sherlockbbc_fic | Overflow Post II

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Overflow Post II

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John finished making his cup of tea and was going to bring it up to his room while he unwound. He decided to use the door from the kitchen to get upstairs since he didn't want to risk saying something he'd regret and he'd had enough of Sherlock for one day. Half way to the door he heard hitching breaths coming from the living room. He stopped dead.

Slightly concerned, since Sherlock never carried on his act this long or to this extent ever, he looked into the living room. Sherlock was still sitting on the sofa, but now was almost curled in a ball. His face was buried in his arms which were crossed over his knees and his shoulders were shaking.

Whatever this was, it was not an act. Beginning to feel slightly guilty and all his previous anger immediately washing away, John set his cup of tea on the kitchen table and went to the living room. "Sherlock," he said quietly. "Sherlock, are you okay?" When Sherlock didn't acknowledge him, he tentatively put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "Sherlock?" When Sherlock jerked from his touch, John sighed, gave Sherlock a concerned look, and went to the kitchen. He pulled out his mobile and sent a text to Mycroft.

Anything happen to Sherlock today? – JW

A reply came not a minute later.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Though we did have an extremely odd conversation earlier. – MH

Why do you ask? – MH

John dropped his hand that was holding the phone to his side. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to divulge to Mycroft, knowing what Sherlock thought about his brother. But as he looked at Sherlock in the living room, he decided it was worth any anger he'd receive from his flatmate.

He's crying. – JW

Crying? He hasn't cried since he was a little boy. – MH

Why would he be crying? – JW

Not sure. – MH

What should I do? You've had more experience with him in this type of situation. – JW

It's best just to stay with him. – MH

Don't know what good that will do, but ok. – JW

If I'm needed at all, please let me know immediately. – MH

Will do. – JW

John put his phone away and looked toward Sherlock again. He took off his jacket and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Since he hadn't taken a sip of the tea he had made, he added some sugar and brought it to the living room to offer it to Sherlock once he calmed down. He set it on the coffee table and looked to Sherlock again. John could handle an angry, bored, quiet, or rude Sherlock. But a crying one? It definitely wasn't his area.

Feeling extremely uncomfortable, though definitely worried, John tentatively sat down on the sofa next to Sherlock. He doubted Sherlock would want to be seen like this. John knew he wouldn't want to be seen like this if he was in Sherlock's place, but Mycroft said to stay with him. He looked at Sherlock helplessly. What was he supposed to do?

Sherlock went over everything he'd deduced over the previous few hours. None of it made sense. All the signs were there that John was his friend. Where did he go wrong? It hit him a few seconds later and he felt like an idiot. Everything he read probably had to go both ways in order to be friends. John, obviously, didn't feel any of that applied to him.

The conversation Sherlock had earlier with Mycroft came rushing to the front of his mind. Maybe his brother was right…he shouldn't have gotten involved. People like him didn't have friends. He should have just kept to himself with just his pain-in-the-ass brother for company whenever he could stand it and rented a cheaper flat where he wouldn't have needed a flatmate. He would have been better off.

He repeatedly tried to tell himself that he truly didn't care if he had a friend and that he should suppress all his thoughts and feelings about John and how long it would take before he'd decide to move out, but unfortunately it didn't help him quell his tears; it actually had the opposite effect and he still couldn't make them stop. He didn't think he could go back to living how he had been. And why did it all matter?

When John noticed the crying intensifying a little, he put a hand on one of Sherlock's shaking shoulders. "Sherlock?"

Face still hidden in his arms, Sherlock jerked away from John's touch like before. "Go away," he mumbled.

John sighed. "What's wrong?"

"I said, go away," he repeated through hitching breaths, wondering why John just couldn't do what he said. Didn't he know that his presence was making it worse? Now Sherlock wished he retreated to his bedroom the moment he realized he was crying. Instead he was stuck with the one person who caused him to be like this. He sniffled a few times and ran a finger under his running nose.

John got up and left the living room. He stopped off in the kitchen to send a quick text then retrieved a box of tissues from the bathroom. He returned to the sofa and when he sat down, his eyes caught sight of the broken glass and the over-turned lamp on the other side of the room. Sherlock could be unpredictable at times, but he had never seen him at the point where he would voluntarily start destroying things around the flat; bullet holes in the wall and experiments gone wrong not counting. It was definitely worrying.

"Sherlock, will you please look at me and tell me what happened?" A sniffle and a head shake were his only answers. John pulled a few tissues out of the box and held them in front of Sherlock. "Here are some tissues."

Quickly glancing up, Sherlock grabbed the tissues and rested his left cheek on his arms, face away from John. "Aren't you supposed to be meeting up with a friend right now?" he asked angrily.

John missed the tone Sherlock used, more worried about why Sherlock was in this state. "Not anymore. I just sent a text canceling."

Sherlock sniffled. "Why?"

"Because I'm needed here."

"You're not and you don't want to be," he forced out, trying to convince the distress he was feeling to go way or just change into hatred or anger or anything else, really. As he took a shuddering breath, he really wished John would leave. He couldn't handle all this new and surprising emotion and he didn't want a witness to what it was doing to him. "John, please," he begged, "just…go have drinks with your friend and leave me alone." Keeping his face from John's view, he positioned himself on the sofa so he was lying on his side in a ball, face squished into the back cushions. A push with his feet while he moved caused John to stand up from the sofa.

John sighed and sat back down in the small space Sherlock left empty at his feet. "I am not leaving, Sherlock. Besides, I want to be here."

"Why?" Sherlock repeated and closed his eyes tightly, causing the tears that were on his lashes to fall. He didn't want to hear that John thought it was his duty as either a flatmate or doctor. That would only make everything he was feeling worse.

It was at times like this that John forgot that Sherlock didn't understand things like friendship. He stood up and moved to sit on the coffee table facing Sherlock. "Because you're my friend, Sherlock, and are clearly upset about something. The fact that you're actually showing it…well, I could never leave you alone, even if you wanted to be."

Sherlock quickly turned his head so he was looking at John, unsure of what he heard. "What?"

John's heart broke when he saw the tears falling from Sherlock's red-rimmed eyes; something he never thought he'd see. He handed Sherlock a few more tissues. "What is wrong, Sherlock? Will you please tell me what happened?" he asked quietly.

Sherlock didn't seem to hear John's question. He was still stuck on John saying he was his friend. "You're…you're my friend?" He then uncurled from the sofa and sat back the way he was prior with his feet up on the sofa and his arms crossed on top of his knees.

"Of course. What did you think I was?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Just a colleague."

"Where would you ever…never mind." He ran a hand over his face. "Of course I'm your friend, Sherlock."

"But you said I was pathetic."

John looked down, ashamed. "I admit that I did think that, yes. But I thought you were just having a go at me." He looked back up and met Sherlock's red-rimmed eyes. "If I had known…I… I'm sorry, Sherlock. I shouldn't have said that." John leaned forward, knees almost touching Sherlock's drawn-up legs. "Will you tell me what happened? Does this have anything to do with the conversation you had with Mycroft earlier today?"

"No," Sherlock answered a little too quickly and buried his head back into his knees. How could John even know he'd had a conversation with Mycroft?

Even though John wasn't of Sherlock's caliber with deductions, he'd been around him enough to begin to know when someone was lying. Sherlock's quick answer was definitely not true. His current state did have something to do with the conversation. Based on the few conversations he'd been witness to, he could only imagine what was said.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, his tears finally beginning to slow. This whole thing was embarrassing, another emotion he wasn't used to having. Not only was he crying in front of John and acting like a child, now more than likely John knew what caused all of it. And like John said earlier, it was pathetic; a grown man crying because he thought he didn't have a friend when he really wanted one. "What did Mycroft tell you exactly?" Sherlock croaked out, face still hidden.

"He didn't tell me anything, Sherlock. Now will you please tell me what has you so upset?"

"How did you know we talked then?"

"You were fine earlier today at the bakery, so something obviously happened to you since then. I didn't know what it was and I needed to know. I texted Mycroft."

Sherlock looked up and grabbed another tissue. "Does he know then? About this?" he asked, pointing to himself.

John nodded. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I know this is the last thing you'd want your brother to know about. Like I said, I needed to know if anything happened to you so I would know how to proceed."

"He's never going to let me hear the end of it." Sherlock buried his head in his knees again.

John sat quietly for a few minutes, noticing that Sherlock's crying had now subsided to a few sniffles. "So will you tell me what happened?" he asked quietly. "Is there anything I can do?" When John received no answer, he remembered that Mycroft said the last time Sherlock had cried was when he was a boy. That explained how uncharacteristic Sherlock had been acting. It was like he reverted back to being a boy. He put a hand on Sherlock's arm. John's voice was soft when he next spoke, his tone like he used when speaking to a young child who came to see him in the surgery. "Come now, Sherlock, you can tell me." He removed his hand when Sherlock quickly glanced at it before hiding his face again.

Sherlock couldn't remember ever having been spoken to like that and he couldn't ignore the request, no matter how humiliating it made him feel. "Are you really my friend, John?" Sherlock finally asked quietly, face still buried in his knees.

John was disappointed when Sherlock finally spoke. He had hoped Sherlock would have actually told him what was bothering him, though he knew that was asking too much of the detective. "Of course. You couldn't deduce that?"

"Then why did you say that I first had to have friends in order to keep them?" he spat out in anger, though the effect was ruined by his sniffling.

John ran a hand over his face in frustration. "Sherlock, if you're not going to…"

Sherlock looked up and interrupted John. "Why did you say that I first had to have friends in order to keep them?" he repeated.

"If you really want to know, I was angry. Angry with you."

"Why?"

"We can talk about that later. That's not important right now. I want to know what's bothering you. If you're not going to tell me, just say so, though I'd rather you did tell me. I don't like seeing you like this."

Sherlock's mind was screaming at him to keep quiet, to not confess anything. He'd already expressed too much for one day, maybe even for one lifetime, but for some reason he couldn't obey his mind. "I am telling you," Sherlock said quietly, raising his head slightly to look at John.

"You're already telling…but we've…you think I'm…" John sighed, trying to piece together everything they'd been discussing. Slowly everything started to make sense. "You thought we were friends, your only friend, I know, but when I corrected you earlier today, you thought that wasn't the case. Am I close?" John watched Sherlock nod. "That is what got you in this state?" Sherlock continued nodding and ducked his head when John chuckled. "Oh Sherlock, you complete and utter idiot."

Sherlock jumped up from the sofa. "I am not an idiot, John."

"For a genius, you are; at least in this case." At the still slightly distressed look in Sherlock's eyes, John stood up, closed the short distance between them, and gave Sherlock a hug. A few seconds later he pulled back, a blush slowly creeping up on his face. He'd never hugged Sherlock before, but for some reason, seeing Sherlock in the state he was in, he couldn't help it. "Sorry about that. Don't know what came over me."

Not having any type of physical contact with anyone in decades, Sherlock froze the minute John hugged him, but once released, he slowly began to relax, his eyes fixed on John. "It's…it's okay. It's fine."

John sat down on the sofa and turned to Sherlock. "Do you mind telling me what had gotten you so upset? I mean, I know why, but was there anything in particular?"

That was something Sherlock definitely didn't want to disclose now, maybe ever. "No." He walked over to his chair and sat down, bringing his knees up to his chest. "If you're my friend, why did you tell Brian you were my colleague?"

"I thought it would be obvious." John rolled his eyes at Sherlock's incredulous look. "Right, I have to remember who I'm talking to. Of course you know nothing about social practices. If you did, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Thanks for making me feel better, John," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Sherlock, of course I'm your friend. But it's customary in a workplace setting to use the term colleague. It's more professional. Since the errand today was related to a case, it was, of course, better to introduce me as a colleague."

"Oh." Sherlock hid his face in his knees again. He got worked up over nothing and then had a witness to a vulnerability he never knew he could possess.

"Are you okay now Sherlock?" John questioned, surprised that Sherlock was participating in this type of conversation. These last few minutes revealed more about Sherlock than all the other months they'd been flatmates combined.

Sherlock looked up at John again. "Yea. I'm fine. Uh…thanks for that. For explaining. Sor…" Sherlock was interrupted by an alert on his mobile. He pulled his phone out and saw it was a text from Mycroft. Groaning, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair.

"Let me guess," John said lightly. "Mycroft."

Sherlock glowered at John in lieu of a verbal response.

John stood up and took the now cold cup of tea from the coffee table. "You handle him while I make us some tea."

"This is your fault, you know." Sherlock got up and went to the sofa, curling up into a ball facing the back cushions. He was still slightly embarrassed at what had just transpired.

"He is concerned about you, Sherlock," John shouted toward the living room. "You have to realize that."

"Hmph." Sherlock took out his mobile and deleted the message wondering how long he could go before having to have the dreaded conversation with his brother. He closed his eyes while waiting for John to reappear with their tea and hoped that the last half hour or so wouldn't be mentioned again. When he felt a dip in the sofa cushions by his feet minutes later, he uncurled and sat properly, taking the cup of tea that was being offered.

John took a few sips of his tea then looked to Sherlock. "So how long do you think it will be before you hear anything from Brian? Did you let Lestrade know what you were doing?"

The remaining embarrassment Sherlock was still feeling was instantly banished at John's questions. Leave it to John to know what he needed. He couldn't help but smile before he began responding to John's questions. Sherlock still didn't know how he and John tolerated each other, but he knew he wouldn't trade John's friendship for anything.

End

I enjoyed this :-)

I thought SH was reasonably IC. Poor bb!

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Overflow Post II

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