Back from the Dead (Sherlock)

John felt so small in that moment. Sherlock was dissecting his weaknesses, and he felt short of belittled.
It was all true though, he had a problem, a big one, he didn't only have to live with unrequited love, he also had to deal with the fact he felt he could go mad every time Sherlock went off for a case.

He tried to calm himself down, burying his head in his hands.
"My heart always rules my head, you know that very well, Sherlock. I am not you," he pointed out in frustration.

"I cannot help it, you see. You just... get me. You smile at my jokes, you make me laugh, I trust you... you know I have never trusted anyone before?" he exclaimed frustrated. "I think you are an ass.. but at the same time you are brilliant, you are unique, I wish I could be more like you... and once you were gone... God, I just wanted to die... it hurt too much, Sherlock..."

"Not to mention, you saved me, you gave me all I needed without me asking, and without even realizing it... it's just... a miracle," he bit on his lower lip.

"And you make me feel accepted, complete, it hurts, it does hurt, but I wouldn't change it for the world. Home is with you, home is 221b Baker Street, nowhere else..."

He felt his insides tightening as he realized what this was though. "What is it? An experiment? You want to research how it feels?" he snapped, and then took in a shaky breath. "Sherlock, this hurts, you know..."

No, no, John was reading him all wrong...but how could he possibly put it into words? He put his head in his hands, feeling himself sinking into a depressed state.

"I need to know John..." He began nervously. "I need to know because...before...when you." He coughed. This was hard for him. So very hard. But he knew he had to say it because John clearly wasn't picking up on the signs.

"Before...when you..." He continued, fighting back a nervous stammer. "When you described what love...felt like...what it was like to love someone I...I...I started to think I might feel like that too. So please. Tell me again. I need to be certain."

He breathed a great sigh of relief and leaned his head back in his chair, closing his eyes to wait for John's response.

"And please hurry because Mycroft's on his way over and I /really/ don't want him to hear us talking about this. I'd never live it down."

That was another thing he certainly did not expect. Sherlock to feel love as well? Certainly he did not mean to feel that for John, did he?

His heart started beating fast in his chest, he had hardly thought about the possibility of being requited, he just could not bring himself to think that Sherlock would choose him of all people.
What would he do though, if Sherlock loved someone else? Truly loved someone else?
Now that he was painfully aware of his feelings, it would probably kill him.

He felt himself grow nervous, but he answered honestly.
"It's when you always want to be together with that person... and when you are not together, you think about them..."

He took in a deep breath. "It's when you trust someone with your life, and would do anything for them..."

"It's when you want to make sure they will be happy, and that they will possibly stay with you in the future... you want them to look at you only... you want them to touch you, and you want to touch them, because when they do, you feel at home... it's when you feel happy because they smile... it's when you put their needs in front of yours..."

Sherlock hung his head in his hands in despair. It was just as he had thought. John's description matched his feelings exactly. He heard an almost inhuman moan escape from his chest.

"Why why...oh damn you John Watson...."

This couldn't be happening to him. Sherlock Holmes didn't do love. He was certain it would be his downfall, his professional undoing. With surprise he noticed tears were rolling down his cheeks. He angrily brushed them away then glanced up at John, who was looking hurt and upset by his words. Sherlock felt his heart pang. He knew he had to tell him the truth.

"I feel the same damned way about you damn you John." He muttered, barely audible, before rolling himself up into a protective ball on the armchair.

John's eyes widened considerably, they moved feverishly on the other's face and then they retreated towards the window.
He couldn't believe this.

Sherlock said... he admitted to...

He glared at him then, bearing into him and wishing he could really see into his head and heart.
"Alright... fine... good..." he said, and stood up, looking at him all curled up.

"No need to react like that... it's not... a problem," he said, even though he had no idea how he was supposed to behave.
He was not gay after all, oh wait... he had never been gay before, he should say.

"Listen... we can deal with this... it's not the end of the world... you are probably going to like it, I mean, all new feelings for you, new things to experiment?" he said with a tentative smile and he reached out to stroke the other's head.

"You trust me after all, right? Nothing has to change if you don't want to," he really tried to sound reassuring.

Sherlock felt completely helpless to his emotions, he hated being so out of control. He never thought he could be so weak minded as to allow himself to fall in love. He felt bitter and angry inside.

It was only the gentle touch of John's hand on his hair that softened him slightly. He realised the only person who could help him feel any better right now was standing right next to him.

"I need a hug." He mumbled into the cushion.

John looked at him with pity, he knew Sherlock considered feelings as a weakness, and this had to be quite a difficult moment for the detective more than it was for him.
"I am sorry to have put you in such a situation..." even though it wasn't like he had asked for it. Nor had he thought he'd manage to attract Sherlock's affections.

"Sit up then... I will hug you," he said with a soft smile, trying to hide the fact he was equally scared of what was happening.

"I know you think this is bad... but... it's human you know... love... it's part of life... it would be a shame to die without feeling it at least once..." he tried to say, because he really believed that. He couldn't regret falling in love with Sherlock, it was worth it, it was worth it even when he thought it was unrequited.

Sherlock slowly sat up and moved up a little so John could perch on the armchair with him. Then he allowed his friend's arms to envelope his body. He buried his head into John's shoulder, taking comfort from the Doctor's unique smell and warmth.

"Damn you John..." he whispered.

John didn't know how to feel about this, it didn't really feel like hugging a lover, it was more like he was comforting a child.
Peculiar.
Mostly because he had no idea what it was best to do.

He settled for just squeezing him close and reassuring himself that this was good, this was special.

"Sorry," he apologized again when Sherlock spoke.

"You know John," Sherlock stated matter of factly. "I've never actually hugged anyone before. Well...except my mother."

He wrapped his arms round John's back and brought him even closer, squeezing him hard. He was starting to feel a bit better about it all. As long as they had each other, they could get through anything.

John nodded at the other's words: "You mentioned something like that before," he said, looking at him for a moment, before he rested his head on the other's shoulder and tried to relax.
"Why is that so?"

He liked this, being close, things were starting to be just... better.
After three years of pining and regret, this was certainly helping his mental sanity.
Maybe life wasn't so cruel, after all.

He ran his hand up and down the other's back, just thinking. "I am afraid I have hugged many people before," he confessed off-handedly.

"I just...I guess I've never been that type of person. Even at Uni, girls were never interested in me and I wasn't interested in them. I've never considered it important. But now when I come to think of it...I suppose it is a little unusual."

Sherlock pulled back from the hug and gave John a little smile. He was feeling much better now, although still a little apprehensive.

"Please don't tell anyone," he begged. "If my enemies find out they'll learn how to manipulate my weaknesses."

"I doubt girls weren't interested... I imagine you probably shot them off with one of your icy deduction if they got near though," he said and smiled hesitantly at him, his hand moving to graze the other's cheek and jaw, the pale skin was smooth and he just wanted to feel it under his fingers.

"Who am I supposed to tell that to?" he asked surprised, but then he realized things were in a different perspective already. "I think most people know already... they can tell..." He had never really thought about it before. "Moriarty already tried to trick you on that, twice... I doubt anything will change..."

Sherlock pondered on this for a moment.

"You're right. Moriarty knew I had feelings. Despite my best efforts he could see right through me. And I still beat him. Perhaps this won't be so bad."

John's fingers tickled his cheek lightly and a shiver shot right down Sherlock's spine. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation it gave him.

Mycroft walked into the flat,and chuckled atthe sight. John and Sherlock almost cuddling on the couch. "I am glad to see you tow made up, but there is a sniper after you, so I suggest we get down to business." He sat in the chair across from them, and set John's gun on the table.

"Doctor, I do beleive this is yours."

He sat back, and put his hands behind his head. "So, what are we going to do about Sebastian Moran, brother?"

Sherlock jumped at the sound of his brother's voice, and quickly released himself from John's grasp feeling his cheeks flush red. He brushed himself down and attempted to regain his usual cool exterior.

"Mycroft! Maybe try knocking next time."

He picked up John's revolver off the table, checked it for bullets then passed it to John.

"Well...we've closed the curtains," Sherlock pointed out. "That's a start, although I doubt it'll hold him off for long. I did have another idea though..."

((I wrote a post about John kissing Sherlock, and when I was about to post it, the forum informed me you two had posted, so I had to bin it XDDD The irony!))


John jumped at the sudden voice, his cheeks burning red as he pulled away as if scalded.
His first instinct was to say it was not what it looked like, but he reckoned it was fairly useless. He had wanted to kiss Sherlock a few seconds ago after all. He was just glad Mycroft arrived before that happened at all, he had no idea how Sherlock would have reacted.

He stood up straight and squared his shoulder.
"Mycroft..." he greeted him quite coldly. He still hadn't forgiven him for stealing his gun in between all things.

He took it from Sherlock and grinned at it, finally, he checked it and felt the weight of it in his hand. Nice.
"Glad to have it back, I feel much more useful now," he said, placing it under his belt.

((Mycroft is the ultimate cockblock))

Mycroft had to resist the urge to jibe them. There were more pressing matters afoot.

"Please, do enlighten me, brother. The quicker we settle this, the better."

Mycroft smirked. The sooner he left, the better. He had no intentions of seeing JOhn and Sherlock snog.

Sherlock moved towards the window and twitched the curtains slightly.

"See that office block across the road. That one directly opposite us has been To Let since before I left. Now I come back to find they've put a "sold" sign in it's place. And when I make inquries I find it was sold yesterday. Too much of a coincidence. Moran's a sniper by trade. He's going to use that office to set up his rifle and take a shot at me right through this window."

Sherlock now stepped back from the window and rushed over to the arm chair. He was on a roll, enjoying explaining everything. He felt the thrill of the game begin to coarse through his veins once more.

"This is where I usually sit. Right here, with my back to the window and on a cold night when we light the fire I should imagine I make an attractive sillhouete easily spotted and targeted from the office window." He pointed back to the window, in case they'd somehow forgotten what office he was talking about. He knew they hadn't of course...he just liked to be dramatic.

"Now Mycroft...this is where you might be able to make yourself useful for once. If you could get hold of a life sized realistic looking dummy of some kind, we could kit it out in some of my clothes and a wig, sit it in my chair with its back to the window, and our friend Colonel Moran would be none the wiser. The only question then will be predicting when he plans to strike and intercepting him."

Sherlock stood back and waited for their responses. He shrugged. "A simple plan of course, but sometimes simple is good."

((Oh Mycroft, it's probably better that way >> who knows the panic Sherlock would have taken that with))


John slowly moved to his own seat, watching the two brothers as they spoke.
He took in the words, he took in the situation, he took in Sherlock's familiar enthusiasm.
It was exactly like three years ago and the nostalgia threatened to choke him for a moment.

Then it was gone and he was smiling, truly happy that they were back here. Together.

He just sat there, watching them, he knew there was no need for him anyway.

Mycroft nodded. "Consider it done. I shall also put some of my people on standby, just in case our sniper goes mad." He sipped his tea and looked at both of them

"And what are your plans during all this, brother? It's not like you to set something up, and hope for big brother to save the day."

He chuckled, and stretched out again.

Sherlock scowled, resenting his brother's remarks.

"No Mycroft, you're merely supplying an item of some use to me. I'm doing all the legwork...as usual."

Sherlock moved again towards the window and peered out.

"I was followed here so Moran knows I'm back. He's been wanting to kill me for the last three years, he's got itchy trigger fingers, he's unlikely to want to wait much longer. Plus I've seen the same person walk past our windows three times since I've been back and glance up at me. It's too late for them to do anything tonight, especially if we keep the curtains closed and the lights down low...avoid any unwanted sillhouetes. But I suspect by tomorrow they'll be more than ready. If you can get what I need by tomorrow evening Mycroft, John and I will do the rest."

He glanced at John now, just to check he was OK, that he was following all of this. John nodded, and Sherlock flashed him a brief smile. Things would be all right now. He felt certain of it.