Afraid

"How is it that your never scared?" John asks.

They're watching a movie together, some action flick, and John's on the couch with Sherlock on the floor in front of him, laying his head back in Johns lap.

He's trying to imagine what would happen if Sherlock was in the same situation as the on- screen characters are. Would he be as terrified and confused as they are? Probably not. Thus the question.

"Who says I'm not?" Sherlock replies, staring at the screen with mild interest. "Oh, come on! He's obviously bluffing! Call your sister for Christ sake!"

"What are you scared of?" John asks, watching Sherlock watch the movie.

"Hm?" Sherlock grunts, more interested in the stupidity of the movie.

"What are you scared of?" John repeats.

"Being by myself." He says before he realizes it. He snaps his mouth shut and turns to John to clarify.

"I'm afraid of.. Ending up alone." And the more he thinks about, the more he realizes that it's true.

Before John can say anything he's turning back to the television, sinking into the movie again.

* * *

Sherlock paced by the windows, occasionally sneaking a glance out before going back to pacing.

John had gone away for a week. To be with his sister. Apparently, she had broke her collar bone and John just had to make sure she's alright and doesn't drink and mess it up more, blah, blah, blah.

Sherlock looked out the window before going back to pacing.

He doesn't like this. All this waiting. All this.. This Feeling. They've been dating for a while now but he's still never quite gotten used to it. He doesn't understand why. It's the same as the friendship they used to share

Except now there's a lot more kissing and cuddling and it's exciting, and amazing, and just downright terrifying.

Sherlock looks out the window. Johns home. Thank god.

He's at the door, that gives Sherlock enough time to compose himself and sit down nearly in his chair as if he hasn't been waiting all day.

But, once he sees John at the door, he can't help but pounce on him.

"Woah," John says as he try's to stop from falling over. He pats Sherlocks back awkwardly and drops his bags. "Easy there."

The detective pulls back and clears his throat. "Sorry, I've just.. Missed you."

John chuckles. It does not reach his eyes. He looks tired. Harry's been giving him a hard time.

Sherlock watches him sit down in his chair and gives him a cup of tea. John says nothing and sips as he reads the paper. And reads. And reads. And reads.

Sherlocks had enough. He snatches the paper out of Johns hands.

"Sherlock!"

"You've been suspiciously quiet."

"Jesus, Sherlock, I've just got home."

He stars at John. "What did Harry say?"

John looks at him for a moment before crumbling down, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

"She said that we don't stand a chance."

Sherlock scrunches up his nose like he's smelled something positively horrid. "What does she know about us?" He snaps.

"That we're a lost cause no matter what we do." John sighs. Sherlock stars at him. John stars back. "Her words, not mine."

Sherlock takes a second to process this. "So.. She's crazy?"

John sighs again. Sherlock doesn't like the sound. It the sound of failure. Of someone giving in.

"Maybe.. Maybe she's not." He says.

John stands. He paces. Sherlock watches him.

"Maybe.." John finally speaks. "Maybe it'd be best to.. See other people."

Sherlock is lost, he doesn't understand. "What?" He asks, because it's all he can.

"Lets face it, there's a reason we never got together after we admitted our feelings toward each other. You and me would probably be better off with someone else."

Sherlock is suddenly angry. Like really, properly mad. He stands up and grits his teeth.

"What are you so afraid of?" He asks. "Every one who I have ever cared about left me!" His voice is watery. He hates himself for it. "I told you my fear." He is quiet now. "So don't tell me that I'd be better off with someone else, because the truth is I'd just be more scared."

John looks at him. Sherlock looks right back. Sherlock strides over the next few feet separates them, and kisses John, desperately, urgently. There's tears flowing freely down his face now, and he hates it. Wants them to go away, to just disappear.

John pulls back, he shakes his head like something is hurting him.

"You are not leaving me." Sherlock tells him, his voice cracks a little. He can't seem to find the strength to care this time.

John removes Sherlocks hands from his face. He steps out of his arms. He's now two feet away.

Too far.

"I can't stay." He shakes his head. Sherlock wants to make him stop. Just stop him, stop this, all of it.

Sherlock walks closer. They're right in front of the door. "But I love you." He whispers.

John kisses him. It's short, and Sherlock doesn't like it, it feels like a goodbye kiss. "I love you." He says, almost reassuringly.

Sherlock shakes his head. "Don't say it like your saying goodbye."

Then Johns pulling away, he picking his bags up off the floor, he's apologizing. Sherlock doesn't like it. Not one bit. John shouldn't be apologizing, there shouldn't be anything to apologize for.

But there is. And Sherlock wants him to stop because everything he's saying sounds like he's saying goodbye.

He never does actually say it. But he turns and walks out the door anyway.