He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Please Not Again

When John got ready for bed he took the ring out of his pocket, sitting up against the headboard of his bed with the lamp on. He sat in that silent solitude, the bed empty beside him, twirling that golden band in his fingers over and over again; trying to imagine the joy he had felt when it first slid over his finger. They were going to be married forever, they were going to be partners for life, he had thought that at least. He had no idea what was going on in Mary's head while she married him, maybe she always knew it wasn't going to work out, maybe she had no idea that she was going to fall in love with another man. Maybe she had no idea she was going to take John's life and flip it over completely, letting all of his hopes and dreams fall into the abyss, letting Hamish cling on for dear life. It was confusing, it was so confusing. They had lived seven happy years together, or at least John thought they had. He thought that they were in a good place, that they were happy, and one day Mary came home with the papers, asking for the divorce. John had been completely shocked, he never even suspected an affair, but she never gave him the details. It was some man named Charles, John only knew that because he went through Mary's contact list while the divorce was being settled, while they were trying to decide who kept Hamish. Those had been the roughest weeks of John's life, when he thought that he wasn't good enough, that there was something wrong with him, and that maybe love wasn't an emotion meant for him after all. And now here he was again, thrown back into the roller coaster and going up once more, only because Sherlock had simply smiled at him. Something about that man made John question everything he ever thought was true. He had always been under the impression that he was straight, he loved Mary, he had crushes on girls, he always thought he was as straight as a board. But now it seemed that the board was being sawed in half, something Sherlock was doing was affecting how he was as a person. Was that why his marriage didn't work out, because deep down he had never had an interest in girls, was that fire not burning because it had never been lit? John twirled the ring faster and faster in his fingers, frowning and thinking of Sherlock once more. It didn't seem possible that he could love another man, maybe these feelings were something else, maybe this was just...excitement? Yes, excitement. He loved to have a new friend; he was so excited to meet new people and live in a new development, he was so thrilled to have his life back that he was getting breathless when Sherlock smiled at him, blushing at the thought of them being together, and seriously considering changing his sexual orientation. Darn it, that wasn't excitement at all. It was love. Dear God, here we go again.                                                                                                                                             

         "Daddy I'm going to be late for school, daddy wake up!" Hamish cried, shaking John awake as he lay peacefully in his bed. By peacefully that meant blankets strewn everywhere, pillows on the floor and a steady stream of caked saliva running from his lips but he was quite sure he was fast asleep when he was interrupted. Yes, he was no sleeping beauty, but that was one of the advantages of having no wife, you get the whole king sized bed to yourself.
"What...Hamish...what time is it?" John groaned, craning his neck to see that it wasn't even six thirty yet.
"Hamish you leave at seven thirty, you've got an hour, calm down." he groaned, letting his head fall back onto the pillows and trying to shut his eyes.
"Daddy I want waffles, a first day treat, pleasseeee?" Hamish asked, shaking John's shoulder once more in impatience.
"Fine, fine, just let me get dressed first alright? Try to find a waffle recipe from the cookbook." John decided, shooing his son away and wincing as he turned on the lamp. It was such a shame to give up such a wonderful night of sleep, and crawling out of bed was a very hard thing to do indeed. But Hamish needed to go to school and John needed to go look for a job, so he had a very fun day ahead of him. John decided that it wasn't completely necessary to get dressed now, especially when he was trapped in semidarkness, so he lumbered downstairs to the sound of boxes being ripped open. Obviously someone was trying to find the waffle maker.
"Do we even have ingredients?" John wondered, looking through the cabinets and seeing that he had at least the basics, flour, sugar, eggs, milk, baking soda. They should be able to get by.
"I don't know, I didn't check." Hamish admitted, but it seemed far past his concerns right now as he threw aside the food processor to find the waffle iron.
"Careful with that, it was a gift from my mother." John insisted, and Hamish was just trying to pull the cord out from the fathoms of the cardboard box.
"Hurry up daddy; I can't be late for school." Hamish insisted, and John just rolled his eyes.
"No you can't." he agreed, and with that he started to dig through the cookbook for a waffle recipe. This day was already starting to become chaotic. When Hamish and John were both dressed and ready for the day they spent the rest of their morning trying to make all of Hamish's books and binders fit into his little backpack, decorated with trains and planes or something like that. Hamish always badgered his father for a new backpack but they never thought to get one a bit more grownup until now.
"There you go." John said with a groan, pulling the zipper shut around the large binder and setting the now very lumpy, stiff backpack onto the floor.
"Daddy it looks funny." Hamish insisted, poking at the backpack as if it were going to burst.
"Well sorry, it's not like this stuff is going to be in there for long anyway."John decided, pushing the backpack towards Hamish, who hastily picked it up and frowned.
"Well come on then, the bus will be here any minute." John insisted, grabbing his son's hand and pulling him out of the house and down the sidewalk. Hamish groaned, shouldering his backpack and walking alongside John, not seeming nearly as enthusiastic as he had when he had woken up.
"Do you think I'll make any friends?" he muttered nervously, kicking at a loose pebble that was sitting on the sidewalk.
"Of course you will, what kind of question is that?" John asked with a laugh, looking down at his son and ruffling his hair.
"I don't know, what if they don't like me?" Hamish wondered.
"Then they don't know what they're missing. You're a brilliant boy Hamish, and you know that you'll have no trouble making at least one good friend." John insisted.
"Ya but what if..." Hamish started, and John shushed him by shaking his head.
"Don't think like that Hamish, remember, Molly is a teacher there so if you get lost or don't know what to do, you can always ask her. I told her to look out for you, at least for the first couple of days." John pointed out.
"Great, so now I'm going to have a teacher following me around?" Hamish groaned, and John shook his head with a smile.
"Of course not, she'll give you your space." John assured. Hamish frowned, but nodded, looking down the road to see if the school bus was coming yet. John let himself look in Mrs. Hudson's driveway, seeing to his disappointment that it was empty. Sherlock must still be at home, sleeping in probably. John sighed, thinking about what he had been pondering last night, about his feelings for Sherlock and his commitment to Mary. It had all been ludicrous, it had to be. Those thoughts were just thoughts produced by lack of sleep and hysteria, they weren't true. There was no way John could fall in love with someone that quickly, and even if he did, there was no way his suitor could be a man. Finally John heard the telltale sound of an engine, and sure enough there was a big yellow bus chugging down the road, filled to the brim with shrieking kids. Hamish gripped John's hand tighter nervously, watching as the bus approached and slowed to a stop.
"Alright buddy, have a great first day, I'll be here when you come home." John decided, letting go of his son's hand and letting Hamish run to the bus doors. John was able to see a nervous little smile on Hamish's face as he walked up the stairs and sat in an empty seat, waving from the window to show his father that he wasn't scared. And with that the bus doors closed, and John waved goodbye until the bus disappeared down the road.
"Is this machine full of screaming children going to drive past my house every morning?" asked a croaking voice from beside him. John jumped back in fear, seeing a little old lady wrapped in a pink bathrobe hunched next to the mailboxes, pulling out some AARP newsletters and church pamphlets from the depths of her cat decorated mail box. John frowned, guessing that this had to be the feared Mrs. Turner, and already he was making a bad impression on her.
"Well, yes, it's the school bus and I have a son." John agreed.
"A son you say? Is he loud?" she wondered.
"Um...he can be, I suppose." John muttered, looking around to see if anyone was walking down the street and could get him out of this awkward conversation. Mrs. Turner shut her mailbox fiercely, turning and facing John, her dull eyes glaring at him through her glasses.
"What's his name?" she croaked.
"Hamish." John muttered nervously.
"What the heck kind of name is Hamish?" Mrs. Turner asked, her scowl deepening.
"I'm...I'm sorry?" John muttered, taking a step closer and hoping he had heard her incorrectly.
"I said your son's name is stupid. Why couldn't you name him something normal, like Fredrick?" she wondered.
"That's a bit old fashioned." John muttered nervously.
"Well maybe we should go back to the way things were! Where kids weren't named something that sounded like a sneeze and they got off those stupid little Ipoods." She snapped.
"IPod." John corrected.
"Oh whatever." She snapped, swatting her mail through the air as if she were trying to kill a fly.
"Well then, I should um...I should go get ready. I've got a job search to do so...ya. Have a nice morning." John muttered, edging closer to his front door.
"Don't you tell me what to do!" Mrs. Turner growled.
"Ya, alright, bye then." John decided, running towards his door and darting into his house before she could set her cats on him. John locked the door to the best of his abilities before peering through the window, watching as Mrs. Turner turned and hobbled away, muttering to herself and opening up the AARP mail. John took a deep breath, laughing a bit nervously to himself before walking upstairs to his room to make sure he looked appropriate. He couldn't show up to the hospital looking like a slob, and thankfully there wasn't a spot on his shirt and his hair hadn't been messed up in that little catastrophe. John headed out for the hospital at around nine o'clock, sipping some crappy coffee he had put into a travel mug and using his phone for the best directions. He had no idea where he was supposed to go and he didn't even know if this hospital was hiring or not, but it was better to ask than to miss an opportunity. When he finally arrived he saw that it wasn't a big hospital at all, in fact it seemed like more of a glorified doctor's office, it had maybe three stories in all and it was painted a horrible brown color.
"This can't be it." John muttered to himself, but nevertheless he got out of the car and walked up to the doors, taking a deep breath and making sure his jacket was straight before walking in. There was a reception desk with two very bored looking secretaries scrolling through things on their computers and making phone calls, their eyes heavy even though it was only nine in the morning. John smiled at them as he walked up, and they just stared.
"Hello, my name is John Watson, are you possibly hiring?" he wondered. One of the receptionists put down her phone and stared even more, as if trying to figure out if he was kidding or not.
"Hiring, yes, we're hiring." She agreed, blinking for a moment to try to read John's intentions. John smiled rather nervously, and stood awkwardly.
"May I have an application?" he wondered hopefully, rocking on his heels in this spotlight glare of hers.
"Margret where are the applications?" she grumbled to the other secretary, who raised her head slower than a sloth.
"The what?" she croaked, her multiple chins rocking back and forth in confusion.
"The applications, this young man would like to apply for a job." she insisted, and the one called Margret just stared blankly.
"You wanna be a doctor or a custodian?" she wondered, looking at John behind her thick glass.
"A doctor." He said rather awkwardly, thinking that should be an obvious question.
"You have a medical license? You go to college?" she wondered.
"Yes, of course, yes I went to college. I was previously employed at..."
"Save it for the application sunshine." Margret snapped, heaving herself from her chair and lumbering over to the back. John was left alone with the other secretary, who kept staring at him, so he tried to occupy his attention with other things. It was rather odd to be in a hospital that was so quiet, it seemed like this place couldn't get a patient much less a doctor. It was almost depressing.
"Popular spot?" John wondered, and the secretary scowled.
"No." she decided.
"Not many injuries around here?" John wondered.
"Yes." She sighed. John looked at her with confusion but she seemed very occupied with whatever she was typing up on the computer. Thankfully Margret returned with a very thick looking stack of papers, handing them to John with no smile or gesture of kindness at all.
"Thank you very much." John said with a smile. "You two have a good day." he added with a little wave. They just stared at him as he left, taking a deep breath and stepping back into the sunlight. Well that was definitely...odd. John sat in his car for a moment and flipped through the application, noticing that there were barely any other cars in the lot. There were the basic questions, colleges, degrees, education, all of the normal application stuff. John sighed, not really feeling like filling this out at all but nevertheless he turned the car on and drove back home. When he pulled into his driveway he noticed that there was that familiar white truck in the Hudson's driveway, and John had to tear his eyes away because he was worried his heart was going to start beating abnormally fast. Just the thought of Sherlock was enough to get his brain excited; he was almost worried he would turn into Molly Hooper when interacting with him. If John got all blushed and flustered whenever Sherlock asked him so much of a question he might just have to move again. John grabbed the application and his coffee and walked back into the house, to empty and depressing that when he took a step he could hear his footsteps echoing throughout the walls. Even so it beat getting yelled at by Mary or hearing Hamish's shrieking cries when he was told to clean his room. So John poured himself another cup of coffee and began filling out the application, using a black pen and trying his best to fill it out to perfection. His hand writing was a little bit sloppy, but based off of the hospital he was applying at he doubted there would be much competition for the position. It was a very lonely, boring, a tedious job, and once he got to about page three he decided that his hand was cramping and his mind was blanking. He didn't want to talk about his past employers and references, he wanted to take a walk down the block and maybe run into a particular gardener. So John capped his pen, finished off his coffee with a great chug and threw his jacket onto the kitchen chair, walking out into the daylight once more and stretching out his arms. It was a fresh, crisp morning, the sun was shining bright yet there was a little chill in the air. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair and starting off down the sidewalk. John pretended not to notice the truck in the driveway although it took all of his self-control not to go marching through that yard and saying hi. He was sure that Sherlock was planting some sort of weird flowers, maybe weeding or trimming the hedges. Either way he was still being more productive with his life than John was, no matter how small his house was or how lonely he claimed to be. Honestly John doubted his whole loneliness gig, a man like that would have a really hard time avoiding women, even if he insisted on staying 'pure'. He almost seemed to laugh at the thought, which made John wonder just how straight he may or may not be. Even though John didn't care either way, just the thought of Sherlock being gay sent shivers down his spine, whether it be shivers of anticipation or fear he had no way of knowing. John shouldn't be scared if he were gay, it wasn't Sherlock that was contemplating his sexuality after one night of platonic Chinese food, but it also kind of made him wonder what Sherlock thought of him. What if Sherlock was having the same thoughts, what if Sherlock was planning this all along? What if he were very subtly flirting with John, maybe he was interested as well? John shook his head determinedly even though he was walking alone and thinking to himself, shaking his head so rapidly that if someone saw him they might send him to the mental institution. Sherlock didn't like him, why would he? If John wasn't enough for some loser like Mary he would never be enough for the most beautiful man on earth, whether or not said man be straight or gay. Did Sherlock consider John to be the most beautiful man on earth? The idea made John's heart flutter with false hope, but he shook his head again. Of course he didn't, if Sherlock owned one mirror he would know the true meaning of perfection, he wouldn't for one second consider John to be beautiful.