"I don't even know where to begin..." John started, pacing the room in front of Sherlock, who was sitting in his arm chair, legs pulled to his chest and his eyes trained on John. "...I mean... You left for a week! I didn't know where in bloody hell you were and I was worried sick! I though someone had you, or worse, I thought you were dead!"
"John..." Sherlock started, his voice low and almost quiet. It was so uncharacteristically like Sherlock to be quiet.
"Stop," John cut him off, holding his hand out to stop Sherlock. "Can you just tell me where you've -been-?!"
Sherlock shook his head, looking down at the floor.
"And why -not-, Sherlock?" John asked, stopping in front of him and crossing his arms, looking at Sherlock down his nose.
"Because, John, I just.... Just can't..." Sherlock said slowly, standing and walking over to John, placing a hand on his arm and getting closer. "Can you understand."
"N-no! I c-can't!" John forced out, shoving the rapid heart rate and struggled breathing to subside the best he could. "I-I'm you flatmate, and above that, Sherlock, I'm your friend! I know the concept is new to you, but friends don't scare the shit out of each other by vanishing for a week with no clue where they ran off to!"
Sherlock sighed and stepped towards John, forcing him to take a step back. He couldn't let Sherlock win this time... Not this time... Sherlock knew John got weak at the knees whenever Sherlock got close to him like this. He knew how to send him over the edge and how to get his way. Not this time.
"Sherlock, you need to tell me where you've been." John said carefully, making sure to keep his voice calm and not panicked.
Sherlock sighed again, stepping back from John, whose body protested the loss of contact. "I was... With Mycroft..." Sherlock said slowly, avoiding John's eyes by looking towards the kitchen.
"And...?" John pushed, crossing his arms again and taking a carefully measured step to Sherlock.
"You're going to hate me..." Sherlock said slowly. He stole a glance up at John quickly.
"Sherlock, you need to tell me." John commanded.
"He took me to a... A one week rehab program..." Sherlock talked more to the ground then to John. "He noticed I was having problems again..."
"W-what? No you weren't!" John stumbled, looking confused. "You haven't done anything since the HOUNDs case!"
"I... I have been though... Behind your back, John." Sherlock mumbled, turning his back on the doctor and going to sit on the couch.
When John was lost for words, Sherlock slipped off his jacket and started undoing his shirt. He let the material flow off his shoulders and onto the ground, hanging his head.
John slowly moved over to him and sat down on the seat next to him. Sherlock held his arm out across John's lap and let him look. Sure enough, injection scars ran up his entire arm, covering him in tiny red dots.
"Sherlock..!" John scolded, scanning the arm. He sounded hurt, as though not knowing this hurt him.
"I'm sorry, John." Sherlock sighed, standing and starting to leave the room.
"Did I fail you?" John asked quietly as Sherlock turned the corner.
"Wha..?" Sherlock took two long strides to reenter the room and stare at John, the question not making sense.
"Did I cause those?" He asked a little slowly, pain coloring his eyes with clear tears.
"John..?" Sherlock retook his seat next to John. "How could you cause these? It makes no sense..."
"Did I drive you to start that? Did I fail you..?" John was hurting. The tears streaked his cheeks as he talked to Sherlock, avoiding the scars.
"You never once failed me, John," Sherlock said, reaching up and slowly whipping the tears off John's face with his thumb. "I thought I was failing myself... John, this was... Actually... A..." Sherlock swallowed and looked down at the scars. "A suicide attempt..."
"W-Why..? But you... Wh- Sherlock?" John was doing all but losing it right now. He bit his lip hard, tasting the copper taste of blood.
"I thought my mind was failing me... I thought I was failing you, John... I didn't know what else to do... I wanted to do it away from you, so you wouldn't have to face the pain of losing me again... My thoughts were to just... Disappear," Sherlock shook his head slowly. "But Mycroft caught me just as I was overdosing... Took me to the hospital which sent me straight to rehab... He staid with me the whole time..."
"Sherlock, you could have died!" John shouted, finally losing control of his body. "You could have left me again!"
"John, I know... But..."
"Sherlock, you could have left me all alone again!"
"You might as well have just killed me!"
"You can't leave me, you bastard! Because I-"
"I love you!"
Silence rang in the flat, like someone had dropped a bomb on the scene and they were looking out over the skeletal remains. Sherlock turned the words over in his head a few times. John was just standing above him, motionless, crying.
"Forget it..." John waved it away angrily, storming towards his room. "I know you can't feel the same! So it doesn't bloody matter..."
Sherlock sat there for a moment before standing and following John to his room, shoving his foot in the frame as the door was about to close.
"John... I do..." Sherlock said in a whisper.
"Stop fucking with me, Sherlock. This isn't a game." He tried to shut the door.
"I'm... I'm not, John..."
"Sherlock, please, stop..."
"Don't... Please don't..."
"I love you..."
More tears flooded John's already irritated eyes. "You can't..." He whispered, shaking his head and looking at the ground. "You just can't..."
At that, he shut the door in Sherlock's face.
Sherlock stood at the closed door for what seemed like hours, but was really only a minute or two. He turned to head to the living room, bug paused, anger bubbling in him.
"And why can't I?!" He shouted, pounding on the door with his fist. "I have these feelings for you, John! Emotions that I don't know what to call! Love is the only logical explanation! Why couldn't I love you?!" He was leaning on the door, his forehead against the door and one hand holding him up, the other dangling helplessly at his side.
He pounded the door again, turned on his heels, and stormed to his room. He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't want one. He didn't know what he wanted.
Sherlock lay awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling and just not moving. It was midnight and completely dark. With no light except from the hallway through his open door from the small light in the bathroom. Otherwise, his room was pitch black.
"S-Sherlock?" Came a small voice from the doorway. Sherlock turned his head just enough to look over at the door, then turned back to the ceiling. John sounded like a little kid, scared by a storm, begging for his parent's comfort. "Sherlock? A-are you awake?"
Sherlock lay there for a long moment in silence for answering, "Yes, John, I am."
John took that as an invitation to enter the room. He sat down on the edge of Sherlock's bed and looked down in the direction of his feet.
"Sherlock... I love you..." John said slowly, barely above a whisper. Sherlock could tell he was crying slightly.
"I want to say it back-"
"Just stop, Sherlock..." John said, new tears forming from the old ones. "I know you can't love me..."
"And why not?" Sherlock snapped, not letting John continue. "I want to love you!"
"That's the difference..." John said sadly, his voice low.
"What? What's the difference?" Sherlock asked, replaying what he said back in his mind to find his error.
"You -want- to love me. Sherlock, I don't have a choice..." John sighed. "I have to love you...."
"John, that's not what I meant." Sherlock sat up and placed a hand on the nick of John's back. "You know that's not what I meant."
John didn't pull away from the hand, in fact, he gently leaned back into it. John was craving Sherlock's touch. His hand on his back burned, made the rest of his body burn for the feel of him. John closed his eyes and took a deep nervous breath.
"I don't know that, Sherlock..." He said, his voice breaking again. He cleared his throat. "I don't know that's not what you mean..."
"John... Can I show you in any way?" Sherlock whispered, getting to his knees on the bed and crawling over to John. He sat behind him and wrapped his arms around John's waist. He couldn't help it, he needed to hold him. He placed his chin on John's shoulder, hearing John shutter as he whispered in his ear, "I want to prove I love you..."
"Sherlock..." John purred, relaxing into Sherlock's grip. He thought for a moment before whispered, his heart beating his ribs painful in anticipation, "You could do... One thing..."
"What's that?" Sherlock purred, his hand running John's stomach. He was glad to feel John didn't have a shirt on, as he didn't either.
"You could... Kiss me..." John mumbled. He felt his face turn red as silence was his answer. Sherlock's grip tightened.
"Fine..." Sherlock hissed in John's ear, his voice full of what he hoped was lust.
He sat up a little more, leaning over John's shoulder. He took his hand from John's waist and brought it up to turn John's head towards his. He caught his lips with his own and slowly, gently, lovingly kissed John.
He felt John hum into his lips and slowly relax and melt into his arms. Sherlock was messy, he knew it. He has never kissed anyone before but John didn't seem to care. He felt John's tongue run over his lips and opened his lips, letting his run over his teeth.
After a while, Sherlock pulled back and leaned his forehead against John's. "How was that?" He asked, nuzzling John's nose with his.
"Amazing..." He sounded breathless. Sherlock chuckled and pulled him down onto the bed with him.
"Sleep with me then."
"But Sherlock... We need to talk-"
"I think it's clear now, John." Sherlock chuckled, burying his nose in John's neck. "I love you."
"I love you too." John yawned, pulling Sherlock closer and closing his eyes.
Slowly, held in the strong arms of John, ex-army doctor, Sherlock fell asleep.