Falling For You

Early Bird Catches the Trouble

When John woke up, Sherlock was gone.  John found that Sherlock's side of the bed was cold which meant that Sherlock had been up for a while.  John sat straight up, wondering where Sherlock could be.  He heard a familiar noise from outside the room, but the footsteps were too plentiful and light to be his love's.  He saw a small figure enter the bedroom through the partially opened door.  Redbeard smiled with his obnoxiously long tongue dangling out of his mouth.  John smiled slightly and rubbed the dog behind the ears, finding a surprising amount of comfort in the gentle smile of the creature.

John wondered where Sherlock was and why he ran off so early in the morning.  John was almost always the first one to rise, except for when Sherlock had a nightmare and found himself sweating nervously in the middle of the night.  It was cruel of him to enjoy those nights, but they brought John a surprising comfort.  He liked knowing that Sherlock was human and had nightmares just like the rest of the population.

He walked into the kitchen and looked for bread to make some toast, but he found a note instead.  It was from Sherlock.  It told John not to worry.  John rolled his eyes and crumpled the note into a small ball.  He threw it in the rubbish bin and wondered why Sherlock even bothered leaving notes when all they did was make John worry more, not less.  Sherlock always said he was okay, but if John was being totally honest with himself, Sherlock was never normal.  

Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door with tea in her hands and frowned at John, looking around the Sherlockless flat. 

"John?  Where's Sherlock run off to?" she asked as she set the tea on the table in the sitting room.  John sighed and shuffled in, taking a seat in his usual chair.

"Beats me," John replied.

Mrs. Hudson left soon after, seeing that John wanted to be alone.  He debated calling Mycroft to see what was up, but he decided against it.  He didn't want to bother the British government with the location of Sherlock Holmes.  He was sure that they had other things to do and that, at any rate, Sherlock was most likely okay.

Night fell and John found himself sitting in his chair still, Redbeard snoring at his feet.  It was around midnight that John heard someone enter the building.  His heart raced.  He wondered who could possibly want to bother him at this hour. 

A familiar curly head of hair appeared at the door to 221B Baker Street.  He had a bloody nose and he looked awful, but Sherlock was there and pretty much okay.  John smiled in relief and ran up to his love, burying him in a hug.  Sherlock coughed and pulled away from the hug, his eyes filled with tears.

"My arm," Sherlock said, wincing.  John looked at Sherlock up and down, checking for injuries.  He arm looked sprained and his nose was bleeding, maybe even broken.  He was pale and his fingernails were dirty, along with the rest of his clothes.  John sat him down in his black leather chair and demanded an explanation.

"Where were you?" John asked in an angry tone.  The blogger didn't want to be mad at Sherlock, but he was.  They were dating.  They were in love.  It was bad enough when his friend disappeared, but even worse when his boyfriend did.  John wanted nothing more than to just kiss Sherlock's high and calculating lips, but he knew that he couldn't.  Not this time.  Not until Sherlock told him the truth.

"Out," Sherlock replied dryly, looking away.

John rolled his eyes.  "Where, Sherlock?  Where did you go?"

Sherlock looked at John dead in the eyes and frowned.  "The Other One," he said softly.  "I went to see The Other One."