Promises Series

Promise of Love - Yours Again

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry I didn't post last week. I was on vacation, so I kind of lost track of time. I'll probably start posting every Saturday now that we're on the last fic. Yeah. Anyway.

The title of this chapter is "Yours Again" by Red.

Sherlock walked all the way back to the flat. He was fuming, anger and hurt threatening to overwhelm him. He could feel the dam cracking. Emotions, the tedious things, beat themselves against the wall, weakening it with every hit.

He slammed the front door, not caring if Mrs. Hudson heard or didn't hear or if she was even home. Sherlock stalked up the stairs. The door shut with a bang, and he leaned his forehead against it, breathing out slowly.

"Sherlock-"

The detective spun around. There, in the middle of the sitting room, stood none other than the doctor responsible for Sherlock's distress.

"For God's sake!" Sherlock exclaimed. "You took a cab, didn't you?"

"Yes. Sherlock, why did you-"

"Why did I what?"

"Why did you leave?"

"Why did I have to stay?" Sherlock asked flatly. "Julia's in good hands. She has three adults I trust and one I tolerate to look after her. She'll be fine."

"You can't storm out like that just because you want to have a tantrum!"

"I can, and I did, John.

"I don't see what the problem is."

"Of course you don't; someone with a brain the size of yours couldn't possibly begin to comprehend a mind such as mine."

"All right, are you done stroking your ego?" John asked, completely unimpressed. "I would like to know what caused you such... agitation."

"I would like to know why you're here, in my flat."

"Your flat?"

"Yes, John, my flat. What are you doing here, in my flat, while you are obviously supposed to be somewhere else?"

"Don't play dumb!" John exclaimed. "You know full well why I'm here. In your bloody flat."

"Presumably to scold me for walking out on my lunch date with my parents, although I fail to see how that wouldn't be laughably hypocritical, considering you abandoned your date there as well."

"Why are you even upset?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Because my tiny mind can't possibly comprehend your reasoning?"

"Precisely, John. Now, did you take Mary to Angelo's too?" he questioned. "Or have you forgotten about her already?"

"Don't bring her into this."

"Why not?" Sherlock pushed. "She was only your wife."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

Sherlock pretended to consider his response. "Not particularly, no."

"I think-"

"Oh, God," the detective interjected.

"You see, what I think is this: I think you're jealous-"

The dam broke, and Sherlock's mind was numb as every emotion he'd felt for John came pouring out of him.

"Of course I'm bloody jealous, John! I can't take this anymore; I can't take you!" he yelled, fury curling around his stomach and squeezing, constricting, cutting off all common sense. "Every day for two years - two years, John - I waited to come back. I waited to come back to London, to come back to you, and you weren't there!"