The Doctor And The Detective (Johnlock)

Five

John stood numbly for a few minutes after Sherlock left. He could feel the weight of Sherlock's arms around him even after the detective had left. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm roughly, feeling mildly embarrassed about crying. God, I need a shower, John thought, and made his legs move and carry him to the bathroom.

The drops hit his skin like fire, and he yelped slightly but made no move to adjust the temperature. Steam swirled around him, and John sighed and shut his eyes. Eventually the hot water was too hot to bare, and he turned it off, standing naked in the shower until all the steam and swirled above him and disappeared. He purposely took a long time to dry himself and get into his clothes, hoping Sherlock would be back by the time he went back out.

Sherlock wasn't, but John made himself take a deep breath. He's just going for a walk. John reassured himself. He sighed and looked out the window to the waking city. John was suddenly struck with a sense of loneliness that took his breath away. At that moment, he felt like he was the only person in the whole world. John's heart swelled, and he wanted to curl up in a ball and scream. Partly from happiness, and partly to clear his mind.

John ran his hands through his hair and looked up to the clock. Sherlock had been gone for thirty minutes now. Relax. He's walking. John bit his lip and plopped onto the couch, turning on the mute TV. This time he couldn't concentrate on the lip movement, glancing up at the clock every few minutes.

John yawned. The morning sun was showing above the buildings now, and its warming light made him sleepy and relaxed. His eyes closed, and soon he was sleeping peacefully on the couch. The sun continued to rise and the minutes ticked by, time marching slowly on as John slept on the couch in 221B.

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John woke with a start. He'd slipped down while he slept, and now sat back up again, stretching. The sun had crossed the sky now, and the city was awake and bustling. "Hey Sherlock, have you eaten yet?" John asked sleepily. There was no answer. "Sherlock?" John looked around, then slumped when he remembered that Sherlock had gone for a walk.

Suddenly it struck him. John turned and looked at the clock. His heart dropped, and he tried to stop the rising terror in his throat. He sat straight, then scrambled to his feet, feeling sick. "Sherlock?" Maybe the detective was in his room. John almost ran to Sherlock's room, and slammed open the door, not even bothering to knock.

There was no one there. John's heart thumped and fear tingled in his fingers and around his jaw. "Sherlock!" Tears formed in John's eyes as he raced through the flat. He wiped them away, determined not to let them fall. His phone. Where was his phone. He scrambled to the couch and threw the pillows off, fishing around frantically for his phone. His fingers contacted cool glass and he pulled out the phone.

Shakily he navigated to Sherlock's contact and called him. One ring... two.... three... four.... John crossed his fingers, only to hear the bored tones of Sherlock's 'not available at the moment' message. A tear slipped down his cheek and he scrubbed it away, calling again. Two more times he called, all with the same result.

On the fourth time, John left a message. "Sherlock." He was crying freely now. "I know this might be stupid, but please tell me where you are. Please come home. I can't stand loosing you again," he sobbed. "Please." Reluctantly, John took the phone from his ear and ended the call. He stood staring at the lit up screen, wanting to do something more. But there was nothing more he could do but wait.

John's head swam, and he suddenly felt nauseous. Flinging his phone onto the couch, he rushed to the bathroom, only just making it to the toilet before he threw up. He knelt, shaking and blinking tears away, his hands gripping onto the toilet seat. "Please come home, Sherlock."