John never questioned Sherlock's motives. Whatever he did was always for some complicated reason, just beyond the grasp of mere mortals such as himself. But the more he thought about this, the less sense it made. Sherlock had been completely open, receptive, not analyzing his every move. For Christ's sake, his were eyes closed most of the time. And it had been...it had been amazing. He had never seen Sherlock so vulnerable and trusting... well, before it all seemed to come crashing down upon them, as if he had suddenly had too much to process. Maybe he wasn't capable of intimacy after all, but not for the reason John originally thought. He wasn't too callous. He was.. too fragile? Sherlock? John shook his head in confusion.
Mary continued to speak contemptuously as she dressed herself, reaching behind to zip up the back. "I bet he's faking it. He's probably listening to how we argue and seeing where our weak points are... how he can tear us apart to get at you. As if what I offered wasn't good enough for him."
John furrowed his brow. "What you offered?"
Mary humphed. "John, did you think I was joking when I said that I saw how he looks at you? And you at him, too. I mean, I am willing to share. It's fine. But he isn't fine with it. And that's really not fair, when he left you, for all that time, and I was there. Selfish. He left you, John, because being clever was more important than being there for you. You said it yourself. I will always be there for you." John's eyes were downcast and the corner of his mouth twitched. Mary glared at Sherlock, who hadn't moved the entire time, and spoke directly to him, convinced he could hear. "I will never leave."
John spoke through gritted teeth. "Mary. Go."
"What?" Mary walked toward Sherlock, and John stepped between them, preventing Mary from getting any closer to his catatonic friend-turned-lover.
"Go. I don't want you here when he comes out of this." John's hand clenched and released. "Go. I will meet you at home."
"Don't listen to him, John. He'll lie to you. He already has."
"Everyone has lied to me, Mary." John was seething, barely reining it in. "Every. Single. Person. But you know what? That doesn't even matter anymore, that they lied. What matters is who they are. Who they really are. Now, I will talk to you later. Go."
Mary's jaw dropped open in surprise. John met her eyes, challenging her to say something. Go ahead. I dare you. Mary turned and left. John listened to her heels click down the hallway, then nodded as he heard the door open and then fall back into place.
He turned back to Sherlock, running his hand along his arm gently, and sat down again. John fidgeted. He wanted to get a glass of water for Sherlock, maybe make tea, maybe take a shower (as if he could wash this away and somehow start fresh again) but he didn't want to leave Sherlock's side. What he wanted was to hold him tightly, but John wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. He decided it wasn't worth the risk, and moved Sherlock's chair closer to the side of the bed... close enough to observe any change in facial expression. If he had not been so distressed, he would have permitted himself a smile when he realized he had never sat in Sherlock's chair before.
FILL 10b/? "Three" (Threesome fail)
Mary continued to speak contemptuously as she dressed herself, reaching behind to zip up the back. "I bet he's faking it. He's probably listening to how we argue and seeing where our weak points are... how he can tear us apart to get at you. As if what I offered wasn't good enough for him."
John furrowed his brow. "What you offered?"
Mary humphed. "John, did you think I was joking when I said that I saw how he looks at you? And you at him, too. I mean, I am willing to share. It's fine. But he isn't fine with it. And that's really not fair, when he left you, for all that time, and I was there. Selfish. He left you, John, because being clever was more important than being there for you. You said it yourself. I will always be there for you." John's eyes were downcast and the corner of his mouth twitched. Mary glared at Sherlock, who hadn't moved the entire time, and spoke directly to him, convinced he could hear. "I will never leave."
John spoke through gritted teeth. "Mary. Go."
"What?" Mary walked toward Sherlock, and John stepped between them, preventing Mary from getting any closer to his catatonic friend-turned-lover.
"Go. I don't want you here when he comes out of this." John's hand clenched and released. "Go. I will meet you at home."
"Don't listen to him, John. He'll lie to you. He already has."
"Everyone has lied to me, Mary." John was seething, barely reining it in. "Every. Single. Person. But you know what? That doesn't even matter anymore, that they lied. What matters is who they are. Who they really are. Now, I will talk to you later. Go."
Mary's jaw dropped open in surprise. John met her eyes, challenging her to say something. Go ahead. I dare you. Mary turned and left. John listened to her heels click down the hallway, then nodded as he heard the door open and then fall back into place.
He turned back to Sherlock, running his hand along his arm gently, and sat down again. John fidgeted. He wanted to get a glass of water for Sherlock, maybe make tea, maybe take a shower (as if he could wash this away and somehow start fresh again) but he didn't want to leave Sherlock's side. What he wanted was to hold him tightly, but John wasn't sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. He decided it wasn't worth the risk, and moved Sherlock's chair closer to the side of the bed... close enough to observe any change in facial expression. If he had not been so distressed, he would have permitted himself a smile when he realized he had never sat in Sherlock's chair before.