Unsent

Chapter Five

It was infuriating that it was raining outside just as John had stepped from the flat. It was so cliché. Yes, he felt stuck in a drama. He felt like shouting at the sky, but knew it would only attract attention at best. He huffed, crossing his arms and starting to wander. He didn't want to go home and break the reality of what had happened with Sherlock or be reminded that he had just spend the day cheating on his fiancé.

His life felt so screwed up due to Sherlock Holmes. Screwed up or perfected? Asked some voice behind the hairs of his ears, and had it been anything other than a fabrication, John would have told them to piss off. But that was just the thing: as much as John wanted to tell the world to fuck off and let him be, Sherlock Holmes had perfected John, and to ignore this was to ignore the rain pelting the top of his head.

He had no interest in a relationship, Sherlock had told him, He was married to his work.

You have no chance! Screamed the wind and he cursed at the pavement.

Sherlock's death after The Fall was unbearable, and perhaps, that was when John realized the depth of their relationship all too late. He was working past it slowly, and then he found Mary. The only person that could stop the loneliness from gnawing away his insides. The only thing other than Sherlock that made him stable.

He loved Mary, he did. But Sherlock was different.

Love with Mary was the kind where they would talk for days. Look into each other's eyes and tell them a story just to see the spark of curiosity grow larger and larger as the story reached its end. Love with Mary was innocent and sweet, like eating chocolate for the rest of your life. It felt like falling from a cloud onto flowers.

Sherlock was passion. Hard, cold and deep passion. The kind where when their lips met it was a battle and they would fight to the death. One touch was never enough. They had to have more. There was danger. Sherlock held a gun to his temple and cocked the gun. John bit the barrel and spit the bullet back at him with a snarl and pushed him to the bed with Sherlock's hair running away in fear. When the kissed there would not be a spark, there would be fire. When their eyes met there would not be lightening there would be a terrifying shock that shook his bones and electrified his insides until he screamed.

And as insane as he is, John needed passion. Chaste kisses weren't enough. He needed to have the passion that Sherlock gave him and he needed Sherlock's cool gazes that pierced through his skin with a thick needle. Sherlock was a drug and John was intoxicated.

John was drenched and shivering when he realized it was idiotic to stay out for much longer lest he catch a cold. He hailed a cab, muttered an address to the driver and slumped down in the seat, trying to collect his mind from the pieces on the ground.

Just as the lock clicked, the door opened and a voice resonated from inside.

"I woke up alone today," and what a feeble voice it was.

John felt his heart heavy in his chest. He felt his world being torn in different directions, and though he knew which side he wanted to jump to safety to, he couldn't bear to leave the other side behind.

"Sorry," John apologized dumbly in a voice as blank as any arsenal he may have occupied before.

He heard Mary laugh humorlessly from the bed and vaguely wondered if she got up at any time that afternoon.

"You were with Sherlock," it wasn't a question or an accusation.

Without any reason to lie, John answered still from the doorframe. "Yes."

It was dim in the flat, but he could see Mary's lips twitch into a knowing smile. For a moment they only stood there, both in an unsaid agreement, and both tired of trying to make a broken clock tell the correct time.

Their breathing sounded like thunder in the silent apartment and even the sun had shied away behind the horizon. Neither of them bothered to flicker a light on; perhaps they were better left in the dark. Just as John felt Mary may start speaking again, he was rewarded with silence.

The longer the pair went in the dark silence, the longer they wished they could sprout wings and fly in the opposite directed, fated never to meet again. But not really. That would be a cruel fate to erase existence. Instead, John felt compelled to speak.

"I don't want to get married," he found the words sinfully escaping himself before he could stop them. He didn't want to stop them.

Mary replied. "I know," is what she said, "I could tell."

John laughed humorlessly, roughly and dripping with fatigue. "Is it really that obvious?"

"I moved my things to a friend's flat this afternoon."

John looked up suddenly.

"I could tell, I told you. When you look at Sherlock, it's different than with me. When you talk about him, you just look happier," Mary admitted, and then she was standing. "I'm not going to marry someone who doesn't love me."

Mary's silhouette grew larger and soon she was next to him by the door. Her face was pinched into a pained smile as if she didn't truly want this to happen, but there wasn't much say she had in it. It wasn't her fault John wasn't happy with her.

"It isn't fair," she said softly, "It isn't fair to me if you go on with our life pretending to be in love. I don't want something Prince Charming, but I want someone to love me."

And just as he blinked she was already gone down the hall, her engagement ring left in his palm.

John stood by the door, still collecting his thoughts. In a single day he went from happily—was it true happiness? Now he asks himself— to single and in love with his best friend. He walked into the flat, feeling heavier than he had in ages. The door shut loudly. He trudged in and fell onto the bed. There was only one thing he wanted, and that was Sherlock. He wanted to feel his long arms around his neck and have his curls tickle his nose. He wanted last night.

He took out his mobile, his fingers moving as slow as dripping cough syrup.

I want to kiss you again. A bit not good? –JW

His fingers stopped moving again and he sighed. Sherlock probably just wanted to be left alone.

Do you wish to send this message?

[Unsent]

Sherlock clutched his sheets tightly. He wanted anything but to be alone.

But John was with Mary now. He couldn't be selfish again and ask for him to come back over. He couldn't do that to John Watson, he couldn't suck at him like a leech and feed off of his unhappiness. He was no parasite.

Nonetheless his mobile found itself between his fingers.

I'm lonely –SH

Without realizing it, the message was sent.

John's heart jumped when his mobile vibrated and he opened the text quickly. He found himself smiling. The next text came quickly.

Ignore that. I'm not in my right mind –SH

You're Sherlock Holmes. You're always in your right mind. –JW

Not around you, Doctor Watson. –SH

I'm lonely, too. –JW

Sherlock blinked at his phone in confusion, turning over in his bed that suddenly felt less cold but still chilling without a second body.

Mary? –SH

The reply took a total of three minutes, four seconds, and seventeen milliseconds.

No longer in the picture.—JW

The next one was seconds later.

Mind if I come over again? –JW

Sherlock smiled to himself, not having the mind to feel silly about it. He wanted to laugh but that seemed a bit much.

Not at all.—SH

There wasn't an air of awkwardness as the door to 221b opened. Sherlock smiled warmly, unable to control himself, and there wasn't much reason to as John replied with an embrace. Sherlock only realized how much he'd missed him until then. He had never felt more protected.

John was pulled inside the flat and the door closed behind him, he was pressed against it. They were so closer they were practically on fire—just a centimeter closer. Kiss me. But Sherlock didn't move any closer.

"What did you mean?" Sherlock asked softly, "When you said 'no longer in the picture'?"

John looked down momentarily, his hand finding his pocket. He showed him a small ring, jewel incrusted and vibrant. There was no doubt in Sherlock's mind it was Mary's engagement ring. He looked at John in disbelief.

"Why—"

"You said it yourself," John interrupted. "I can't play both of you— not that I ever meant to, by the way."

"But I meant… I assumed you would go back to Mary."

Something changed in John's eyes. "You mean… You don't…"

"Don't be daft of course I do," Sherlock rolled his eyes. John laughed in relief. "I just don't understand."

Sherlock let John free (to John's disappointment) and paced to the other side of the room, his hands together in front of his face. His we-have-a-puzzle-to-solve face. He continued pacing, his eyes flickering around and he occasionally mumbled something to himself. Still, nothing came to mind, and it was driving him mad. John was the puzzle he never could solve.

Eventually Sherlock gave up with a frustrated shout.

"I don't get it!" he shouted abruptly. "A life with Mary would have so many more positive aspects! You would have a wife, possible—no, definite— biological children. It's sophisticated and easy and it's so much safer than trying to stay alive and chasing criminals with me! You've always been after that kind of domestic life, and now that you finally have it, you throw it all away for what?"

John was stunned by Sherlock's speech. He'd never thought about anything like that. But nothing would really be worth it if every time he looked at Sherlock it would be of desire.

John walked to the kitchen and Sherlock stared after him in bemusement.

"No comment? After all that? Really, John?"

"Is this water?" John asked, lifting a glass of clear liquid. "No acids or experiments in it?"

"W-Well, not exactly. I was going to—"

Sherlock was cut off as John poured the glass onto the tile floor between them. He jumped backwards in alarm, his mind racing in complete and utter confusion.

"What was that for? You know—"

"That's all any of that is," John said as he looked at the small puddle between them. "Mary and everything else you mentioned, that's all I would have ever gotten from it. I want you, Sherlock," John's shoes splashed softly in the water as he stepped through to hold Sherlock's cheeks. They started to redden and John smiled. "You, Sherlock, can give me an entire ocean."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed John gingerly, slowly, deliberately. It was well received and John's hands found Sherlock's hair. They pulled at his curls and Sherlock kissed harder in retaliation. John gasped for breath and Sherlock pushed him against the wall behind him. Sherlock pulled away slowly, his pupils blown wide.

John panted heavily, trying to tug him back down. "What?" he huffed in annoyance.

"You might need to throw those shoes out."

John's eye narrowed in a dull glare and he looked down at his black shoes that now had white splotches over them.

"You said it didn't have any experiments in it!"

"I said 'not exactly'. I hadn't completed it yet."

John's glare hardened and Sherlock laughed at him, pulling his wrists closer and kissing him again. "I'll buy you new shoes," he promised.

"Being nice and sweet are we?" John raised a brow.

Sherlock chuckled and leaned his head on John's shoulder. It was a bit of a ways down, but it was still comfortable. "You bring out the best in me, John," he admitted and kissed his neck softly. His eyes flashed up at him darkly and his teeth grazed the skin as he left a red mark.

"Or was it the worst?"

John felt a shudder rack down his body and he knew Sherlock felt it, too, since he smirked and found a new patch of skin to mark.

"Definitely the worst," he gasped.

A/N: The end! Srsly that was so long for an intended one shot XD I hope you liked it though! Any reviews would be appreciated. Liked it? Hated it? Let me know :3