Before I Began To Grow

Chapter Six

Sherlock let John take the couch, while he curled up in his arm chair. He switched on the TV, without asking for John's consent, and started to flick through the channels. The light from the TV danced across the dark walls and drawn curtains.

John watched Sherlock from the corner of his eye. He had been planning on sleeping...but, Sherlock obviously had another idea. John wrapped his sleeping bag around him and shuffled over to his armchair. He took his seat beside Sherlock and gazed up at the screen.

''What are we watching?''

Sherlock glanced at John, then back to the screen. He shrugged.

''I don't know. Nothing yet.''

John nodded absently. ''Here, give me the remote.''

Sherlock tossed John the remote and snuggled into his duvet.

John started to look through the channels, desperately looking for something to watch to fill the awkward silence. He found a channel dedicated to movies. They were playing an old movie, 'Rebecca'.

Mary had made John watch this when they had first started dating. It was good, John remembered. Very good, actually. Wasn't there some sort of twist at the end of the movie?

''Are we watching it?'' Sherlock asked, his eyes scanning John's face, waiting for an answer.

''Oh...yeah.'' John answered vaguely. He turned up the sound and settled into his armchair.

''What are we watching, John?''

'' 'Rebecca', now shhh.'' John whispered as the adverts ended.

Sherlock exhaled softly and turned his gaze up to the TV.

The movie was in black an white. Sherlock's preferred type of film. The old classics. The camera started to go along a windy lane. A woman's voice came on. Her voice was sweet, with her perfect diction and smooth accent. ''Last night, I dreamt I was back at Manderley...''

And so, the movie went on. Of course, as soon as the 'twist' of the story was revealed, John gasped and Sherlock muttered ''Obviously'' under his breath.

John fell asleep near the end of the movie, his hold on his blanket loosening. Sherlock looked over at John to ask if he wanted tea when he saw that the doctor had fallen into sleep. Sherlock smiled a little to himself and got up from his chair, draping his blanket over his shoulders as he walked. He stopped at John and bent down, picking up John's blanket, and the remote. Sherlock turned off the TV and the room was thrown into darkness. Sherlock let his eyes adjust, before gently laying John's blanket on him, and tucking it in at his neck.

Sherlock made a quick cup of tea, cringing at how loud the kettle was. He made his way over to the couch, seeing as John had fallen asleep in his chair. He made himself comfortable, and clutched onto his mug, savouring the heat on this cold, Winter's night. He took a sip, and swallowed, ignoring the scolding hotness of the tea. Eventually, the detective fell into a deep sleep, full of dreams he would probably never admit to having.

                                                                      *

John woke first. His neck warm and snug from his blanket, but hurting from the awkward position he had been sleeping in. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned. He glanced over at Sherlock. His face looked so peaceful, so childish, so nice-

John blinked. What...? John squeezed his eyes shut and lightly slapped his face.

''Snap out of it, Watson.''

''Snap out of what?'' Came Sherlock's sleepy drawl. John felt his face heat up. He looked away.

''Uh...nothing.'' His mouth was dry.

Sherlock cracked his eyes open, he smiled tiredly at John.

''Oh, very believable.'' He said sarcastically. ''But, obvious that you don't want to talk about it.''

John pursed his lips and nodded, not knowing what to say.

Sherlock pulled himself up so he was sitting. He was still wearing his shirt from the day before, but now it was crumpled.

''Sleep well?'' Sherlock asked, filling the silence. 

John nodded and rose from his seat, walking into the kitchen to make some coffee.

''Really?'' Sherlock called from the sitting room. ''No bad dreams?''

John raised an eyebrow and walked back into Sherlock. now holding a small carton of milk.

''How'd you know?''

Sherlock smiled sadly. ''Yesterday you saw a text from Sebastian to me saying he was mad and eager enough to torture and possibly murder you. I'd be worried if you didn't have any nightmares.''

John snorted a laugh. ''Guess so.'' He said, making his way back into the kitchen.

Sherlock let his smile drop a little, then heaved himself off the couch. He yawned, spreading his arms above his head.

''Mind if I get washed up? You mind being on your own?''

''Yeah, yeah. Go ahead.'' John called, pouring his coffee into a mug, while Sherlock went to the bathroom to get dressed.

                                                                         *

And so, the week progressed as such. Well...not as happy as they had been. Tempers rose and the two found it increasingly difficult to remain in each other's company for so long.

It had been seven days since the text message from Sebastian. John wouldn't dare admit it, but he was starting to get scared and paranoid and just altogether agitated. He was being snarky and rude towards Sherlock once again.

And Sherlock tried with everything in him not to get hurt. He shouldn't have allowed himself to accept his feelings. He hated John so much, it was almost unbearable. But, he loved him. He loved him more than anything. More than the hate. It was unhealthy and it hurt Sherlock, like it had hurt before. He didn't know what he was feeling. Sometimes he felt like punching John. Other times a tender kiss was all he dreamt about. 

Either way, it needed to be sorted out as soon as possible.