A/N: omg I am so sorry to keep anyone and everyone who was following this story waiting for so long. I've been ransacked by semester exams and the occasional essay. Forgive me. And thanks to every single person who has read and voted. I logged back in and wow those numbers have shot up in the past month. Thanks. Much love xx. Ugh don't you hate author notes.
The door stopped in its tracks. He tried again.
"Sherlock." This time, he did not question it. The bastard had been hiding in 221C. What the utter hell? John leaned his body weight against the metal framed door and shoved. The door did not budge, "Sherlock. Open this door or-" John's legs fumbled about and he was soon on the floor. Sherlock had opened the door, rather abruptly, mid-sentence and had caused John to lose his balance. Bastard.
"Or what, John?" Sherlock's eyes were red. Crying? High? No, he had promised. Crying, then. Oh, God, crying. "What. John?" Sherlock was threatening now. Threatening John to finish his sentence. "Or you'll tear the door off its hinges? Come now, what will Mrs. Hudson say? Or you'll leave me? Might as well, right? Yeah."
John had no response. He was still on the floor, not physically, and definitely not mentally, ready to process what Sherlock was yelling. He could only make sense of Sherlock' eyes, and that was minimal sense, mind you. They were red, bloodshot. They were hurt. They were cold in their stare. They were angry. No, not angry. Well, yes, angry, but not at John. Angry at...himself? Wow. They were disappointed. But what struck John the most was that they were Sherlock's and it was Sherlock who was feeling all this and that was not right, far from it. He replied the only way he knew how, "Want to talk?"
Sherlock's eyes darted away from John's, purposefully not looking at him. His jaw clenched. He opened his mouth to voice his angry opinion, but instead only muttered a weak 'yes'.
John could feel the pain in his leg beginning. "Uh, mind sitting down? 'Cos of the.." He trailed off and massaged his knee. Sherlock got the message. That, however, did not mean Sherlock got the part where John meant he sit next to him. Sherlock chose a nice, comfy, cold patch of ground to settle in. He was guaranteed a good 2 meters between their bodies. John sighed a much too familiar sigh that both of them knew meant he was annoyed but hey, I'm here and I love you. He scooted over to Sherlock, ignoring the sparks it send up his spine, and settled in beside the taller man.
"Ok. Let's talk."
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Fanfiction"What mattered was now, this exact moment, when John loved him. What mattered was that Sherlock had found a reason to smile. What mattered was that John's fingers had found their way to Sherlock's chest and were gently running along his skin below h...
