Back from the Dead (Sherlock)

Sherlock frowned slightly, trying to figure out what John had meant exactly, but the soft tones of his voice and the way he took hold of his hand assured him that John wasn't mad at him like he'd originally thought...he didn't hate him...and he obviously didn't feel uncomfortable about their recent physical contact. This was good, because Sherlock had decided he quite liked it. He just didn't want John to get the wrong idea. He knew how much his friend hated it when people inferred they were a couple. But they weren't obviously, Sherlock reasoned inside his mind. They were just good friends right? This is what having a friend is like. He'd never had one before so he really had nothing to compare it to. He wasn't used to dealing with such powerful emotions like the ones John stirred inside him. Sherlock could feel his brain start to over analyse things again, he was thinking too much. He needed to stop. For now he just wanted to enjoy a quiet moment with John. He knew it wouldn't be long before they were off on some dangerous adventure together and they wouldn't have time for moments like this.

He allowed his impulses to take over his reasoning, and pulled John's body close to his, hugging him hard.

"You're the first person I've hugged except my mother." He spoke matter of factly, almost thinking aloud. "It's surprisingly..." he searched for a good descriptive word but found his mind at a loss. "...nice." he eventually offered feebly.

Sherlock's phone beeped in his pocket. He rolled his eyes and decided to ignore it for now. He had already predicted what it would say anyway.

John could see Sherlock was thinking way too much about this, he wondered if he was doubting John's intentions, it would be understandable. This was way past the social norms of friendship, and different from what they had before as well.
John couldn't bring himself to care.
He'll be better tomorrow, he'll control himself tomorrow, today he just needed to feel Sherlock close.
He needed this.

So when he found himself in Sherlock's arms again, he sighed and buried his face in the detective's neck. He stayed there, trying to forget about the rest of the world.
"I am glad you are not feeling uncomfortable for this..." he said against the skin of the other's neck.

"It's just a relief to have you back, Sherlock," he tried to excuse himself. "I know this is not exactly proper... I just need it tonight," he whispered, taking in the other's scent. "I just need to touch you, smell you, just to know you are here. And alive."

Sherlock released a little nervous cough and closed his eyes, allowing the scent of John's shampoo to waft up his nostrils and the warmth of his body radiating through his. The honesty of John's words made him envious...things were never that easy for him.

"I...I need it to." he managed to stammer.

For a brief but precious moment they held onto each other, not moving or speaking, just standing perfectly still, enjoying the closeness between them. Sherlock realised that things were slightly different now. Their absence had only made them care for each other even more and he began to feel that the bond between them was now even stronger. With a wry smile Sherlock hoped he'd never have to throw himself off another tall building for John because he knew only too well he wouldn't hesitate to do it.

After a few minutes, Sherlock allowed his right hand to creep down John's back and round to his own pocket, where he removed his phone. He read the text message holding the phone over John's back.

"Hmm. Just as I'd thought. That assassin I told you about. He's definitely here. In London. Not got any plans for tonight have you?"

The soft words made John sigh in relief, he couldn't help but thank all Gods he knew for granting him someone like Sherlock and for making him care for him.

"Good," he heard himself saying, resting his temple on the other's shoulder, just waiting for things to end, for now he'll just enjoy what he could, the touch, the warmth and the intimacy.

"No plans," he said with a chuckle, not caring about the phone or the assassin at the moment. He knew he was supposed to though.
"But you are more important than plans anyway, always been," he pointed out, because he still remembered it had always been like that.

Sherlock removed both hands from John's back but still holding him close with his upper arms, typed out a text to his brother...

Just as I suspected. I was followed to Baker Street by an unknown car. I have a plan. Can you come round? -SH

He pressed send, then slipped the phone back into his pocket and went back to holding John.

"No dates tonight then?" he teased.

John laughed at the words and spoke before he could stop himself: "You can be so oblivious," he said and then blushed, turning his face on the other's shoulder and hoping Sherlock had not heard.

"I haven't been on a date in a while... will resume it eventually," he muttered, hoping this would pass and he could actually do it for real, find someone who would love him.

Sherlock frowned. He'd heard John's words but didn't understand their meaning. He mulled them over a few seconds before deciding what to say, but nothing immediately sprang to mind.

"You never seem to have much luck with love do you?"

Then a new thought occurred to him...

"John. Have you ever been in love?"

Sherlock was very interested to hear his friend's response. He'd often wondered what it would be like to fall in love, beyond the obvious symptoms he'd read of in books and observed in others.

"No, I have no luck at all... I seem to have the tendency of liking people who get tired of me really easily... or who won't see me like that at all," he explained quickly, he did not wish to dwell on the subject for too long, he didn't like pity.

"Love is not quite the same though," he confessed, taking courage in the fact his gaze was hidden in the other's shoulder.
"I have. I have experienced pure love. The one that gives you life and kills you," he said slowly, biting on his lower lip.

Sherlock was fascinated by John's description of love...and he was keen to know more. Maybe then he could finally learn how to understand people better, to relate to them. Who knows, it could even help him in his work if he had a better grasp on the emotions and motivations of normal people...

"Describe it to me." he demanded.

John knew it was coming, Sherlock was curious, as curious as one could get. He thought about what he could say, how far he could go.
"It's the feeling of warmth, when that someone is close..." he whispered, biting on his lower lip.

"It's when they understand you, when they trust you, when they touch you and you are truly happy," he explained, his voice low. "It's how you want to protect them, you want them to be safe and happy even if they are not with you," his voice shook and he had to pause, not to let himself cry. "And when they are gone, you just want to stop existing..."

Sherlock frowned and his body tensed slightly as he listened to the description. That was exactly how he felt about John. But that didn't make any sense. He wasn't in love with John. John was his friend. Yet his words matched Sherlock's emotions so accurately it scared him. Why would he be in love? Love was a weakness. He didn't /do/ love.

Sherlock gently broke away from the embrace he and John had been holding. He could feel himself flushed red with embarrassment. Without saying another word he retreated to his bedroom, picked up his violin and began to play.

John's heart clenched in his chest when Sherlock pulled away. He knew it had to happen, it was bound to, but it still hurt.
He had said too much, he had done too much, he wished he was less passionate than this. That way he could avoid ruining things this way.

Sherlock was tense, he was not looking at him and he was retreating to his room, making John feel panicked again.

"Sherlock, wait," he whimpered helpless, following him, standing in front of Sherlock's door.

"I am sorry Sherlock... but could you please stay with me? I need you in my line of sight," he said, panic clear in his voice. He could not take this.
He didn't know if Sherlock had understood who he was talking about, or not, but at the moment it was not what worried him the most.

John's behaviour seemed irrational and strange. Why was he so worried and distressed? Sherlock didn't quite understand it, although he was secretly pleased. He needed to think, and playing his violin helped him...but if John wanted to be near him all the time that was fine too. He found the presence of his friend strangely comforting although at the current moment was still too confused and embarrassed to look at him, and stood facing the wall with his back to John.

"Sit down if you want to." he pointed at the bed with his bow, without turning round. "That's if you can tolerate my playing."

"Yes, yes, I think I can tolerate anything at the moment," he said, shoulders sagging a bit in relief as he moved towards the chair and sit down. He rested his head on his hand and watched Sherlock silently, the panic slowly seeping out of him.

He could see the detective's cheeks were uncharacteristically flushed, but he decided not to pry for now.
Sherlock needed time to digest things, and if he just realized John had feelings for him, then he surely needed to wrap his head around it.
"I did not mean to embarrass you," he said eventually though.

Sherlock stopped playing for a moment.

"You didn't," he said bluntly, without turning round. "I embarrassed myself."

He took up the tune from where he'd left off, a repetitive haunting melody. The repitition of it helped to calm Sherlock's mind and make him focus. His common sense told him to suppress his emotions and forget about John's words. Forget about the effect they had had on him. But his heart was telling him otherwise.

It seemed as though his entire body was in turmoil, fighting with each other, and as the tune he was playing began to increase in pace an incredible feeling of frustration built up inside him until finally he hurled the violin bow across the room with a cry, threw the violin onto the bed and stalked back into the living room where he began pacing up and down.

"I was the one talking though..." he protested and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the haunting melody. He really didn't want to think about what it could mean, about what was going on in Sherlock's head.

He jumped up when Sherlock threw the bow and left again, he slowly moved to pick it up and lovingly put it on the bed near the violin. He then proceeded to join Sherlock in the living room.
"I clearly upset you," he pointed out, and rubbed his forehead aggravated. "Maybe if you talk to me about it, things will get easier?"

"No. You haven't upset me. And no. I don't want to talk about it."

Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and continued to pace up and down the flat.

"I can't."

Then he suddenly stopped a new thought occuring to him.

"Who was it?" he demanded. "When I asked if you'd ever been in love you said you had but implied it had only been once. Who was it? Who was the lucky lady and when did this take place? Must have been before my time because every single one of your love affairs has been a disaster as far as I can see."

John started at the direct question, he was not expecting it and his heart leaped in his throat and caught his breath.
"You mean you don't know?" he asked, then why was Sherlock upset? Had he not realized his little spiel had been all about him?

He was suddenly shaking, and for a long time he wondered whether he could lie through his teeth and keep his secret.
"That one was quite a disaster as well... u-unrequited, I would say..." he muttered, torn in between what he was supposed to say and what he wanted to say. Maybe he should just admit it. "Not a lady," he added, and licked his lips. "Sherlock, I am not sure you want to know."

Sherlock's eyes widened with surprise.

"Not a lady?" He grinned and rubbed his hands with delight. "My my, this /is/ getting interesting. Please. Do tell."

He could see John squirming and knew he was being cruel but he couldn't help himself. He was genuinely interested...especially now John had said the object of his love wasn't a lady.

John swallowed hard, and for the first time that day he forced himself to turn away from Sherlock. He couldn't think with the other's eyes on him, he turned his back and looked at his hands. He tried to tell himself that he could do this, that he could tell the truth and that things would not become awkward.

"Don't be angry," he said, still biting on his lower lip, wishing he could find the right wording.

"He... he is smart, very smart... handsome... he's a good man... a bit on the sociopath side... he helps people..." he couldn't just say it's you, could he?
"He protects me, and I protect him... when I can..."

As he listened to John's description of the man he was apparently in love with, Sherlock felt an unusual and new sensation building up inside him. His chest began to grow tight and...his heart...it felt like someone was gripping his heart so hard it hurt. The feeling grew more intense and painful until finally he half moaned half shouted:

"I don't want you seeing him!" He stopped, realising he'd just spoken aloud and been unable to control himself. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm his wildly beating heart. "I...I don't know who this guy is but...he's...he's not right for you John."

Sherlock realised he was actually quite angry. Angry that John could talk about someone like that...that John could have someone else he cared about so much other than Sherlock, that he could have someone he claimed to actually /love/. He began pacing again furiously.

John's eyes widened at the detective's exclamation, he couldn't believe Sherlock still did not understand.
"I-" he had to turn around, he had to see why the other was so upset, because the words just did not seem to make sense at all.

He looked at him for a long time, anger starting to boil in his chest.
The words were true, Sherlock was not for him, Sherlock would never like him back, but still, the detective had no idea what he was talking about.
"Bloody hell, Sherlock. Who do you think I am talking about? It's you. I am in love with bloody Sherlock Holmes," he snapped and then closed his mouth with a pop.
There. He said it.

And then he braced himself.

Sherlock stopped pacing immediately and frowned a little, even wondering if he'd imagined John had just said that. But seeing the worried wretched look on his friend's face confirmed it was true.

Sherlock's mind whirred, finally piecing together all the tiny clues to make the bigger picture. Of course, it all made sense now. He couldn't help but give a short laugh.

"Greatest detective in Europe and possibly the world and I couldn't even deduce that." He muttered. "How did I not notice?"

For the moment he wasn't even considering the implications of John's heartfelt confession. He was just disappointed at himself for his inability to work it out. Then the enormity of the situation began to hit home and he felt his legs go a little weak. He half sat half collapsed into the arm chair. John loved him. It was hard to believe. No one had ever loved him before. He began to get a warm feeling somewhere deep inside and he noticed himself smiling.

John stared at him miserably, his heart was a mess, it hurt, it beat, it was dark.
"I haven't known for long myself..." he said simply, sitting down himself, because he could feel his head starting to pound. "I realized only when you were gone... it was my biggest regret..." he confessed, and for a moment he wondered how he had even hoped to keep this secret.

"I am sorry, Sherlock... I hope you don't take this as some sort of betrayal... I won't betray your trust, ever," he muttered, knowing very well that tonight had been a big landslide.
He could do better though, he could control himself.

"I know you won't," Sherlock replied quickly."I trust you with my life John I don't know why you'd think otherwise."

Sherlock brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms round them, drumming his fingers lightly to help him think. The fact that John was in love with him didn't bother him, he was simply worried that it may put his friend in danger with future enemies.

"In our line of work it's an unfortunate weakness that's ultimately bound to work against you," he wasn't exactly addressing John, more just thinking aloud. "But seeing as little can be done about it the next best thing is to recognise your weakness and thereby anticipate the moves of your enemies. And never let your heart rule your head. Dangerous."

He looked up at John for the first time now. He seemed pretty miserable and worried. It hurt Sherlock to see him that way but he steeled himself to ask the question he knew he must, even though he dreaded hearing the answer.

"Now tell me again like you did before, in as much detail as you can...what does it feel like being in love?"