Denial | A Johnlock fanfiction

A Phone Call Filled With Blood

"All I know is, drunk me has a crush on you," John said, not really knowing how to handle a love confession from his best friend. Sherlock frowned, but then his eyes scanned John. He thought about it for a moment and John could see Sherlock's brilliant (albeit drunk) mind turning. John watched him, their eyes meeting every so often as Sherlock studied him.

"I-I think that means you like me when sober too, John. You just hide it, even from yourself. Maybe I could be wrong - I want to go to bed." Sherlock said, his eyes seeming tearful and full of fear. John stood up, walking to Sherlock's bedroom. Sherlock looked at him in confusion. "You're still going to share a bed with me, even after what I told you?"

"Uhuh, no coke for loke," John said, slurring over his words as a wave of dizziness came over him. He held onto furniture for support as they left the kitchen.

"Loke?" Sherlock repeated in disdain. 

"Dunno, it rhymed. No smack for... for... Jack," John started laughing at his own stupid joke and Sherlock's nose scrunched up. They entered the bedroom, and Sherlock pulled them out a shirt each. John pulled off his shirt, not reminding the man to turn around. Sherlock took this as an invitation to do the same, and John noticed just how skinny Sherlock really was. You could see his ribs and his collar bones protruding from under his skin, his flawless skin. God, he was handsome. "You're handsome."

"I-I'm what?" Sherlock said, his face turning red again as he looked at him.

"You heard me, pretty boy," Sherlock let out a shaky breath before quickly pulling on his shirt. John did the same, before taking his trousers off so he was just in his boxers, leaving his clothes on a pile on the floor, and clambering into Sherlock's bed. "Come on, Sherl."

"You need to stop, because when you're sober -" 

"I said come onnn," John said, his eyes closed now. Sherlock switched the light off and climbed into the bed next to him. He kept a safe distance from him, and John turned over in the bed so that he was facing him. "That's better. Now, nighty night, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John. Just, please don't hate me in the morning."

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The next morning, John woke up and let out a deep groan. His head was pounding. Before he even opened his eyes the events from the night before started rushing in his brain and a feeling of dread filled him from head to toe. He looked over towards Sherlock who was fast asleep and cursed himself for messing with him like that. Surely Sherlock just had that thing where when people helped them they confused it for romantic feelings, right? John felt like he had played on Sherlock's heartstrings too much, and he felt a wave of guilt come over him. 

"Shit," Sherlock groaned as he awoke. He was also hungover. John couldn't help but smile despite his own raging headache. 

"Morning, Sherlock," John said, pulling himself up and getting out from under the duvet. He realised that he had slept in just a pair of boxers and a shirt when the chill November air hit him. "I'll get us breakfast."

"I'm too hungover for food," Sherlock said quietly. He didn't look at John. 

"Get up. You promised you'd try for me, remember? We can get some electrolyte powder from the medicine box." John said, despite hating the taste, that stuff was really good (it was made for diarrhoea, but it worked wonders on rehydration after an alcohol binge). Sherlock got out of bed reluctantly and pulled on a pair of trousers before they both left the room.

"You sure you don't want me to cook for a change?" Sherlock asked John as they walked to the kitchen. 

"Relax, you're hungover," John said as he pulled out some bread and baked beans from the cupboard. He put the bread in the toaster and emptied the beans into a saucepan before heating it up on the stove, and then filling the kettle up and putting it on to boil.

"So are you," Sherlock said.

"I know, but just relax, okay? I shouldn't have let you drink so much last night." John said as he got the medicine box out. He took out four paracetamol and diluted the horrible electrolyte powder with some water for them both. Sherlock sat down at the table, looking at John. John wondered if Sherlock was thinking about the night before and what he had said to him, or what John had said to Sherlock. John put the electrolyte drink in front of Sherlock, as well as the paracetamol, and put his own on his side of the table before quickly going back to the kitchen and making their tea. Just as he finished the toast popped up, and he spread some butter on the toast before pouring the beans on top. He brought them the tea first, before getting the beans on toast and knives and forks. Sherlock thanked him before they both turned to their electrolyte drinks. "Okay, let's do this."

They both chugged their drinks, grimacing as they did so (taking the paracetamol with the first mouthful), before turning to their teas to try and combat the taste. Sherlock shook his head in disgust, and John let out a laugh before starting to eat.

"Absolutely vile," Sherlock said.

"That's rude, I thought you liked my tea," John joked lightly. Sherlock started eating as well, but he ate slowly. John watched him, his brows knitting together as he did. John had noticed just how skinny Sherlock really was yesterday, due to a mix of anorexia and cocaine, and the fact he wasn't hungry was really worrying. "You've got this, Sherlock."

"I'm really not hungry, John," Sherlock said. He'd only eaten three mouthfuls, and after each one he had swallowed hard, as though it was painful. John knew he couldn't make Sherlock eat, but he also couldn't let him waste away into nothing. He thought for a moment before speaking again.

"Alright, Sherlock. But tonight we're going out to eat, Chinese or something." That would help give him enough calories despite missing this meal, and if he ate lunch he should get enough for the day. Sherlock agreed before walking to the kitchen and binning his breakfast. He washed up his plate and the saucepan as John finished his meal, the sound of the water running hurting his ears. John got up once he had finished to wash his own plate and mug, but Sherlock took the plate quicker than he could stop him, and washed it up. "Thank you, Sherlock."

Then Sherlock's phone began to ring. Sherlock quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket (he was still wearing the same trousers he had been the night before) to check the caller ID. It was Lestrade. Sherlock answered it immediately,  putting the phone to his ear. 

"Lestrade." Sherlock said. There was a slight pause as Greg spoke down the line, and John really wished he could hear what the man was saying.

"Do you think this is linked to the beheading cases?" Sherlock asked once Lestrade had finished. There was another short pause, and Sherlock's eyes darted at John who had been watching him intently. His expression was professional, if that made any sense at all, but his eyes held a spark they hadn't held much recently. "Okay, we're on our way."

Sherlock hung up without saying goodbye (to save time, John supposed, or purely from lack of manners) and darted to his room. John rushed behind him, even though he was sure Sherlock's mind was currently focused on things other than cocaine, such as the case at hand. Not that John knew at all what was going on. 

"What's happening? What did Lestrade say?" John asked.

"No time, explain on the way to the crime scene. Although, it's not a normal one. You need to get changed." Sherlock said. John looked down, noticing he was still in just his boxers and a shirt. He hadn't realised before since he was so hungover, but his headache was getting better now and his senses were coming back to him. He dragged Sherlock with him to his room, making him turn round as he got changed (boxers included) into new clothes. He quickly rushed into the kitchen as Sherlock put his coat and shoes on, making the pair of them lunch for later in case they got side tracked. He was wrapping it in tin foil when Sherlock shouted. "Hurry up, John!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" John said, slipping the sandwiches into a side bag he rarely used (only usually to carry his laptop), before rushing out of the kitchen and slipping his shoes on before pulling on his coat. He threw the bag over his shoulder as Sherlock opened the door, and they rushed out of the flat, down the stairs and towards the door. 

"Oh, see you later, boys!" Shouted Mrs Hudson from the stairwell as they rushed past her. 

"See you later, Mrs Hudson." They both said in unison.

John still had no idea what was going on.

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AN - Please leave a comment if you want to read more! I'd love to know your thoughts!