Only Yours

8

John's P.O.V

'John! John! JAAAWWWNNN!' I groan and prop myself onto one arm. I am unbelievably stiff and when I glance down I see why: I spent the night on the floor outside our flat.

'Wha- what? Sherlock? Why am I outside the flat?' as he bends down to lift me up, he avoids my gaze. I reach out to turn his face towards mine but he flinches back before standing back upright.

'How much of last night do you remember?' there is a strange tone to his voice. Fear, and at the same time hope. He raises his eyes and stares at me.

'Um... I remember Mary storming out... I remember having a hell of a lot to drink... I remember everyone leaving...' it looks like Sherlock is holding his breath and I rack my brain, wondering what I did. 'Anything else?' He asks.

'No. Nothing. What did I do?' Sherlock sighs and shakes his head before turning around and striding back into the flat. He leaves the door open but I really should get back to Mary.

But... it looks like Sherlock hadn't been eating. If he doesn't eat, he will starve and then he will die and it will be all my fault. I have to go inside Baker Street otherwise Sherlock will die.

I'm making up excuses. Truth is I can't bear to leave him for a second.

'Oi, Sherlock, you got any fooooood?' As I run into the kitchen I see Sherlock doing a headstand on the hard floor, his eyes closed and his body perfectly straight and my mouth falls open, dragging the last word of my sentence. His dressing gown has fallen slightly open and I can see his smooth, pale skin...

'John?' I drag my eyes away from his stomach to find him staring up at me, looking a little confused. He opens his mouth but suddenly his phone starts ringing.

'John. Phone.' His eyes are closed again and I sigh as I crouch next to him and start going through his pockets. 'Here.'

'Yes?' he falls silent. I can make out a little buzz indicating that the person on the other end is talking but I can't hear it properly. 'This better be as good as you say it is... I was busy.' He falls silent again before his eyes open and I see the excitement in his eyes. 'Really, how very interesting. I'll be twenty minutes. Twenty five tops.' He clicks off the phone and throws it across the floor before elegantly rolling out of the headstand and walking towards his bedroom. 'Why did you come in, John? Don't you have to go back to...?' I can't believe he has forgotten her name already. 'Your fiancée?'

'I... came in to make sure you were eating.' it sounds even lamer said out loud but Sherlock doesn't seem to realise what a crap excuse it is.

'Ba, food.' he comes out of his bedroom in his crisp black trousers and a black shirt. He reaches for his coat and almost runs out of the door, tying his scarf.

'Food is not important right now John, as we are very busy. Lestrade just called: there's been a murder. A murder made to look like a suicide.'

'You mean...'

'I don't know, John. I am hard to trick. I saw him die. But we must consider the possibility that James Moriarty is alive.'

Sherlock's P.O.V

At first I think John is going to run off or faint or something stupid. He goes very pale and suddenly it occurs to me that maybe he no longer wants to do this anymore. He has a fiancée and he has thought I was dead for the past two years. I have finally realised just how hard that must have been for John and how much he should hate me.