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honeybee1895  asked:

3 Johnlock :D

Number 3: “Please, don’t leave.” For you and @faded-in-faded-out xx (I’m running on two hours of sleep from the past two days, so I apologize if this is absolute shit. I’m actually about to go to bed after this is posted, so goodnight, and I hope you all enjoy? c’: As for the other requests, I will get to them tomorrow!).

They had been fighting on and off for the past week. Meaningless words. Empty, vocal thoughts. Neither meaning a word of it all. Until one day.

John had been about to go out on yet another date with someone he met at work. Sherlock, for some unknown reason, was feeling … something. He couldn’t explain it.

“Sherlock, please, don’t scare her off. I would very much like to get off with someone, at least once, before I die. I can’t do that when you’re being … you.”

Sherlock didn’t know how to take that. It made him angry and upset.

“What do you mean by me being me?”

“I mean when you deduce them and cause them to run off, crying.”

“John, you know that’s not something I can just turn off. It’s what I do. It’s why I am where I am. I can’t just-” he sighed, “just go. Forget I even exist. You find that easy enough to do.”

John looked at Sherlock, his anger slowly rising. “Now, you know that I don’t-”

“Yes, you do, John. Everyone does. It’s fine, I’m used to it by now. Just go. Have fun.”

John grabbed his keys and coat and left.

Sherlock stood from his armchair and made his way to his room, throwing himself onto his bed. Normally, he wouldn’t bother with going to bed early, but he felt exhausted and welcomed sleep.

John came home late. Sherlock was still asleep, but not for long, for John woke him up by making too much noise in the kitchen. Sherlock grumbled as he slowly woke. He checked his watch and saw that it was three in the morning.

John decided to make some tea. Him and Sar- no, er - Judit- nope. God, he’s such a mess. He can’t even remember her name! Whoever she was, she was a very lovely girl who’s probably not going to call him again.

Sherlock joined him moments after he sat at the kitchen table, sipping at his cup of delicious tea.

“What are you doing up?” John asks.

“You woke me,” Sherlock replied.

John hummed. “Sorry about that.”

“Hmm. How was your date?” Sherlock sat across from him.

John looked up and sighed. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

Sherlock shrugged. “You’re the one who came home at three in the morning.”

John stood, cleaned his cup, and went into the living room. Sherlock followed.

“John, I -”

“No, Sherlock.”

“I only mean to say that I am sorry. I honestly, truly don’t mean to be this way. But when I see you with someone else who -” he clears his throat before continuing, “who isn’t me, then I get this … feeling. It hurts, and I don’t know what it is. I only hope that you’ll forgive me for being foolish and feeling this way.”

John listened as Sherlock spoke and found himself confused. “What do you mean ‘who isn’t you’?

Sherlock moved to sit across from John in his own armchair. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before trying again.

“When I see you go out with all of these women, I get a strange pang in my chest. You know I don’t do well with emotions, so I don’t know how else to describe it - but it hurts, John. It hurts, and I don’t know why.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you’re jealous?”

“Jealous? Of what? I’ve been jealous before, and it’s never felt like this. This is something else - something different - something I’ve-” he gasped as realization dawned on him. Sherlock isn’t jealous. Sherlock is in love. With John. John, his flatmate. John, his best friend.

Sherlock hurts inside every time John goes on a date, or leaves with a woman.

Sherlock hurts inside whenever John doesn’t notice him the way he’s subconsciously noticed John, and it kills him.

“Forget everything I’ve just told you. It doesn’t matter.”

John looked at Sherlock, his head tilted in further confusion. “No, Sherlock, what is it?”

“Nothing, it’s stupid.”

“Right. Well. I’m off to bed, then.” John got up and was almost out of the room before Sherlock stopped him.

Sherlock couldn’t stop the words falling from his mouth in time. “Please, don’t leave.”

John turned around to look at him. “Okay … Are you alright?”

“John, I think I’ve fallen in love with you. I - I don’t know what to do with this information.”

John stared at him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t speak.

Sherlock, in love with him? He must be joking, right? Surely, he’s playing another one of his games?

John turns and makes his way upstairs to his room, leaving Sherlock on his own in the living room. He has to think about what he’s just heard. He needs to process this.

Sherlock watches him go. That feeling was back, only this time it hurt even more. John had turned his back on him. John had abandoned him in his moment of weakness. John doesn’t feel the same way.

John, currently lying on his bed, took a few moments to think about what Sherlock had told him. John found the man gorgeous, sure. And smart. And amazing. And … John is completely, and utterly, foolish.

He ran out of his room, down the steps, and barged into the living room. There Sherlock sat, where he left him, only his face now held two similar tear tracks running down his cheeks.

“Oh, Sherlock. God, I am so sorry,” he tentatively made his way over to Sherlock. Kneeling down in front of his chair, he placed his hands on either side of Sherlock’s face, forcing him to look up from his lap.

“Please, don’t leave…” Sherlock’s voice wavered.

“I won’t. I can’t. God, I am such an idiot. Will you ever forgive me?”

Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion. “Forgive you for what?”

“For not realizing it sooner.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“I think I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”


“Oh, indeed.”

“Please, don’t ever leave me like that again.”

John pulled Sherlock to him and held him close. “I won’t. Ever. I promise.”

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