Chapter Text
“Without you I'm nothing, with you I'm something but together we're everything…”
Sherlock woke up from his nightmare. He couldn’t remember what he had seen in his dream but he could remember it was about John. John being hurt… John being killed… John being tortured and him just standing there unable to do anything. These last two weeks ever since John left for his honeymoon with his now wife Mary, he was haunted by these dreams and he couldn’t tell why. He couldn’t understand the meaning of these nightmares but what he did comprehend was that no matter what he tried, he couldn’t get any sleep. So, most evenings, he was just sitting in John’s old armchair, holding his violin and composing sad songs.
Everyone had noticed the change in Sherlock’s behavior but none seemed to know what was wrong with him. Not even Sherlock himself could understand what was happening to him. He was actually pining over John. But why? There was no possible explanation for that… he knew all well that John was his best friend and he cared about him deeply but that was it. Nothing more. And that didn’t justify the great longing the detective felt for John especially now that he knew he was fine and happy with the woman he loved.
Sherlock sighed and got out of bed. He walked to the kitchen and drank a glass of cold water. He so wanted to call John. But he couldn’t bring himself to disturb the couple. Should he text him then? Sherlock shook his head violently. What in the name of God was he thinking? He was acting like a bloody wife who was missing her husband who was off to a trip or something. And suddenly the realization hit him hard. He was in love with John. Deeply, madly, hopelessly in love.
Sherlock slid to the floor as shock came with the realization and it was the first time in his life that he wished for ignorance. He was better when he didn’t know his feelings. Now what he felt was pure desperation. There was nothing he could do because John was NOT GAY and he was currently spending his honeymoon with the woman he loved, completely ignorant about his friend’s feelings.
There was a high noise from his bedroom. A text alert, he realized. He got up and approached his bed where his mobile phone was buried under the sheet. Sherlock picked up the device and looked at the shining screen where he saw he had a new text:
New text from: JOHN WATSON
Hey, you awake? How are you?
Sherlock’s heart beat faster in his chest and he allowed a light smile to appear in his face and he hurried to reply.
Yes. I’m fine. How are you doing? Is everything okay? I miss you…
The detective looked at the text in disbelief. Of course he couldn’t send that to John. There was always a chance Mary would see it and besides he didn’t know how John might react. He could get mad and never talk to him again. He sighed deeply and deleted the text, quickly tying a new one.
I’m awake, just doing an experiment. I am fine, how are you and Mary? Is everything okay? -SH
He pressed sent and he looked at the time on the screen. It was past four in the morning. What was John doing awake at this hour? Usually he would be asleep, or listening to Sherlock playing his violin, because he couldn’t sleep, without complaining. Sherlock tossed his phone aggressively back in his bed. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep again so he might as well do an experiment for real. He had a human head still at the fridge, provided from his dear pathologist, and he hadn’t finished the coagulation of saliva. After John seemed to be so disturbed by it the last time, he just put it away and forgot the whole thing. But now John wasn’t here, he reminded himself and headed for the kitchen again.
He picked the human head and smiled at it while carrying it back at the table where the whole lab set was placed. He checked his phone once again to find a new message from John. He calmed himself down and promptly began reading it.
Yeah, we’re good. Everything’s fine. I just couldn’t sleep and was hoping maybe you’d be awake and in a mood for a chat. Haven’t properly talked to you since the wedding.
Yes, thanks for the reminder, he said to himself bitterly. John hadn’t made one decent try to contact him and well, it just wasn’t in Sherlock’s nature to ever run behind anyone. If John really wanted to talk to him, he would find the time. No one’s that busy, it was only a matter of priorities. For example, Sherlock always made sure that he had some free time during the day in case John might want to come around the flat or spend some time with him. Of course John hadn’t tried to communicate with him at all. Not that he minded, of course. If he didn’t want him once, then Sherlock didn’t want him a hundred times. But he very well knew that wasn’t true.
Good. So you’re having a good time with Mary, I take it. Why can’t you sleep? –SH
The detective returned his attention back to the head positioned in front of him, watching him with its lifeless eyes. And yet, Sherlock felt a chill running down his back. As if the head was silently watching him, judging him. The detective frowned but quickly shook it off thinking he was overreacting. His phone alerted him again that he had a new text.
I don’t know. Okay… actually things with me and Mary aren’t that good. I mean, Jesus we’ve only been married for two months, we can’t have that many problems. But still… it just doesn’t feel right.
Sherlock read the text again and again not sure if he was misunderstanding things but John was telling him that he wasn’t having a good time on his honeymoon with his new wife! The young man could feel his heart ready to jump out of his chest. But then he stopped and scowled at himself. John was his friend and he had a problem. He couldn’t sleep because of it and there was Sherlock being all happy about it. No, he was obviously mistaken. John and Mary would work it out, whatever their problem was. Sherlock forced his heart to beat normally again as he typed his reply.
I’m sure you’ll work things out, don’t worry. Mary loves you and you love her, so you’ll be fine… Is there anything I can do to help? –SH
He sighed again and he suddenly felt very tired as a strong desire to go and sleep kept nagging his head.
We’ll be back sooner than expected. That is next Monday.
Sherlock stared with wide eyes at the text. John was coming in less than a week. He was coming back! He would come back in London in five days! The detective forced himself to calm down, dismissing it as something unimportant but he couldn’t control his hear that seemed all too eager to actually rip his chest and jump out and run to John. It was then that Sherlock knew he was really screwed. Because not only John didn’t and would never ever return his feelings, but also because if he ever found out about Sherlock’s unrequited love, he would definitely leave forever and Sherlock would never see him again. Just the thought made Sherlock week on his knees. No, it was fine, it was all okay. He would just have to keep it a secret. John would come back and everything would be normal and he would never have to find out about the detective’s true feelings. And then…
I wanna see you. I must talk to you… I’ve missed you.
Sherlock took a deep breath. What did that mean? Was there a hope for the two of them? The door bell interrupted his track of thoughts. Who could it possibly be at four thirty in the morning? Sherlock stood up and walked to the door to his flat. He slowly descended the stairs wrapped only in his blue dressing gown. The bell kept ringing insistent and for a second Sherlock was worried that Mrs. Hudson would wake up and then it would be a right hell for whoever was in the door. He opened the door and got ready to start a tantrum. But as soon as his brain registered what his eyes saw, he remained frozen at his spot.
In front of him stood a ghost. A man from the past. A dead man, yet so alive that Sherlock would swear he was dreaming. A tall, muscular man with dark blonde hair nicely cut and a California tan was standing in the doorway. He was smiling, revealing white, shining teeth and bright hazel eyes that looked straight into Sherlock. The man looked like he had gotten out of one of those Hollywood movies with the protagonist good looking guy, always having his way in the end. Memories flooded Sherlock’s mind. Memories of a much younger himself, being held down in bed with a strong body pressed on him.
- I used to hold you like that… Does watching them make you miss me? I’ll bet it does. You can’t really mind me bothering you again, can you? Come on, Lock. You love me. Don’t act like you never did. I was the first person you ever said it to... Because you wanted me to stop. Because you thought you could make me say sorry. But it didn’t work, did it? Can you remember how I looked at you, Lock? Like you were a worm, as if you were the most disgusting thing I’d ever seen. Love doesn’t suit you. It never will...
He gasped and closed his eyes tightly desperately trying to block the memories. The tall figure took a step towards Sherlock and the detective involuntary flinched away. The man seemed amused by the reaction but not in the slightest bit intimidated. He took one big step, until he was standing directly in front of the detective and he wrapped his long arms around the slender waist of Sherlock and rubbed their bodies together. Sherlock stood still, unable to move or talk. The muscular man brought his face down to Sherlock all the while watching him and firmly pressed their lips together. Sherlock didn’t kiss back but didn’t pull away either. The other didn’t mind. Sherlock kept his sparkling silver-blue eyes on the slightly taller man as he lowered his head and brushed his lips on Sherlock’s ear whispering:
“Hello, my beloved. Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”