Strawberry Daiquiri

Chapter Two

Sherlock woke up alone.

John's side of the bed was warm, but there was no John. Sherlock's heart sank and he buried his head into his pillow. Of course. Of course John had left. He hadn't really liked any of Sherlock's deductions; no one ever liked his deductions. Sherlock had been a fool to believe any of it.

Sherlock's eyes burned, but he willed them to stay dry. He would not cry for John Watson. This wasn't the first time he had woken up alone, and it wouldn't be the last, and he was nothing more than a fool for believing it would go differently this time. It was simply Sherlock's personality. No one could tolerate the detective for long, and, apparently, John Watson had reached his limit. How convenient that limit had been reached right after he and John had- No. Nevermind when it happened. It happened.

Trembling slightly, Sherlock climbed out of bed and slipped into the shower, where he washed away all traces of John from his skin. Afterwards, he slipped into his pants and brushed his teeth, resolutely ignoring the love bites littering his collarbone, the memory of John's tongue running over his own, of John's hands gripping his hair, of-

Sherlock spit into the sink.

"Stupid. So bloody stupid, to think John Watson was special," Sherlock muttered, his voice rising with every word. "To think he was different!"

"Sherlock?"

The detective slammed his hands on the porcelain sink before storming out of the bathroom in just his pants.

"What?" he spat, glaring at the blond standing in his kitchen, trying to hide the fact that almost his whole body was trembling with something he didn't want to think about. "What is it; why are you here? Did you forget your mobile? That horrible jumper?"

John's brow furrowed. "No," he said slowly, "I did the shopping." John stared at Sherlock quizzically, but the detective still maintained his defensive stance, even though he was only in a pair of black pants.

"You... what?" Sherlock asked, admittedly a bit lost.

"I did the shopping," John repeated, holding up two plastic bags. "I- Nothing in the fridge looked safe for consumption. You mentioned having experiments in your kitchen last night. I didn't- Are you all right?"

"No. Yes, I'm-" Sherlock sighed and pulled at his hair, straightening suddenly. "I'm fine. You did the shopping."

"I thought the least I could do was make you breakfast," John replied, testing a smile. "I do make the best eggs."

"Debateable."

"You haven't even tried 'em, yet."

Sherlock bit his lip and nodded. "All right."

John grinned confidently. "Really?"

The detective nodded again, his eyes cast down.

"Hey," John said softly, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter and walking towards Sherlock. "Hey, what's wrong, lovely?" Sherlock closed his eyes as John stroked his cheek. "I didn't mean for you to wake up alone. I just wanted to do something nice. I won't leave you next time, I promise."

"Next time? Is there a next time?" Sherlock asked just as quietly, still not daring to look up and into John's ocean eyes.

John smiled as he ran a calloused finger over Sherlock's cheekbone. "If you want a next time, there will be. Otherwise, I'll just make you breakfast and be on my way. It's probably better like that, anyway. My leave-"

"No," Sherlock said quickly. "No, you should stay. I'd quite like breakfast. Can't say I'll eat much of it."

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," John laughed.