Soon enough, word had gone out about Sherlock's submission to his emotions and him smashing his violin while he cried. The detective obviously knew that Mrs. Hudson had just gotten so excited about it that she couldn't keep her mouth shut. Meaning that she blabbed it to Mycroft and Lestrade who passed it on to Donovan, Sherlock's parents, Anderson, Mike Stamford, and a few other people. This information, of course, would easily fall into the wrong hands and be used as a threat towards Sherlock. His weakness had become far too obvious, and now the result was wonderfully destructive for the feelings of the detective.
It had only taken a fortnight for there to be evidence of someone using it against the younger Holmes brother. Mycroft hadn't found out about the blackmail yet, so he had still been kept out of the situation since his protective side would have stepped in to defend his brother with whatever it would take. John decided that it was time they would make their first appearance in public as a couple.
On the exterior, Sherlock looked indifferent towards his proposal. In the interior, his mind was frantic and various outcomes swirled around to add to his personal anxiety. Things like- What are people going to do? Where are we going? How am I supposed to dress? Is there anything I'm supposed to say? What if someone knows we're bluffing? Then what happens? Normally, such worrying would come out of John's mouth and Sherlock would calm him down, replying with made-up reassurances based off of intuitive thinking that happened to work every time. Possibly excluding this time, since the detective's mind was changing over subjects faster than the speed of light, eventually leading to him passing out on the rug-covered hardwood floor of the living space.
"Sher-damn." John muttered as he entered the room, his eyes landing on the tall figure resting against the ground.
"Sherlock, get up now. We have to go. Ugh, bloody hell. Mrs. Hudson!" He shouted.
"Yes, Joh- oh dear. Smelling salts?" She asked.
The doctor nodded and tried to shake his accomplice awake.
"Here they are, dear. He's been acting so strange lately, this hasn't happened in a long time."
John stopped putting the bottle up to Sherlock's nose, "What do you mean?"
"He used to frequently suffer from panic attacks due to either his anxiety or depression. He used to pass out after shaking horrifically or breathing like crazy. That's what his parents told me and they said he wouldn't let them lay a finger on him, even in that state."
"My God, Sherlock. How has he been okay for so long then?"
"I dunno. They stopped after you showed up or whenever there were people he would have to have a façade in front of."
"Hmm..." The doctor pondered while shoving the bottle back into his friend's face.
A groan was heard momentarily and the tall detective flipped over so his back was on the ground and his face was in the open air. His blue eyes wandered from John's close face to Mrs. Hudson's in the doorway. As soon as the landlady saw him looking at her, she backed away into her office downstairs. Sherlock's eyes went back to John's stern face, gleaming with some sort of cleverly mischievous look.
"Why didn't you tell me you had panic attacks?"
"Because they disappeared and it never seemed important."
"Never seemed important! They aren't a joking matter, and you could land yourself in a hospital! They are not something to be disregarded!"
"Eh, whatever. Well, at least you know now." He shrugged, then smirked, "Want to get something else out of the way?"
"Like wha-" The doctor began to ask, but was stopped when the man on the floor grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down closer.
The funny thing was, the feeling that John was receiving wasn't worse than anything he had gotten with Mary. In fact, this felt better to him. It was hard to admit, but there was some sort of longing in his heart as if there was a need for this to continue. "This" being flirty Sherlock gaining enough confidence to do what he had wanted and pulling stubborn, sassy, yet clueless John down to the point where their mouths made contact with each other.
John's eyes had been instinctively shut and opened just as his breath had run out. He pulled away from the smirking detective lying on the floor, completely out of air and baffled as to how he was to respond at what had just happened.
"Don't lie to me, Watson; you know I can tell a truth from a lie. How was that?" Sherlock spoke in a bit of a flaunting and boastful tone.
"To be honest? Not bad for someone I've never seen in a relationship before." John replied, avoiding his thoughts about his background morals reflecting in what had just occurred.
"John, you know what I meant. Don't avoid the subject, it takes too long and never works."
"I don't know. I don't think that was supposed to happen...I mean, maybe it was? How the hell am I supposed to know? You're my best friend and Mary-"
"You are separated from your so-called wife. And haven't you heard that you're supposed to stick with your best friend?"
"What are saying? That I should've married you? Have you gone mad?"
Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, "Apparently I went mad a long time ago. Doctors would point fingers at around the time I had my first panic attack and was 'properly' diagnosed. Whatever you're expecting, just know that I'm mentally just as insane as our nemesis. Keep that in mind, and maybe you won't think so highly of me, eh?"
"There is no one on this planet or in existence that could convince me that you are just as insane as Moriarty. That man is a raging psychopath."
"And I'm a sociopath. So I feel guilt, and the high-functioning is simply there to make me seem like a credible detective, other than the fact that it is true."
"So, do you want a proper answer to your question?"
"Absolutely."
"It was good. Felt much better than Mary. It wasn't numbing, it was like a good form of isolation where the rest of the world was slowly vanishing away, while I was only left with what I knew to be you since my eyes were shut."
"That was a much better response, Watson. Thank you. Shall we go now? And this time, I promise I won't end up collapsing." Sherlock said with a smile, standing back up on his feet before lending his hand to John.
The two men stood beside each other, one with a new bold streak in their attitude and the other with a spinning head. They stepped outside onto Baker Street before catching a cab to the pub where John had hosted his stag night. Sherlock, as always, had a plan in his head for what he would make his partner do. The evening would doubtlessly end in a surprising twist for John and amusing ending for the sly detective.
