I Am Sher-Locked Up

Visiting Hours

John

John fidgets nervously at the front doors of Riverside as he waits for the nurse to open up the electronically locked doors leading to the visitation wing of the hospital.
"First visit?" the nurse asks him sympathetically.
"Yeah," John says tightly. "First visit. Not even sure he wants to see me, to be perfectly honest."
The nurse nods as the door clicks open and he pushes the solid doors back with with a solid click-thump.
The doors open to a large, open space which John recognizes to be a cafeteria.
As John scans the area for a tall beanpole with curly hair and sharp cheekbones, anxiety begins to set in his stomach. What if Sherlock had rethought his decision to allow John to visit? What if Sherlock didn't even show up, and leaves John standing there looking like an idiot for the next hour?
Suddenly, John's eyes stop on one figure.
Sherlock.
"Sherlock..." John breathes, his head jackrabbiting in his chest.
As John draws closer to the other man, he begins to notice that Sherlock looks bad. Like, really bad.
His cheekbones stick out even more prominently; his hair hangs in his face and is stringy and wet, presumably with water; and John can see the blue veins in his painfully thin arms through his ghostly translucent skin.
"Sherlock..." John says again, his eyes locked onto Sherlock. The younger man doesn't look up.
"Hey. Sherl," John tries again, taking a seat in front of him, "I'm here."
Slowly, Sherlock looks up at John through his thick lashes, and John's heart twists when he sees that same dead look in his eyes, accented by shame and self-hatred.
"John," Sherlock greets dully, trying to force a cocky smile. "Fancy meeting you here."
John laughs hollowly and smiles as well, "Yeah..."
After a beat of awkward quiet, John and Sherlock explode in speech at the exact same time, eager to say something , anything to break the silence. They laugh nervously and John tells Sherlock to go first.
"Well...I feel as if I should apologize for my actions," Sherlock begins, sounding as if he had rehearsed this speech several times, "I know I have caused a lot of undue concern and excitement, and I just wanted to--"
"Rubbish, Sherlock," John interrupts him, "if anyone should be apologizing, it's me, I was the one who--"
"Please, John. Let me say this. I need to say this." Sherlock cuts him off, a pleading look in his stormy gray eyes.
John opens his mouth to argue back, but closes it after a moment.
"What I'm trying to say is, John, no one is forcing you to be here. I am quite aware of my shortcomings, and yet you still are here. Why?"
John blinks, thoroughly nonplussed. "Well, it's because I care about you, Sherl."
Sherlock nods, chewing on this statement.
"Why?"
John lets out a bark of a laugh, shaking his head, "Why does anyone do anything, Sherlock? It's called being human, mate."
Sherlock nods again, wheels turning in his head as he processes this information.
"I...care...about you...too..." Sherlock says slowly, as if tasting the foreign words on his tongue.
John want to laugh with joy at these words. Caring is one step closer to love, is it not?
"Is that why you kissed me?" Sherlock asks, not meeting John's startled gaze, "Because you care about me?"
John's heart begins beating faster, his hands feel clammy and sweat beads on his forehead.
"I guess you could say that, yeah," John says slowly, choosing his words with extreme care, "although it was also because you scared the living daylight out of me Sherly. You looked so...dead inside. I wanted to give you a shock to snap out of it. It didn't work all that well, did it?"
Sherlock lets out a mirthless laugh. "No, it appears not. Although," he added, his gaze slowly climbing to meet John's. John's stomach dips and he swallows nervously.
"I found it rather enjoyable. It seems I am developing...an affection..for you. I don't quite know what to do with these unfamiliar and frankly alarming emotions. Are you experiencing them as well?"
John imagines his face must be a sight to see at this point. He closes his mouth after realizing it had been gaping open for the majority of Sherlock's confession. He swallows again around the cotton in his throat and attempts speech,
"Well--I don't--a little, but--I'm not..." John is rendered speechless and is at a loss for words as to how to explain to his sociopath of a flatmate that he loves him.
Sherlock seems to be growing impatient, probably as a result of the uncharted waters the two were sailing, and it is making John flustered.
"Just come out with it, John. I may not be emotionally apt but I'm not stupid. I just want to hear you say it."
John takes a deep breath and says very purposefully the words he had been waiting years to say:

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I love you."