Written in Flesh and Blood - Johnlock

4 - It's Not Sherlock

~ John H. Watson ~

John walked into the kitchen, his anger at Sherlock from the previous night dispensing into that of confusion. Why had Sherlock suddenly become so focused on knowing who John's soulmate was, or why John always covered it up? Parts of their conversation echoed in his mind, the words 'why would that bother me I'm gay' repeating over and over again. 'I'm gay'. Surely John should have figured that out the first night the met, when they had dinner at Angelos. He had practically said it then, but he hadn't. Why say it now? 'I'm gay'. 

He looked down as his watch covered wrist, waiting patiently for the kettle to boil. 'I'm gay'. What if the reason Sherlock wanted to know John's soulmate was because he believed John was his? No that's ridiculous. Even if the name on Sherlock's wrist was John it couldn't be him, Sherlock's name wasn't William. 

The kettle made a loud whistling noice just as Sherlock walked into the room. He was still dressed in his pajamas, which consisted of long pants, an old t-shirt, and his favourite blue robe. His hair was tousled in every direction, looking so soft and touchable. He was absolutely gorgeous, and absolutely distracting. Not only had John completely lost all train of thought, he had completely forgotten about the kettle, now screaming on the stove beside him. 

Sherlock reached over him to take the kettle off. His arm brushed against Johns, causing the sleeve of his robe to ride up slightly. He managed to catch a glimpse of the name on his wrist. 'John'. 

John, John, John, John, John, John. 

He grabbed Sherlock by the arm, pulling it closer to look at it properly. He ignored Sherlock's yelp of protest, holding him hard as he struggled to pull away. Soon Sherlock stopped moving, simply allowing John to hold onto him and examine the name on his wrist. 

"Sherlock, I, um." John searched desperately for a way to let Sherlock down easy. To inform him that he wasn't the John he was looking for, in the nicest way possible. But he couldn't think of anything, there was no way to tell the man he wasn't his soulmate. 

"It doesn't matter John, it doesn't mean anything." 

How could he say that? Sure John pretended he didn't believe in soulmates, but he couldn't deny the fact that his heart skipped a beat whenever he met someone named William. Sherlock believed? Hoped? That John was his soulmate, and now John was telling him otherwise. 

"Mine isn't Sherlock." He blurted out. 

Good one Watson. Way to break it to him easy. 

"I know." Sherlock breathed out, his voice bearly above a whisper. 

He looked sad. So so very sad. It was the most emotion John had ever seen on his face. He wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms, to reassure him everything was alright, that they may not be soulmates but they could still be friends, more than friends even. But Sherlock wasn't like that, Sherlock wasn't one for affection. And sadly, Sherlock Holmes believed in the idea of soulmates. 

Before John had even realized what was happening Sherlock was gone. He had managed to remove his wrist from John's grasp and headed to his room. The door was now shut, informing the world that there would be no intrusions, not even from John Watson. 

And there he stayed, for the remainder of the day.