I'm not dead. Let's have another chapter.
Because some of you wanted more so here's more. Drama drama drama at Baker street. But hey, at least I'm updating. :3 Sorry.
Swallowed by Feelings
Chapter Five - Insecurity and Anger
John stepped out to the cold air, letting the door shot behind him. He tightened the scarf around his neck and rushed away from the house that haunted him now. He let his feet guide him through London, which now was much quieter than usually. Just a few numbers of cars were driving near him, distant noises of ambulances or fire trucks sounded up somewhere in the heart of the city.
He realized that even though his hands were resting in his jacket pockets, they were cold and numb, not just because icy cold wind swept through the streets but also because they were clenched in tight fists. He rubbed his fingers together and breathed on them but it was in vain. He knew he should not have left Baker Street on such a hurry but-
No, he would not allow himself to think about him, not yet; he was not ready to face his situation yet.
He looked around, searching for a café or a pub, anything really, where he could buy a hot cup of tea to warm up his frozen fingers. Where is a Starbucks, when you actually need one? Usually there was one on every corner, but not now, of course, when John badly needed something to make this day just a bit better.
Hoping, he'd walked past one and just did not notice, he looked back and as he watched the shops and buildings, he realized this was one of their favourite routes on their late night strolls. He quickly turned on his heels and almost run towards the closest street, angry of himself. He walked persistently in, knowing they had never been here together before and hoped that it was not a dead end.
Seemed like his luck was returning because it was not indeed a dead end, but let to another, even smaller path, winding among typical houses of London, leading him to an unfamiliar area.
He slowed down and peaked in one of the windows, that was lit, even though it was still early in the morning. He saw a young woman getting ready for the first day of the year, wearing a kimono like bathrobe, making coffee. Suddenly a man walked in and drove his hands around her. She chuckled when he kissed onto her neck and turned around to welcome or reward him with a proper kiss. They kissed sweetly and everything about them seemed just so perfectly normal, it hurt John's eyes.
Then the man looked up and smiled brightly at his wife. He noticed John and the happiness disappeared from his face within seconds. He came towards the windows but John already was walking away, fast as he could, not wanting to be seen as a stalker, who invaded the life of strangers. He felt ashamed of himself as he looked back for a second, he almost considered walking back and apologizing, but that would be stupid, the act of a true idiot, just like sewing back buttons on a ripped shirt.
He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He concentrated on the cold, which now reached his bones, making him shiver and shake from the inside. Once again, he looked around to find a place he could buy a cup of tea, and was happy to see a bar, already (or still) open.
He rushed up the few stairs and opened the door. He stepped in a comfortably warm room, with only two people in it. One was a most likely drunk man or maybe he was just sleepy, sitting at a corner table watching the telly through half-lidded eyes. His glass was filled with golden liquid; he sipped from it, while he eyed John coming in the pub. He turned back towards the news and drove a hand through his thick, black hair. A bitter sigh escaped from his dry lips, bitter from regrets and disappointment. Maybe it was John's imagination, looked like recently he tend to imagine things that were not entirely the way he thought.
"Morning!" The young girl behind the counter greeted him with a smile. "What can I give you?"
"Tea, for take away, if that's possible." John was surprised by his voice, it was bitter and broken.
The girl prepared his tea in a brown paper cup and snapped the plastic lid on it without a word. He paid for it, and waved for her that she could keep the change. She smiled, bright eyed and nice as she said, "Thanks. Happy New Year."
John huffed and almost broke in a hysterical laugh. "Sure, you too."
He left the pub, holding the cup tightly in his hands.
"Why couldn't I fell for someone like her?" He mumbled under his breath and immediately cursed himself. He really should not been thinking about this right now, but he could not help it. How could he think of anything else after what just happened, after what Sherlock just did with him in their own kitchen.
A rush of desire and arousal swept through his whole body as he remembered Sherlock kneeling in front of him, sucking on him. It did not help either that his rear was still numb and aching from last night.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm his senses. He needed to figure out what to do with the newly arisen situation. He knew one thing for sure, he could not pretend anymore, that everything was fine between him and Sherlock, that they could just go on living their lives as before, as if nothing had happened, as if they did not had a passionate night together.
He should have known it yesterday, that having sex with Sherlock would ruin their friendship but he thought he could manage it. Of course things between them would be awkward for a while, but after that short period, they relationship would return to its normal stage and events would change nothing elementary. However, he was wrong, seriously wrong indeed.
He did not calculated his feeling into this whole mess, because he was not even aware he had these feelings, but that night with Sherlock changed everything. It awakened something inside him, which he'd buried deep.
He felt selfish because he wanted Sherlock now more than ever. Because the night they spent together broke a dam in him, and now everything was flooding out and he was caught up in the wave of this emotional mess, confused and in despair.
Was it all just about the sex? He asked himself about a million times and the answer was still a definite no. Sherlock was his friend, his best and only friend, whom he loved more than one loved a friend. But what was this all to Sherlock? Did it mean anything to him? Was is just satisfying curiosity to him? Would Sherlock want more? Questions he could not answer on his own but he did not have to courage to talk with Sherlock, not yet anyway.
What would he even say? Oh Sherlock, I kinda loved how you fucked me last night, so let's make this a regular thing, 'kay? Yeah, that would definitely do it. But even if he made a proper speech about this, Sherlock would most likely give him an excuse ('yeah, last night was fun, but John, I'm married to my work') and simply walk away. John just saw not option here that would either allow them to continue this new relationship (he refused to label it) or go back being friends. He doubted he could ever look into Sherlock's eyes, being friends seemed impossible.
How would he live under the same roof with Sherlock, bumping against him day after day? Even if he refused to work with Sherlock again, meeting with him in the flat would be inevitable. Well, there was a solution to this but… Was he really considering the possibility of moving out from Baker Street?
He turned around and looked back on the road he came. The tea in his hand was cold now and his heart was filled with sorrow. Was this really the only solution to this mess? Moving out from Baker Street, leaving behind this life, the emotions, Sherlock?
He did not want that; however, he had to be honest with himself. His feelings for Sherlock were not something he could just forget or shook off. Sherlock changed his life, in more ways he could imagine. He gave John a new meaning for life, his friendship helped him through his depression and continuous boredom he felt after returning from Afghanistan. Sherlock saved him. And no matter how grateful he felt for this, he could not just stick around the man, waiting for him, hoping that one day, Sherlock would finally love him too. He had to live his own life. With or without Sherlock.
He took a deep breath and walked home. Maybe for the last time.
"Sherlock?" He yelled right as he stepped into the flat. There was no answer, but that did not surprise him. He rushed up to the living room, and there he was, lying on the couch, with his pyjamas and bathrobe still on, staring at the ceiling, his flatmate and friend, Sherlock Fucking Holmes.
"We need to talk." John said sternly.
"Where have you been?" Sherlock asked not even looking at John.
"On a walk. I needed fresh air… I needed to think." John sat down carefully on his chair.
"About?" Sherlock murmured like not even caring.
"Well as I said, we need to talk, Sherlock."
"Do we?" Sherlock asked casually and John felt himself getting angrier. Why was he making this even harder than it actually was?
"Yes, Sherlock we do."
"About what exactly?"
"Well, how about the sex, Sherlock? Remember? You and me, in bed? On your desk? In the bloody kitchen? Do you think it's worth talking about? Or how about our friendship that we just ruined over a night?"
Sherlock snapped his head towards him as he spoke up, "You think our friendship is ruined?"
"Look Sherlock, I'm not saying I'm not your friend anymore-"
"Good, and I still consider you as my only friend." Sherlock said calmly, looking back at the ceiling. John jumped up from his seat and drove a hand through his hair. "I don't see any problem, here." Sherlock shrugged.
"You don't-" John hissed angrily. "You drive me mad!" He shouted and the words just blurted out of him, however they were true. Sherlock was maddening, and that was one of the things, he actually loved in him.
"I don't see your point."
"You," John laughed bitterly, pointing a finger at the other man. "You can be quite inhuman at times, Sherlock! This is serious, so would you sit up and listen to me?" John yelled desperate.
To his surprise, Sherlock sat right up and looked straight at him, his eyes filled with defiance.
"Sherlock listen," John started quieter and calmer, "This could ruin our friendship and I don't want that." John said sitting down on the coffee table, right in front of Sherlock. The proximity was already unnerving, he felt himself drawn into Sherlock bright greyish-bluish eyes, as a moth was drown to a lit candle. "Look, I don't exactly know what happened last night, or more likely, how it happened and I know we were a bit drank, and things got a bit out of hand but… but-" John stuttered for a moment and Sherlock cut in his words.
"But it was a mistake." Sherlock said coldly and for a moment, John realized the Holmes that was talking to him now, was not the man he slept with last night, but the one, who would throw a man out of the widow without even a second thought. His heart missed a beat as the words sunk in and he gritted his teeth to prevent desperation to bring tears to his eyes.
"Is that what you wanted to say?" Sherlock asked a bit irritated. "To forget everything what happened, and just blame it on the alcohol?"
The words like icy daggers slashed in John's heart and he could not breathe for a moment. The emotionless manner Sherlock spoke in was almost more painful than his words. But just almost.
"Is that what you want?" John asked with slightly trembling voice.
"Does it matter?" Sherlock hissed. "You said yourself, this was just about satisfying curiosity."
"Just about that. Nothing more." John nodded incredulous. "You're right. How could it be about anything else, when it comes to the great Sherlock Holmes." He added and saw his words hurt the detective because the pale skin on sharp cheekbones tightened as Sherlock's reserved glance changed to angry stare.
"Don't pretend this was all about me." Sherlock hissed. "You were there too."
"Exactly. Right beneath you." John said emotionlessly, however he was literally shaking now from the tension he repressed.
Sherlock seemed taken aback and John bitterly noticed that he felt satisfied by that. Was this how their relationship would work in the future? Bickering and arguing with each other, fighting every God damn time?
"Which, as it seems, was a great mistake." Sherlock replied with a sneer.
"Well then," John said, as he leaned closer to Sherlock with a mean smile, "good thing it won't happen again." And as he was so close to Sherlock, he felt it again; his burning desire for the man, the anticipating need to grasp into the smooth curls and pull him in an ardent kiss, driving his tongue into that sweet mouth and tasting Sherlock again, just one more time.
"Indeed," came the bitter retort and John immediately forgot his previous thoughts.
"I can't… I'm just not…" He murmured jumping up and walking away from Sherlock, far where his charm would not work on John, where, even if for only for a second, John could forget how badly he needed Sherlock in his life.
He heard Sherlock take a deep breath.
"John we are both grown up men, we should act like ones. This situation, however uncomfortable at the moment, will resolve in time. We will-"
"Are you even listening to yourself?!" John almost screamed. "'This situation', 'resolve in time'?! This isn't a freaking financial crisis, Sherlock, we slept together!"
"I am perfectly aware of that." Sherlock said calmly and now he was standing too.
"Oh are you now, because it didn't really seem so to me. Do you even comprehend this?" John shouted frustrated, motioning between the two of them. He barely noticed that the filter between what he thought and what he said just went wrong.
"I'm not an idiot." Sherlock said, standing in front of the couch so leisurely that made John even more furious. He wanted Sherlock to shout to lose his usual composed form and to react with anger to John provocation.
"Are you sure?" John scoffed.
"Perfectly. However, I am not sure I can say the same about you at this moment. You overreact the situation and-"
"Say it." John butted in.
"I'm trying to."
"No, I mean you keep saying 'situation', 'last night' and stuff like that. I want you to say it out loud what we'd done yesterday, so that I can be sure that it registered in your perfect little brain, because honestly, Sherlock we're facing something serious here and it seems like you don't even acknowledge it." John said quieter now; however not even a bit less angry.
"We slept together, John." Sherlock answered as if talking about having dinner. "And I can assure you it did register in my perfect little brain. You might recall me mentioning that I had no previous experience in this kind of activities, therefore inevitably, it did register."
John saw as Sherlock's face coloured a bit and he felt himself slightly blush too. Sherlock was so amazing yesterday that John almost forgot that was his first time.
"And for the record, just because I'm not shouting about it so loudly that Mrs Hudson could also hear me, doesn't mean that I don't understand our situation. I just think there isn't really anything at the moment we can do to resolve it." Sherlock said sitting down, flipping his bathroom from beneath him like a pianist.
John laughed, not happily though. "Good for you, Sherlock. How terrible of me for overreacting something as insignificant and trivial as having sex with my best friend who happens to be a man. I'm such a selfish man." John said, his words filled with sarcasm.
"If you are worried about your sexuality John, I can assure you, one night with a man doesn't mean anything."
One night with any man certainly would not, however one night with Sherlock Holmes… And this was not just about one night with Sherlock, John knew this was happening basically since the day he met Sherlock. "I wouldn't say so." John murmured almost inaudible.
"Really John?" Of course, Sherlock heard him. "And when did your sexual preferences shift from strictly heterosexual to bisexual or even gay." Sherlock sneered.
"Well," John started and he knew, he should not finish the sentence but the words just flooded out of him, as he was still too angry with Sherlock to control himself. "Sometimes between you sucked me off and I let you fuck me."
The awkward silence grow longer and longer but none of them seemed to be able to break it. John watched Sherlock as he stared at him with perfectly controlled face. John could not read the man at all, he did not know what was in his mind and for a moment, he thought he did not even know this man at all.
He run his fingers over his face as he muttered, "Okay you know what, I think I need… to be away from you for a while." He turned around and rushed out the door. As he closed it behind him, he added, "Though it might be permanent."
He waited for a few seconds but Sherlock did not answer. "I just told you I might move out, don't you have anything to say to that?" He asked as his final desperate attempt.
"No," Sherlock murmured his reply as he lied down and turned towards the wall in a fetal position.
"Fine…" John whispered shutting the door behind him.
I know you wanted a chapter about John and Sherlock finally confessing their undying, eternal love for each other but that can't happen yet, I hope you agree. So expect some more drama, before the happy (or maybe not so happy) ending. I hope you liked this chapter and you don't mind me going on with the story.
PS: Sorry for the slow updates, I just moved from Europe (Hungary) to America (Colorado Springs), started a new job, got two flatmates, and well. life is a bit hectic. But it's okay, now. Not like this is important to you, I'm just saying.