One Shots

he always knew

prompt:"I can't just sit by and do nothing while you're suffering so much."
Johnlock today, enjoy!

John was been pretty sure there was something wring with Sherlock for a while now, but he couldn't figure out what it exactly was, so he left it as a passing thought. He didn't want to go into the conversation with Sherlock blind because he knew that if he did, Sherlock would bombard him with unimportant and distracting thoughts so that he could confuse or upset John and keep his feelings hidden behind the wall he's had around himself for nearly his entire life. He knew that if he wanted to go down that road with Sherlock, he'd have to go fully equipped and with solid evidence in his favor. That evidence is exactly what he's been trying to get. He wants to make sure that his best, and pretty much only friend (aside from Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and coworkers he's been acquainted with briefly) is okay, so he's been talking to Lestraude a lot lately, asking him if Sherlock has seemed odd lately while working cases. And while he does point out a few red flags, it is Sherlock, so it's all very difficult to tell. Still nothing concrete, he figures, so he keeps looking for clues.
He often finds himself thinking about how Sherlock would probably be able to figure this out in less than half an hour, but he tries not to think too hard on it or it makes him feel sort of... small. While he does admire Sherlock immensely and looks up to him in some sort of way, he also realizes that his brain pales in comparison to his. This realization, since John knew he was a smart man, only made Sherlock's mind even more incredible.
It's on a Friday when John finds something he never thought he would. Usually, he would be at work right now, but since there were no appointments towards the end of the day, he was able to leave early and still get paid for the rest of the day. He made his way home in a cab and was back at their shared flat a few hours earlier than usual. He figured that Sherlock would be up there, probably on John's laptop, solving cases for maybe hundreds of people in a day.
But as he made his way up the stairs, he felt something was different. There were no clicking of keys or violin playing as he made his way closer to their flat. Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he climbed the flight, and perhaps that was why when he reached the top of the stairs, he felt the need to be cautious. You never knew who you would see at 221B Baker Street, and you could never be too cautious, John knew. He opened the door as silently as he could, peering inside once the gap was wide enough.
As he gazed around the room through the sliver between the door and the doorframe, he saw something he thought he never would. He could only barely make out stifled whimpers from behind Sherlock's hands shrouding his face, but that was still enough to tell that Sherlock was crying.
But not just crying, sobbing. Somehow he had mastered the ability to cry so hard that it heaved his whole body and made him shake, with hardly a noise coming from him. The silence made John wonder how many times before Sherlock had done this while he was near him, maybe in the next room, without him ever even knowing.
Even though he'd only been watching Sherlock for moments, John quickly began to feel terribly distraught watching him, and he opened the door the rest of the way because he knew that there was no immediate danger that he needed to be weary of.
When Sherlock finally looked up, John was already all of the way into the room and on his way over to the sofa where Sherlock was hunched over, his back slouched in like an old tree.
"Oh, hello John" Sherlock said, quickly wiping away the tears and plastering on his smile.
John, however, was sick of all this, and he finally said what he had been wanting to for a long time. "Sherlock, don't pretend anymore. Please, just stop. I trust you, and you trust me, so no more secrets, okay?"
Sherlock, determined to keep his emotions hidden, held up the facade and said, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean" he picked up a knife as he continued talking, "I was just experimenting the effects of onion cutting on the tear ducts when you found me."
While the story was backed up with the knife, and several different types of chopped onions lain across the table, John knew what he saw, and so he persisted to find the truth. "Please stop Sherlock. I can't just sit by and do nothing while you're suffering so much anymore! I saw you crying Sherlock. Crying. I know what I saw, so just tell me what's wrong. I want to be there for you but it's impossible for me to do that when you're always pushing me away and pretending like everything is okay. Don't you realize that it hurts me to see you like this?"
Sherlock's eyes were deep with thought and Johns were filled with tears. John patient waited for Sherlock's response, trying not to go too far and have Sherlock cut him off completely again.
"I never meant to hurt you, John. I think we both know that. All I've ever wanted to do since we met is keep you safe. I've never meant to get you into trouble and I fear that is what I have done countless times. I'm not good for you to be around, John. I'm not-"
"Don't say that Sherlock. You are the bravest man I have ever met, and I feel truly lucky every day to wake up and be here with you. You are the best thing that's ever happened to me. After the war, I felt lost. I couldn't seem to ft back in anywhere, I couldn't hold a steady job, and so I was barely scraping by. Before we found each other, I was so scared of my own mind that I couldn't stand to be around myself any longer. You saved me Sherlock, so don't you dare say that us meeting was a bad thing."
Sherlock set the knife down and went over to his companion and held him, for even though he wasn't sure what he could say, he knew that it would comfort John. He always knew.
Shocked himself, by both Sherlock's actions and his own, he held onto his best friend as tightly as he could muster, wishing the moment would never pass.