A Photo Of John

Chapter 12

Sherlock became worried when John didn't show up to visit the next day. Or the day after that. When he got out of the hospital finally, he expected John to be patiently waiting outside his room, but no one was there. He growled in anger, Mycroft must have intervened and drove John Watson away. But he felt lonely again, John had to remember that he was the only person Sherlock had. He grabbed a taxi home and pondered what shady form of sabotage Mycroft committed. There were so many options. He arrived at 221B Baker Street, and stepped inside the flat. It was completely empty of John's things except for a few stray boxes laying around. Instead of sinking to the ground and crying like he would have done, or storming into his room, he became determined. He walked around the flat, looking for clues to show where he was going. He picked up the photo, and stared at it. This is what he was fighting for.

He found a dirty, and wet paper towel in the trash can, obviously used to wipe up muddy footprints. It was only from about 20 minutes earlier! John must have picked up his last boxes today! He ran out into the rain and noticed a bit of mud at the doorstep. The same mud from inside the house! Also, a bit leading onto the sidewalk. This was all he needed. John decided to walk to his new apartment. No, there wouldn't have been enough time for that, it must be a friends house. Sarah's! Sarah's flat wasn't far from here! If John was walking then Sherlock would be able to meet him before he got there! Sherlock sprinted off into the storm, searching for John.

John was walking, deep in thought. Sherlock obviously made his decision to move John out, he should accept it. Mycroft probably coaxed Sherlock into some kind of deal. But it was okay. Sherlock would be much healthier with a nurse around, his therapy sessions. Healthier than John could have ever made him, especially with all of the nurses and therapists being high end due to Mycroft's involvement. He would stay at Sarah's until he could find an apartment of his own. Everything would be okay. So why did it feel like everything was falling apart?

Sherlock ran down the street, memorizing the routes, searching for that blonde head of hair. He almost stopped breathing when he saw John, walking slowly, holding a lamp in one hand, looking utterly depressed. His face was tired and his eyes downcast.

Mycroft would pay for this.

Sherlock took a deep breath and ran out into the rain, across the street.

" John!"

John turned and stared at this out of breath, wild haired, soaked genius standing right in front of him. He couldn't even begin to comprehend the situation.

Sherlock couldn't think of a single thing to say. He had so much he wanted to tell John, but not one word would even dare to escape his lips.

Suddenly, without any warning at all, Sherlock's hands wrapped around John's neck and he pulled the two men's lips together with a rough collision. He was tired of talking about his feelings, discussing, like they were at a business meeting. John needed to know how he felt , how it was impossible for John to ever consider the possibility that Sherlock had betrayed him.

This wasn't like you would assume, where John gasps and slowly sinks into the kiss. There is no hesitation. They have been waiting much too long for this moment. John curls his fingers deep into the depths of Sherlock's ringlets, pulling him closer. Their first kiss was a dance. It was not a slow hesitant one, nor a reckless, quick one, nor a combination of the both. It was something else. It was only theirs.

They broke apart together, staring into each other's eyes.

" John, my brother's words mean nothing. I could never let you leave. That is, unless you truly wanted to and -"

It was John that initiated their second kiss.