, more accusatory before John abruptly cut him off.

"Sherlock!" The line went silent for a moment.

"Just... tell me what you've been up to. Any recent cases?"

"...A few." He eventually responds.

John felt something building up in his chest. That familiar weight. Sherlock had taken cases without him. Which was understandable, expected, even. John was married now and properly employed. He didn't have much time for, nor could he afford to continue to put himself in danger for their 'adventures'. Still, even as John thought these things he felt himself deeply saddened by it.
"Any thing interesting?"

"Nothing worth writing home about."

John fidgeted with his ring. The mobile pressed against his ear, he could hear his own heart thumping in his chest. "You could've-" he paused. The unbearable silence daring him to continue. "I mean I wouldn't have minded if-" how could he say it? What he was really feeling? The doctors nervous hands gripped the fabric of his pants.