Sherlock was speechless.

It was not common for him to experience such disbelief and confusion. Had he not done everything right? When John walked away he felt that pressure in his chest again. He was angry at Sherlock, but why? The detective did not understand. After what had…happened he had given his flatmate space. He had been careful about what he said, what he did. He even went shopping! It had been quite the sacrifice and still John was angry.

The look Lestrade was giving him made Sherlock uncomfortable, but he quickly pulled himself together.

"Did you solve the case while I was talking to John? No? Then do your damn job and think about who killed the man!" He snapped at him, satisfied when the DI huffed and mumbled something under his breath. Far better than that questioning look.

The rest of the night passed rather quickly, maybe a bit too quickly for Sherlock's liking and so he found himself four hours later in front of the door to his and John's flat. There was no sound coming from the other side of the door so he assumed John was upstairs in his room, most likely asleep. Good. He didn't want to talk to him at the moment. He wouldn't know what to say.

He slipped out of his coat and pulled off his scarf, walked to the sofa and sat down. Two months. It had been two months and things were still awkward. Sherlock had been such a fool, letting himself give in to his emotions and telling John. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had he done that? Because he had had a tiny bit of hope that John would not reject him? Incredible. It was quite incredible how naïve he had been.

There had never been any hope. John would never like him that way. It was not because his friend was straight. John was not heterosexual and not gay, as he loved to keep telling him. Sherlock was sure that he was bisexual, but not very confident in regards to his attraction to men. Maybe that was the moment Sherlock had begun to hope. Now it was clear to him. John was not attracted to him. John did not want to be anything more than friends. John was not comfortable with Sherlock liking him more than he should.

Sometimes he wished he would've never met John. That way he wouldn't have such problems, he wouldn't want to hide forever in his room and rip all his hair out. Without John he would be dead by now. He would merely be a corpse six feet under the ground. People would have forgotten about him. Cocaine overdose, that was the way he would've done it. Easy and simple. Lestrade would have seen it coming. If he were dead, there would be no problems now.

Sherlock closed his eyes, wishing he could just delete the moment when he had ruined everything. He wanted to delete it, there would be no sweeter satisfaction than forgetting his moment of weakness, but he couldn't. He couldn't do it. If he did, he would not remember that short moment of relief. Relief that he didn't have to keep it to himself any longer. Relief that now it wasn't up to him. John could decide what to do. And John had made his decision.

"Why?"

His eyes snapped open when he heard John utter that word, having gone down the stairs without Sherlock noticing. He looked up at him, confused for a short moment.

"What do you-"

"Why me?" was John's short reply. Why him indeed.

Sherlock averted his gaze, having asked himself that question many times. Why John? Why could this man break down all of the walls he had built through the years? How had he managed to catch Sherlock's attention?

"Well?"

John appeared to be…tired. Worn out. Had he slept? Could-

"Don't deduce me, Sherlock. Please, just answer."

"I don't know. I don't know why it's you."

"Bullshit."

John shook his head.

"Can't you be honest with me? I'm tired of your games. I really am."

"A game? Why would this be a game to me?" Sherlock asked offended. "I don't know why it's you."

John sighed, looking a few years older than he actually was.

"This is typical. You can never give me a real answer to anything."

Sherlock hesitated. He looked at the ground, not knowing how to express himself.

"It's bothering you, isn't it?" he asked John. "That I like you. I've noticed that ever since I…told you about how I feel you avoid any contact with me. When we're on a case you don't get as excited as you used to. You are uncomfortable around me. I understand. John, if you want to move out or if you-"

"Stop," John suddenly said. "Just…give me a second." He walked to his chair and sat down.

"Isn't it true?" Sherlock asked confused.

"Yes, no. I don't know. I can tell you one thing for sure. I don't want to move out. You're my friend." John sounded frustrated, he was telling the truth.

Sherlock couldn't help it, but the word friend hurt. He had let himself get too close.

"And I owe you an apology," John continued.

"For what?"

"For how I behaved at the crime scene. It wasn't your fault that my date was a disaster. It was mine. I thought about it while you were working on the case. I was irritated back then, because you didn't call me. I'm afraid that I'm…that I'm losing you," John admitted and Sherlock was speechless once again.

"I'm afraid that because of what happened that we'll grow apart. I don't want that. I can't stand even thinking about that happening."

It had been a long time since John had been so open with him. It was refreshing, it truly was, but Sherlock knew that there was something else that was bothering John.

"I also don't want that," he replied quietly. "I have to ask you, John or I'll never get any rest. You never gave me a true answer. I want one. I want you to tell me that you don't like me in that way, that you don't want to be anything else than friends. You owe me that."

John didn't say anything and Sherlock felt himself grow irritated, frustrated even.

"Tell me! It can't be that hard. Either you like me or not," he snapped at him.

"It's not!" John retorted. Could it be any more confusing? Sherlock didn't know how it could be difficult to tell him that he didn't like him that way.

"Why? John, why can't you just tell me? You can't hurt my feelings." It already happened.

"Where's the Light? Why did it just stop?" John asked him unexpectedly. "You gave me the syringe, it was full. Did your feelings change?"

Sherlock knew that his answer wouldn't be one that John liked to hear. It was too late anyway.

"Did you honestly think I only had one?"

Silence. He saw John swallowing and tense up. You did it again, Sherlock. Congratulations, you screwed up.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" John glared at him. "It's dangerous! I'm a doctor. I've seen what that can do to people!"

"Well what was I supposed to do?!" Sherlock yelled. "Imagine how that makes me feel! Imagine my Light showing whenever I'm around you and yours not! How would that work at a crime scene? All the Yarders would see and it would proof them right once again. That I'm a freak," he spat, his pent up anger getting the better of him.

John's expression softened. "You're not a freak. You- you aren't," he told him. "If I'm honest I didn't even think about that," he said quietly.

This was a mess. He had said more than he had intended to. Sherlock looked at John again.

"I won't stop taking it. I can't work without it," he said sternly.

"Yes you can," John replied. "You could work without me."

"You can't be serious." Sherlock wondered if John even wanted to work with him again.

"What's wrong with you? You just went on about worrying that we'll grow apart and then you suggest that we no longer work together?" he asked incredulously.

Again John didn't answer.

"And people say I'm the difficult one. You still haven't given me an answer," Sherlock stated.

"I guess I haven't." John stood up. "And I can't. I don't know how I feel about you. We're friends, Sherlock. I care about you a lot. Maybe I can give you an answer tomorrow. I'm tired." He walked towards the stairs.

"You do know that this is torture for me?" Sherlock said quietly, but he knew John could hear him.

"Never knowing if you like me or not, always wondering if there is a chance. I don't know how much longer I can bear it."

He waited for a reply, for something, but John only kept on walking and Sherlock hugged himself. He was losing his friend. He was losing his only friend.

Caring is not and advantage

How right his brother was. Caring had only made him vulnerable, it had made him weak. How he despised it.

The dose would only last for another month or so. No matter what John said, he would continue taking it. He had no choice. Otherwise it would hurt too much. It already did.

Sherlock was reminded of his teenage days. He had always been an outsider, too strange for other people. They had laughed at him when his Light had briefly appeared after he had gotten that stupid crush on-

He shouldn't think about that. That was in his past, it would never happen again. But it did, didn't it? Pathetic. He truly was pathetic.

John giving him an answer tomorrow was highly unlikely. He should've seen it coming. He had been selfish when he had admitted his feelings for him and now everything was a mess. John was the only person who understood him and because of his own stupidity he had ruined their friendship in hope of…what? A romantic relationship? Ridiculous.

Sherlock didn't know how long he sat there, thinking about all that had gone wrong, but John stayed upstairs. Sometime through the night he must have fallen asleep, because he woke up on the sofa, a blanket protecting him from the cold. He frowned. He had definitely not fetched a blanket.

Upon closer inspection of his surroundings he saw a little note on the table next to the newspaper and read it.

I'm at work. Sorry for yesterday, I was exhausted and confused. So yeah, sorry. I told you I'd think it over and I did. How about we talk again after I've finished? Don't forget to eat, I'll notice if you don't.

Sherlock smiled as he read it. Maybe they would find a solution. It sounded like John had made a decision. Even if it wouldn't be the best for Sherlock, at least he would no longer worry about what could have been.

His stomach rumbled and he rolled his eyes. If it made John happy he'd eat, but just this once. He couldn't have him thinking that he actually listened to him.

Sherlock walked to the kitchen. It would all be fine. He wanted to stay John's friend, no matter what. Even if John eventually found a person he wanted to be with it would be okay. He only wanted to see him happy.

That would be enough, Sherlock told himself. Because that's what friends do, ensure that one is happy, even if it hurts the other.