one-shot on Johnlock~ :D

I should be getting on with exhibition research and crap but I'm not in the mood to examine every single line of Edgar Allan Poe's lovely scholarly poem.

Chews on mango pudding.
I like pudding.

Now I shall gather something from my !nspiration box!
And hopefully it won't be crap.

Conditions:
"Everything linked up to one big shit of a mistake"

... how emo was I when I wrote this condition.

HERE IS BEGINS!~~~~~~~ warning: ANGST, JOHNLOCK (slight hints of homosexuality)


"Look, John. I really don't want to--"

"Are you insinuating that you're tired of all this? Because if it were to be someone tired of all this, it would be me!" John's raising his voice, and there's this little bubble of anger firing up in his chest, his throat--everywhere.

"No, John, can't you see what's going on--" Sherlock is staring at the wall ahead, his hand tangled in his hair [threatening to pull those curls out], the other at his hips.

"Can't I see what's going on? Of course I can! Oh wait, you're Sherlock Holmes, the only one who can see! Of course! All bow down to mighty Sherlock!" Biting sarcasm is reflected in every word that John spits out.

"John! Stop being so immature--"

"Me? Immature? WOULD YOU STOP BEING IMMATURE, THEN?"

"You are agitated. I shall not talk to you."

"LOOK WHO'S IMMATURE! YOU ARE! WHY ARE YOU BEING SO IGNORANT AND IDIOTIC? OH OF COURSE, MIGHTY SHERLOCK, GENIUS SHERLOCK, PERFECT SHERLOCK, BRILLIANT SHERLOCK, AMAZING SHERLOCK, FANTASTIC SHERLOCK! NEVER FAILS TO OVERLOOK A SINGLE THING!" John's gesturing wildly, glaring at Sherlock, who's not facing him.

"What is it you want, John?" For the first time, there's a hint of annoyance in Sherlock's words.

Unfortunately, John hears it too.

"WHY DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ANYTHING? I'M TIRED OF ALL THIS. YOU'VE BEEN SO IGNORANT AND HURTING--AND DID YOU HAVE TO CHASE SARAH AWAY? I'VE GOT MY OWN LIFE, PLEASE. STOP ORDERING ME AROUND-AROUND LIKE I'M YOUR SERVANT OR SLAVE--"

"I was under the impression that you didn't want-- and stop shouting, John."

"WHO ARE YOU TO ORDER ME AROUND--AGAIN? 'DON'T SHOUT, JOHN!', 'SHUT UP, JOHN!', 'GET THE MILK, JOHN!', 'MY PHONE, JOHN!', 'GET AWAY FROM THAT WOMAN, JOHN!'. JOHN THIS, JOHN THAT. I'M SO SICK OF IT. AND YOU THERE ACTING LIKE YOU'VE DONE NOTHING WRONG, CHASING SARAH AWAY WHILE GOING OUT WITH THAT ADLER WOMAN--"

"JOHN!"

"WHAT!"

"If you can't stand me--there's no point. You've chosen to be my flatmate--"

"I'VE NEVER VOLUNTEERED FOR ALL YOUR EFFORTS TO--OH WHAT, LEAD ME AWAY FROM THOSE WOMEN-WHO-ARE-WRONG-FOR-ME? THOSE WOMEN WHO YOU CAN'T TAKE? AND MY REPUTATION, SHERLOCK! WHY DO YOU KEEP ME WAITING AROUND LIKE SOME-SOME LOST PUPPY OR SOMETHING--"

"FINE!" Sherlock's heating up already, taking rapid steps towards John, who indignantly stands his ground. "YOU NEVER SEE ANYTHING ANYWAY! CAN'T YOU--WHY CAN'T YOU JUST. OPEN. YOUR. EYES. AND. SEE. I'm done with all this. With you."

With that, Sherlock marches out of the room, but John shouts,

"YOU KNOW WHAT. FINE. I'LL MOVE OUT."

Sherlock pauses in his tracks, his fingers clenched together.

"By tomorrow," Sherlock whispers and then exits the room.

John, turns, only to see the empty hallway. He staggers forward and shuts the door, before sliding down to the floor. He rubs his eyes--and is suddenly so exhausted. There's this acidic feeling at his heart, biting and gnawing at it mercilessly. The tears start to form. ((And John can't understand what's this hollow, sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach))

What started the argument again? Oh yes, the milk.

Milk.

Sherlock bossing John around.

Irene Adler--wait, what? How did she get into this? John squeezes his eyes shut.

Sherlock and Irene in the same room, Irene naked and Sherlock's just staring at her figure--

The raging fire's starting up in his chest again. Why is he so angry? It's not like he's jealous or anything--

Irene linking hands with Sherlock, his Sherlock.

Wait--'his'? Sherlock didn't even belong to him--

"I'm not jealous."

"CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT'S GOING ON?" the little voice in his head is echoing Sherlock's previous words.

"I'm not--I'm straight."

"WHY DO YOU KEEP ME WAITING AROUND LIKE SOME-SOME LOST PUPPY OR SOMETHING--"

"I'm not a lost puppy."

"You look at him in that way, when you think he can't see you. Everyone else can." Molly's words from before.

The memories are zipping past his mind--

Sherlock holding his hand while they run, and the butterflies in his stomach.

Sherlock grinning as the butler acknowledges John as his date.

Sherlock looking at him, smiling in that sincere, happy manner--it makes his heart thud so loudly.

Sherlock saving him again, tearing those bombs off him--ripping his clothes off him, that deranged and worried expression on his face.

Sherlock-- "CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT'S GOING ON?"

Silence.

"Holy crap. I'm in love with Sherlock Holmes."

And there was this possibility that Sherlock was in love with him too--
And he messed everything up--

Because they weren't able to express themselves.
They were always used to each other's presence, the silence filling thickly (but comfortably) between them. Sometimes Sherlock would look over and grin or smirk as John looked away. Sometimes John's hand would itch  to hold Sherlock's.

Then--breaking that peaceful image, comes reality.

And the words are burning in John's mind again.

"I'm done with all this. With you."

"By tomorrow."

He'd messed up. Terribly. John can't stand or form any coherent plans on how to apologise to Sherlock (the hurt's there. He's hurt Sherlock far too much with his--their--ignorance).

A tear slides down John's cheeks as he sighs.