Johnlock - Do I Wanna Know?

14 - Making Amends

This chapter is a bit angsty and all over the place, there is some smut, not a lot, it's just a few paragraphs or so.
Thank you for reading, voting, and commenting❤️ hope you enjoy.
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John awoke with a kink in his neck. Groaning, he pulled himself from the dirty hotel floor. He realized, after witnessing the empty bottle of wine, that he had passed out. And had awaken now, in a strange twisted position.
He rubbed his sore neck with the palm of his hand. "Bloody hell,"
He slowly stood up, picking up the bottle and walking into the bathroom. He set the bottle on the counter, and stared into mirror. His brow furrowed.
"No wonder he doesn't want to see you,"
The man had never felt self hatred before, but in that moment he did. Staring into his bloodshot eyes, ruffled hair, the dried drool smeared across his cheek; he hated himself. Not just for the way he presented himself, but because of what he did to Sherlock Holmes, and what he does now. He gets piss drunk to feel better, doesn't actually try to fix anything.

"Pathetic."

~

Mike slipped into Sherlock's lab, he was hoping to sneak up on the detective. But knowing Sherlock, he was not easily surprised.
"What is it?" said the boy, who didn't bother looking up from his computer.
Mike sat down on the far end of the table. "Came to see how you were holding up,"
"Fine,"
The older man looked down, and then around the room. "I didn't think you'd decorate your office like this,"
Sherlock looked at him, puzzled, then around his office. "I didn't do this, Molly must have, bloody hell."
The entire room was bordered with neon Christmas lights, every five feet of wire would be a large snowflake ornament dangling in the air.
"I think it's quite nice. Christmas is just a few days away,"
"Is it, now?" his tone was sarcastic, and he neglected to look up from his computer once again.
"You don't want to be alone during the holidays, don't you?" Mike was inching the conversation into forbidden territory.
"I'd rather be alone than with you or John Watson. I know what you're trying to do, and I do not appreciate it," Sherlock snapped.
Mike raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry,"
Sherlock didn't have to say what he was thinking, because the words were radiating off him. 'Get out,' and Mike got the message. He stood and left the room.
Anger welled inside Sherlock, he found his fists clenching and his breathing quick. He stood, staring disgustedly at the Christmas lights in front of him.
"I hate you,"
And of course, he was speaking to John.
He began to scream, and then he grabbed the lights and yanked them off the walls. The glass ornaments shattered as soon as they hit the concrete floor.
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" he screamed over and over again, stomping on the already broken pieces of ornaments and lights on the floor.

~

It was the 23rd of December. John decided he needed to get away from his reflection, so he left his hotel room to waltz around London. Unsure of how long he had already been out, he found himself outside of St. Bart's.
"Shit," he muttered.
Over the course of 10 minutes, the man turned around and back around about a dozen times. Unable to make up his mind whether to go inside, or go back to his hotel to drink himself to death.
"Sir?"
A familiar woman approached John, who was standing in the doorway of the hospital. "Um, yes?"
She took a closer look at him. "...Mr. Watson?"
John looked confused. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"I'm Molly Hooper. I remember, you were Greg Lestrade's teacher, he introduced us."
"Oh," John nodded, remembering that day. She was never his student, but she made him feel like she was. "How have you been?"
Molly smiled. "I've been well. It's funny. Greg, Sherlock and I all went to school together and now we're working together."
Masking his pain from hearing that name, he nodded. "That's nice... I was actually coming to see Sherlock,"
"Oh! I'll take you up, I was as well. What a funny coincidence,"
John followed the woman closely, feeling his heart pound faster and louder the closer they got to Sherlock's office.
Molly knocked on the door once. "Excuse me, Mr. Holmes,"
There was no reply.
Slowly, opening the door, she gasped. "Oh my lord!"
John's eyes went wide as he saw what she was shouting about. Neon glass and wires were shattered and spread all over the floor. Papers that obviously once lay on the countertop were now scattered around the mess as well.
"What happened?" he whispered.
Molly threw her hands up in the air. "I have no bloody idea, but I worked hard and put all the decorations up around the hospital and this is what I get for it! He treats me so horribly, why does he do that? Why does-" she turned in the direction of John in the midst of her shouting. Only to find that the man was gone.

~

He couldn't bare to listen to that girl go on and on any longer. All John wanted was a drink. He felt angry at himself for even wanting a swig of whiskey, but he didn't want to think, didn't want to remember anything.

He opened the hotel room door, groaning. He went straight for the mini refrigerator under the bedside table. He paused for a moment after opening it, he could have sworn there was a bottle of rum that wasn't there anymore. Shrugging, he forgot about it instantly. He was then in the process of pulling out a bottle of whiskey when a voice startled him.
"You never even cared about me,"
John spun around, and the sight that met his eyes caused him to drop the bottle of whiskey.
"Sherlock,"
The boy was obviously buzzed, he held the empty rum bottle in his hand. Stuttering and tripping like an idiot.
"Sherlock, what are you doing here?"
"Came to tell you something-"
John didn't say anything, he only stepped toward him.
"I wanted, to tell you-that-I, fucking hate you,"
Every ounce of hope in John completely drained in that moment, and he could feel whatever was left of his heart shrivel and break into pieces.
"Sherlock.. Please, you're drunk," his voice was weak, and it was obvious even to Sherlock that he was trying not to cry.
"I may be drunk, you sonofabitch. But, I still hate you. I hate you, when I'm sober, when I'm drunk. Every second I just fuckinghateyou."
"Stop," his former teacher choked, tears spilling down his cheeks.
"No-" Sherlock stepped toward him. "I need you to know everything,"
"Stop!"
"I hate you! I fucking loved you and you hated me, now I hate you!"
John began to ball, he pushed the drunk boy away, harshly. "I never hated you! I loved you! I still love you, god damn it!"
Sherlock stared at him wide eyed. Then, suddenly, he threw the empty bottle to his feet. It shattered. "Then why didn't you act like you loved me you stupid ass hole?!"
"I tried my hardest with you! I didn't want to treat you badly! Jesus Christ, I was so stupid, I was married and, and! I've explained this shit before. You're drunk,"
Now it was Sherlock's turn to cry. "You stupid piece of shit, I hate you!" he began to flail against John, trying to hit him, distract himself from his own tears.
"Sherlock! Stop!" John sobbed, he refused to hit the boy back.
"I loved you! I loved you so much! Why?! I-I-I..." Sherlock stopped screaming and looked up into John's eyes. He fell silent as he saw the tears in the mans eyes, as he saw the man sharing his pain. "I love you..."
In reality, they stared at each other for about ten seconds. But to them, it felt like hours. Staring at each other for such a long time, just watching each other cry. And finally, after all that time, neither could hold back. John brought his lips to Sherlock's, and his eyes closed in complete bliss. He missed that boys lips, he missed them so much.
Once again, it felt like time had slowed and they had kissed each other for an eternity. And then finally, both of them had to pull away to catch their breath.

~

Sherlock groaned, and grasped onto the headboard.
John's hands dug into the boys sides, surely hard enough to leave marks later on. But neither of them cared.
Sherlock was in fact drunk, but he was still highly intelligent and knew what he wanted. This is what he wanted.
To stare into John's eyes while he rode his cock. Mouth wide open, emitting low hoarse moans. To have John's large, strong hands on him, to guide him up and down.
"I love you-so much," John moaned.
Sherlock's head fell back, feeling his orgasm take over. He let out a loud string of profanities, shivering and moaning still. And once he was down from his high, he collapsed onto the man beneath him, who was still inside him.
"I love you," Sherlock mumbled

~

John awoke the next morning, smiling as he felt a small and skinny arm draped over his chest. He looked down, and smiled even wider at the site of matted brown curls. Kissing the boy's head softly, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock.
He heard a muffled yawn from his beloved, and held onto him tighter.
"Morning,"
And suddenly, the boy went stiff.
"Sherlock?" John asked, feeling his sudden change in emotion.
Sherlock lifted his head, slowly, and his eyes grew wider than ever as they were met with John Watson's.
He flew from the bed, he was on his feet at the foot of the bed in a matter of seconds.
"Shit,"
"What is wrong with you?" John sat up, fear rising in his chest.
"I thought last night was a bloody dream,"
Sherlock turned around, searching for his clothes. He gave John a nice view instead. "I don't know what to think."
John sighed, and got out of the messy bed.
"Please don't tell me-that you wished it was just a dream." He whispered.
He stood behind Sherlock, pressing his luck. His hands gently caressed the younger in a warm hug. This wasn't about sex, or want, or anything. It was purely out of love for the other, and hope that flared deep in John's heart.
Hesitant, Sherlock brought his hands up and held onto John's muscular arms. "No. I don't wish it was just a dream,"