Johnlock

Chapter 1: Affected

"Sherlock!"
And sherlock bolted up from his slumber. His heart rate had almost tripled and each breath he took was heavy and gasped. He rubbed his eyes, still red and glazed, and scanned the room. It had happened again. The same reoccurring dream. The case that made his name. The fall that broke his friend. But the fall wasn't the thing that bothered him. He had everything planed out. Every second after he had typed the word 'LAZARUS', he knew what would happen. He knew the plan would work. He knew he would trick the gunmen and his friends, the 3 people who were most dear to him, would live. But what he hadn't anticipated was the damage it would do to John. It was no secret that what he had believed to be Sherlock's death had devastated him. Mycroft weekly gave Sherlock updates of what his men had seen John doing, but updates weren't enough. Sherlock needed to see him. Now that the network was almost down, Sherlock could finally return. But he couldn't. He had ran a thousand different scenarios through his mind, a thousand different speeches ready to say, but he knew that as soon as he would see John he would have to flee. He couldn't face the beautiful man he had broken.

Sherlock sat up on the edge of his bed, and aligned a pair of slippers lying on the cold wooden floor with his feet. He stood up and flung on a dark robe, walking to the small kitchen which had a square window. He made a cup of tea, and began to stir in the milk as he sat at a small brown desk which occupied a large space in the dismal flat Sherlock had been inhabiting while he was away from 221B. Clink, clink, clink. He laid the spoon on the table and took a sip. It tasted awful, but it was warm, so he continued to drink the tea. Closing his eyes, he continued to take deep breaths to manage his emotions. All was melancholy for a moment, until Sherlock kicked the desk in angst and the spoon fell the the floor with a loud crash. "Dammit!" He shouted, jolting up and grasping the mobile phone in his pocket. He held button 1, and the phone rang.

Almost immediately, a voice projected from the speaker. "What now, little brother?" The phone echoed. Sherlock took a deep breath, about to trace through the lines he had accumulated in his head. "Mycroft I need to see him. I can't do this anymore I simply cannot bear another night of this damn torture," the words tumbled out without the slightest second of breath, like a child. "I know." Mycroft said, but Sherlock carried on without acknowledgement. "I need more than just getting the latest details from your henchmen, I need to see him and I know you won't - what?" The words finally processed in Sherlock's mind. "What do you mean, you 'know'?" Sherlock asked mockingly. There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Sherlock I know what this is doing to you. Unlike you, I'm not an idiot. I can see love when it's staring me in the face" Mycroft said blankly. Sherlock stood for a moment, trying to make sense of what his brother was saying. "What do you mean 'love'?" He asked, confused. "Oh do quit this game you're playing with yourself. I know people used to talk but really, you're oblivious, aren't you?" Mycroft laughed. Sherlock was silent once again. "Would you like me to spell it out for you, brother? I am the more intellectual one - but really, I thought you were smarter than this." He laughed again. "Mycroft unless you're going to tell me what the hell you're implying then I demand you stop this now" Sherlock's voice sighed irritably. "Feelings, Sherlock. For John. Isn't it obvious?" Mycroft mocked. "... Not to me." Sherlock finally confessed. Sensing Sherlock's embarrassment, Mycroft spoke. "I'll arrange transportation to take you back to London" There was another long mortified silence. "I'm... sorry, Sherlock" Mycroft finally coughed. But Sherlock's eyes were tense and deep in thought. Mycroft ended the call, but Sherlock still stood with the phone against his ear. The words continued to echo in his head, ricocheting off of the walls of his mind palace. "Isn't it obvious?"