Irrational {Sherlock Holmess/JohnHWatson}

It was one of those rare occasions where Sherlock was still out on a case by the time John trundled through the door after another particularly unsuccessful date. Why was it unsuccessful? Well, he had a vague idea. No, actually – he had a pretty good idea.
He found himself pouring a whiskey and downing it within a couple of seconds. John had a loyal, accepting nature, but now and again he allowed himself to get bloody pissed off about life. And why shouldn’t he?
He thought about calling Emma, but then decided against it. Her words at the pub were, “Why don’t you just marry him then? He’s all you talk about. I honestly don't think I should see you again, John.” Her tone had been mocking and final.

There seemed to be a pattern emerging whenever he was with Sherlock.
Pain, anguish, more pain.
More hiding of emotions.
More repression.
More lies.
More hidden glances.
Suffering in silence. Wanting more from that man. Anything more.
He couldn’t understand what it was about his flatmate that kept drawing him in like a moth to a flame. These emotions were completely irrational.

He couldn't help it if Sherlock was all he talked about. Sherlock was his life now. Before Sherlock, nothing had ever happened in John’s life following the army.

His eyes flickered to the clock and he sighed, clenching his left fist in the way he always did when he was stressed.

This case had turned out to be more interesting then Sherlock initially thought. It had kept him busy for at least the last 6 hours, running from one corner of London to another. He had sent John a few text, but the man was out on a date again and refused to come with Sherlock this time. It had annoyed him, upset him in some ways as well.

Sherlock by now had been getting used to having John by his side. It gave him a reason to talk out loud, to show off even more then he would do otherwise. He loved to expression on John's face, the way John spoke various praising words whenever Sherlock had figured something out. It never felt quite the same without him around, like something wasn't complete.

"Silly." Sherlock muttered to himself, feeling stupid for even thinking about missing John. How inconvenient, he had to focus. "Excuse me?" Lestrade said, a puzzling look on his face. "Oh, nothing, mental map." Sherlock brushed it off. "This woman has been dead for at least 8 hours. It hasn't been raining ever since, though her clothes are damped and her hair is slightly curled from rain as well. The stain on the left side of her shirt, black coffee, she only had that for breakfast. How do you know Sherlock? Because I talked to her husband, something you lot had better done as well. He also said she had been acting strange lately, as if she was hiding something. Of course not for me." Sherlock walked over and slid his hand in the woman's jacked. "A note?" Anderson popped his head around the corned just when Sherlock was about to say something. Annoyed he turned around "Really, nice deduction Anderson. Did we all recognize this? A note?" He said sarcastic.

After at least another 5 full minutes of showing off, Sherlock had solved the case. Or at least had given Scotland Yard enough to get someone in for questioning. Satisfied he stopped a taxi, getting in and returning to 221B baker street. By now it had already passed midnight and Sherlock had expected John to be asleep.

Slowly he opened the door, yet it still creaked more then he'd hoped. He took off his coat and scarf before he even got in completely.

John was relaxing back in his armchair when Sherlock walked in. Yes, a beer was precariously balanced on the arm of the chair, but no, he wasn't drunk. Admittedly he shouldn't have mixed whiskey and beer, but in such small quantities the effect was only slight drowsiness. He'd barely realised the time when his friend sauntered through the door.
John sighed and rubbed his tired eyes before shifting to face Sherlock.
"Good case was it? I'm surprised you stayed out that long. Having Anderson by your side for any length of time can't be good for the IQ."
He hoped Sherlock wouldn't ask why he'd stayed awake all this time waiting for him. To be honest, even John himself didn't know the answer. Perhaps he'd been a little worried. After all, Sherlock did tend to get himself into some rather dangerous and bizarre situations.

Seeing that Sherlock was safe in the flat was paramount. An early start at work tomorrow... clearly was not.

Sherlock startled a bit when he noticed John was still up. He didn't expect it at all.

Staring in front of him, completely into oblivion. Beer perfectly balanced on the arm of the chair, smelling of other liquid, whiskey, clearly, rubbing his forehead and sighing... Disastrous date, Yes!

Sherlock always cheered up a little when he knew the girl John was dating, didn't managed to get him into bed. Or most likely, the other way around. Ever time John didn't came home at night, a alarmingly heat feeling of jealousy washed over Sherlock.

"Surprisingly, good." Sherlock replied, his voice just as normal and distant as ever. "Even is my IQ dropped, it would still be highly above arrearage John." Sherlock smiled shortly.

"Date didn't went well, I believe?" He raised his eyebrows, trying to look surprised.

John snorted. "Your IQ would need about 10 Andersons around before it reached 'average' level. I know."
John hauled himself from the chair and raised his hands above his head to stretch. He then turned to look at the clock for the fifth time that night. Had he really been sitting there for three hours, waiting? It seemed so.
"And er, yeah. The date couldn't have gone any worse. I think they're progressively getting worse, actually." John looked properly at Sherlock now and noticed the slight raising of his eyebrows mixed with a nonplussed expression. John wanted to smile, for he liked his flatmate's attempts at appearing human and interested. But instead, John made do with a smirk. "There's no need to pretend to look surprised. I know you always see it coming - every damn date of mine is a failure. Do you ever wonder why I don't give up?" John didn't wait for an answer, nor did he expect one. He hadn't looked away from Sherlock yet and the atmosphere was becoming a bit stifling. He had to force himself to turn away and walk into the kitchen. "I'm, um, making a tea. You want anything?"

Sherlock's couldn't help but smirk at John's comment. He wasn't going to be humble about it, John was right. Sherlock settled himself in his own chair as he was still putting his dressing gown on. His eyes followed John, covering his every movement. It was something Sherlock happened to be doing a lot lately, and he couldn't exactly explain why.

Yes, yes I in fact do wonder why you keep trying that. His own mind whispered.

Sherlock shook his head. inappropriate. He told himself, tearing his eyes from John's.. ass.. in the kitchen.

"Coffee. Black, 2 sugars please." He said dryly, letting himself sink deep into his arm chair, legs spread wide in front of him. He was satisfied at the moment. With the case being solved and John's date not working out. What more could he ask for right now?

John put a teabag in his mug of water and left it to stew while he got to work on Sherlock's coffee. He could feel the other man's bright, intelligent eyes watching him and it was fairly distracting, but not necessarily unwanted. It was tempting to just turn around and catch him staring, but John chose not to. Sherlock had been watching him like a hawk recently and for no particular reason. He guessed it was some Aspergic or sociopathic tendency. But what if it wasn't? John sighed to himself and finished off preparing the drinks.
He almost dropped the coffee however, when he returned into the living room and saw how Sherlock was sitting... relaxed, legs apart, satisfied smirk on his over-confident face. John tried not to let his eyes linger as he clumsily placed the coffee mug beside Sherlock. "Here. Coffee. Black, 2 sugars," John said, his eyes now averted. It was too much. But why? He's just my flatmate. Sodding hell.
"I should probably go to bed soon. But I had to stay awake. Y'know. Make sure you were... safe... alive, even. I know what you're like... A few arrogant comments too many and somebody will shoot you one of these days." John smiled, though - as ever his smile was typically warm and gentle.

Sherlock looked up at John, smiling as he accepted the cup of coffee. Without even saying thank you, which he basically never did, he cupped it between his hands and rested it on his knee.

His eye brows shot up in the air at John's comment. John had stayed up for him? Just to see he was okay? Why didn't he came to the crime scene then? Sherlock had sent him the details more then once that night. "If I weren't okay, you would sit here waiting, for what? For someone to deliver my dead body? You wouldn't know if I weren't okay." Sherlock pointed out, shooting John's caring words to hell. However he did knew John only did this with the best of intentions.

After hearing those words from Sherlock, John couldn't help but look taken aback.
"Uh, I don't follow you everywhere, Sherlock. Why should I? Besides, this wasn't exactly a dangerous case and I was supposed to be on a date - but no, it happened to go wrong in every bloody way possible. So forgive me if I wanted to come home and have a quiet drink instead of chase after you. The world revolves around the sun, not Sherlock Holmes. Although I wouldn't expect you to know that, I suppose."
John felt riled up after his little outburst and just wanted to leave the room, but something kept him standing there awkwardly, his feet pointed towards the door. He sighed and spoke softer now. "If you were in any kind of danger or trouble, you'd have let me know. Yes, I was worried as it got later... and I was considering contacting you. I would never just... leave you out there if you needed me."

Sherlock had to really fight to suppress a smile curling on to his lips. Getting John worked up was so easy and he loved it. For some reason he found it.. cute?... when he got angry over these little things. Once more he had to force himself not to think about John in such a way. It would lead to no good.

However Sherlock could think of some good reasons why John should follow him everywhere, he did not speak them out loud. "Well, we can now enjoy a quiet drink together. If you're less upset that is." He said, once again only provoking John more.

His eyes rolled at the mention of the solar system. "Oh, not that again." He muttered but just left it there. A warm feeling hit his body once John said he would never leave him out there if he needed him. Anyone else would, but not John. Sherlock never treated him the way he deserves, yet he'd always have his back. He sighed. "I know, John." And then an awkward silence before Sherlock said something he never expected to. "Thank you."

"Well I’ve been having a quiet drink for the past few h-"
John stopped abruptly and looked to the floor. He didn’t want to seem snappy or irritable. It was just one of those evenings. And when he heard the words ‘thank you’ uttered from his friend’s mouth, John couldn't help but narrow his eyes in suspicion.
“Wait. You never say ‘thank you’… is this a breakthrough?” he joked. “Should I call the press? It could be front-page news. This just… doesn’t happen.”
John shook his head in incomprehension and walked over to pat Sherlock's shoulder in a jovial gesture. Just simply touching the other man over his clothes made John's breath unexpectedly hitch. He tried to hide it with a small cough before turning away to take a little sip of his tea.
It was just a small touch, what the hell is wrong with you, you pathetic git? John mentally cursed himself, pressing his lips into a line and sighing through his nose.
“You’ve done more for me than anybody else. You’re my friend. Why wouldn’t I help you in times of need?” Putting extra emphasis on the word 'friend' was John trying to convince himself that’s all he felt… just simple, uncomplicated friendship. But when he glanced round again and caught sight of the striking ethereal beauty of his flat mate, he felt himself go a bit weak for the first time.

Sherlock's eyes rolled back. So typical John to mock about something he didn't do very often. And the man wonders why he doesn't do it that much? "Oh come on." He muttered. "Why don't you go and write it on that blog of yours." Sarcasm clear in his voice. If John could be childish, so could he!

His eyes glanced at John's hand on his shoulder and then back up to John, who suddenly seemed to be acting very strange. Sherlock's eyes narrowed, trying to ignore these little signs. John's words made him feel warm on the inside, it almost made his feel loved. Sherlock shook his head. "I haven't done anything for you." He replied. "Beside putting your life on the line." As far as Sherlock knew, this wasn't something friends did. John however, always seemed to take it, he was there for Sherlock, trusting his blindly and Sherlock couldn't help but appreciate all of it.

Trying to ignore the blatant sarcasm in Sherlock's voice, John huffed a bit and cast his eyes to the clock once again. It would only get later and he'd only get tireder, but John wanted to stay awake. He wanted to prove to Sherlock that he meant more to him than he thought.
"Yeah, yeah. You've put my life on the line... a bit. But not because you wanted to harm me. I've almost got myself killed on countless occasions for you. And that's because-" John paused, pursing his lips and rocking up on the balls of his feet awkwardly. "Because before you, I was... alone, I suppose. Completely alone. In some respects, I need you."
John refused to make eye contact with Sherlock at this point. He was feeling a little more than flustered. "I didn't mean it like that, in case you're thinking t-"
He cleared his throat and pointed to the door. "I'll just... go upstairs now."
Why he was acting in this bizarre manner was beyond even his knowledge. He just knew that he couldn't carry on talking otherwise he'd say something ridiculous. Maybe it was the small amount of alcohol he'd consumed tonight that was causing this.

...

Once in the safety of his room, he cursed his own stupidity and brought his phone out.

Sorry about that, Sherlock. - JW

John's words were making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Goosebumps covering his arms as his flatmate spoke on. The way he say he needed him gave the detective a warm glooming feeling he had never felt before. Sherlock's heart was beating fast, racing inside of his chest.

All the hope he had send in to the sky by now came crashing down when John said he didn't meant it. Didn't meant it what? In case he was thinking what? Sherlock's head turned, his eyes begging to find John's but they seemed unreachable. A certain kind of disappointment was dripping down from Sherlock's face and John didn't even see it.

Sherlock felt vulnerable by exposing all these feelings, especially now he knew John hadn't meant them. But what about all these little signs he had given Sherlock in the last few hours? And the last few days? One thing was certain: Sherlock understood nothing concerning love.

"Good night then." Sherlock just said, keeping his voice as distant as he could. He wasn't able to do much more.

Once John was upstairs, he placed his hands together and against his forehead, his favourite position to think. He sighed deep, recalling everything that had happened so far. But then he got interrupted by the sound of his voice and annoyed with the fact, he lazily took it out of his pocket.

This wasn't much like John, Sherlock thought. He would never solve things over texts. He even hated it when Sherlock did so. But nevertheless Sherlock replied quickly.

What exactly are you apologising for?
SH