Sherlock's secret

CHAPTER 23

John's POV

"John." Fuck. Sherlock was crying. The emotion in his voice, just oh god.

"Sherlock - its not what it looks like." Johns voice came out riddled with nerves.

Sherlock took a deep breath before replying. "There was the sound of metal hitting the wooden floor, followed by a word generally only used when in distress. As I approached the door, tissues could be heard crumpling. Your left arm appears slightly bigger under your jumper than the right; you are using a bandage.

"Your pupils are dilated indicating a sudden spike in the release of any number of chemicals, though, in this case, it is endorphins. You have slight staining on your fingertips and you knew what I was implying before I'd even started to speak. John, this is exactly what it looks like."

Sherlocks POV

His heart was breaking. He could feel it. Every second john did not reply caused the cracks and crevices in Sherlocks heart to open up. If he didn't speak soon, there would be nothing left.

Sentiment.

Sherlock lifted his head, bracing himself for the look of sadness or shame on his face, but instead, Johns face was creased in anger.

"How dare you," John spoke, his voice quiet and eerily calm.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, how dare you. You go around behind my back and cut and starve and try to fucking kill yourself and you don't even think to tell me? We are supposed to be best friends, Sherlock."

Sherlock reeled back, feeling as though he'd been slapped. "We are best - "

"You know what?" he interrupted, laughing. "That's not even why I'm angry. No, you see, you go and do that shit behind my back and expect me to leave you to it - to not get you help - but I'm not allowed to hurt? I'm not allowed to cut, but you are?" Johns face was a picture of pain, his eyes filling fast with tears.

"You were supposed to be my friend - " his voice abruptly cut off as Sherlock wrapped his trembling arms around Johns waist.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so, so sorry." Sherlocks voice was muffled as he spoke into Johns shoulder.

He sighed. "For what?"

"For...everything." He paused, taking these last few moments to memorise every part of John, the man he loved, before he lost him forever.

He could feel Johns shaking arms wrapped around his neck, his hand cradling the back of Sherlock head. He's only doing that because he's emotional right now, he reasoned. Sherlock smiled sadly as Johns scent reached his nose; a mixture of soap and the aftershave Molly had bought for him last Christmas. He would miss John, more than life itself, but. Had to do it.

"Especially," he continued, "for this." Sherlock felt johns heart quicken at his words, able to feel the pounding in his chest mix with his own.

Sherlock pried himself out of his comforting arms and leant in, pressing his lips against Johns. His lips were soft and warm, and kissing back. John Watson was kissing back. Sherlock felt John shudder, though whether it was out of disgust or happiness, he did not know. His own body followed suit.

Pulling away, breathing hard, Sherlock whispered "I'm sorry," his voice broken. Taking one last look at John, he turned and left.