Text Messages Cannot Convey Feelings

Chapter Eight

John had started working again. Sherlock hated the part of the day when John left, and loved it when he came back.

Sherlock spent the time when he couldn't watch over John reading and re-reading the messages from his best friend. If he didn't get a new text soon, he was going to go crazy.

Crazier.

That day, John's mood was even darker than normal. Sherlock's fingers hovered over his keyboard, ready to send a text to Mycroft should John exhibit any more signs of being ill.

Dark bags under the eyes. Mouth turned upside down. Sick definitely sick.

A flash of metal, a phone.

I met someone beautiful today. JW

No, that didn't compute. John wouldn't look sick like that if he had really met a new girlfriend.

He was obviously lying. But why? He thought Sherlock was dead, so why would he want to text his phone about a new girlfriend? It wasn't as if he knew Sherlock received every text John sent. Or that Sherlock was even alive.

It made no sense.

John probably hoped that Sherlock was alive, nothing more. That would explain the texts as a whole, but not the lie.

What could John gain by telling a dead man that he had a girlfriend? None of the usual motivators (greed, guilt, hatred, love, anger) applied. Except- of course! Love. John wanted his best friend back.

It made perfect sense.

Nearly another week passed with no more gratification than watching John come and go. And sleep. Watching John sleep was the best part.

When John slept, he looked so peaceful. Fluffy dreams played behind closed eyelids. Sometimes, he murmured Sherlock's name.

Their hair smells amazing. JW

Sherlock smiled a bit. John missed him enough to lie about having a relationship.

He wished he could see John's face, full of hope and longing. Would this message finally be the one to push Sherlock over the edge?

Poor John. What must it be like to live like that?

Their skin is so pale, it gleams. JW

Living from day to day, his only satisfaction being an occasional text to a dead man.