The Inevitable: Johnlock Fanfiction

Still Platonic?

POV: Watson

It's almost been two weeks since the accident, and a long time since Sherlock and I've done anything. I can tell he is getting antsy, I have no idea why he hasn't been taking more cases; all he does is stay in our flat and solve cases from his chair.

I haven't been going to the surgeries, and I've instead stayed home and tried to help Sherlock with the small cases. I've been relatively happy, but it can't last forever. We would eventually have to plan Mary's funeral, we would eventually have to go out of the flat and into the real world.

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Waking up this morning is practically painful, I got almost no sleep last night; Sherlock keeps composing on his bloody violin. I'll have to ask him to wait until I was at least asleep before practicing it. Sighing, I roll out of bed and go downstairs to get some breakfast.

I hear muffled voices in the living room, and see that Sherlock is on the phone, about to leave the room to give him privacy, I suddenly hear my name. So they were talking about me. Making my steps as soft and discreet as I could, I try to listen in on their conversation.

"Look, I know, I know. I won't... I won't leave him... Yeah I understand, yes. Yes."

"Yes, he's been taking the pills... mmhmm. Yes, I know. I won't, I promise. He's been doing well, and I've stayed with him. Yes, I won't bring her up yet. Yes, okay Harry."

I couldn't hold in a small gasp when I hear my sister's name, and Sherlock immediately spun around when he heard me.

"Alright. Goodbye," he says quickly before hanging up.

I look at him accusingly, waiting for an explanation as to why he would call my sister.

"John, sorry for telling your sister, but she's worried about you." He explains warily, trying to dodge my glare.

"Yes, but you know she and I don't get along well, and now she's going to tell everyone. I don't need anymore sad pitying puppy-dog looks," I continue, "I'd rather keep it to ourselves and pretend it didn't happen, okay?"

"In the past two weeks, I've had a lot of time to think, and I've decided that I don't want a funeral and try to remember Mary. I'd rather just try and forget it happened, it'll be less painful." I explain to him.

Sherlock stares at me for a while, trying to comprehend my words.

Soon he comes over to me, only a few feet of distance between us.

"I understand completely why you wish to forget it. But that doesn't mean it's the right thing to do to Mary. You need to remember her properly, even though I'm not one to believe that she is looking after you in heaven. You will feel better if you openly mourn her instead of holding it in." 

I become slightly irritated at this, but I see where he comes from. I suppose it wouldn't be fair to her.

"Fine, you're right. But can we do something else right now?" I huff at him, not wanting to deal with a load of sadness right now.

Sherlock studies me some more, gauging my emotional stability. I cross my arms and stare back, looking up, I find his intelligent green eyes staring back at mine. I'm unable to look away, finding myself fascinated by them. I take a sharp intake of breath and step away, blinking; confused as to what just happened.

"I said, what do you want to do?" Sherlock asks me again, patiently.

Scanning the room, I try to find something that looks interesting.

My eyes fall on the violin laying in the corner, and an idea came to me.

"Well ... Would you teach me how to play the violin?" I ask my flatmate tentatively.