Love:The Power of Life and Death- Johnlock

The Confession

John returned Sherlock’s gaze, a look of astonishment upon his tear stained face. He stood up and stumbled backwards; slowly stepping away from the ledge until he was at least 6 feet away from the detective.

“Y-You are…how can…Sherlock?” The doctor was lost for words, rage boiled inside him. “Was this some sort of sick joke to you?! To see how far it would take me to break?! Do you even know what you did to me you selfish son of a bitch?” The detective stood there, speechless as he looked down to the ground, holding back tears. “I was going to die Sherlock! You’re a smart man, in fact, you’re a genius! Surely you must know that I can’t live without you!” After his outburst, John realised what he had said: he couldn’t live without Sherlock. John felt his blood rush to his cheeks, his face burning; John silently wished that Sherlock wouldn’t notice his blushing face, even though he knew that he obviously would. Sherlock looked back at him, his mouth opened as if he was going to speak but he abruptly closed it. The two men stood in silence, their eyes locked on each others for what seemed like an eternity, until John started to deduce the detective, after all, he did learn from the best. He started with Sherlock’s shoes, perfectly polished and by the shine which reflected his face -that was in deep concentration- like a mirror, they were recently polished. ‘He could have been going out and wanted to make a good impression,’ John thought. Next, his clothing. Dark shades, most likely used to make his figure appear slimmer. His smart trousers fit him perfectly and they seem to be made from a high quality material, Italian wool maybe? Then his shirt, oh his shirt; John had to take notice of his balance because the man in front of him slowly flooded his nervous system with anaesthesia. His legs threatened to give in to the doctor’s weight and he could feel his face burning to a deeper shade of crimson. The shirt that Sherlock was wearing was the one that John had always admired; it was a deep shade of plum and the tight fabric stretched across his torso, revealing his muscular figure and his pale skin between the buttons that were close to popping open. This man was obviously dressed to impress. Over his clothes was his famous overcoat, it was undone and the thick fabric circling his thighs was blowing in the soft breeze. The detective’s hands tugged onto the edges of his coat; they were slightly trembling; it was either due to nervousness or anticipation. The collar of his coat was turned up and his well-known scarf was wrapped around it, hugging Sherlock’s neck. He was clearly cold, but then again, who wasn’t cold in London? It was autumn after all...

The doctor moved up to Sherlock’s beautiful face. It was perfectly sculpted and subtle shadows rested beneath the man’s cheekbones. Big seductive eyes of crystal blue ice were no longer pink, but still watery, showing that he had cried recently. His lips that were shaped into a perfect cupid bow revealed an amused smirk. Shit, he knew what John was doing. John had deduced the great Sherlock Holmes though; he tried to hide his grin of satisfaction; not just from the deduction, but from the fact that John realised why Sherlock was so well dressed and why he was acting so differently.

“John,” The detective began in an unstable voice, “If you’re going to hit me, can you at least give me a warning so I can brace myse-”

Sherlock was cut off with John running up to him and taking him into his embrace, causing Sherlock to fall back in the process. It was painful as they hit the cold floor, but the two men didn’t care. The pain was numb to them. The army doctor wrapped his arms tighter round Sherlock’s neck. “I’ve missed you…I've missed you so much, Sherlock” He whispered. The detective returned the affection that John was giving by holding him tight, as if John was a bag of diamonds that Sherlock admired oh so dearly. They lay on the floor, tangled together due to Sherlock being caught off guard, until Sherlock rested his weight on his left arm and held John with the other. “John…I…” The detective paused and decided to show his sentiments through actions instead of his words. He leaned closer to John, their faces inches apart. John could feel the warm, sweet breath of the detective on his face, it sent shivers through his body, it was as if he was struck with a bolt of lightening. John rested his forehead onto Sherlock’s; his heart was now racing and his thoughts quickly became cloudy. There was a connection between them that wasn’t there before; it was as if they could make love just by gazing intently into each other’s eyes. It was magical. Sherlock gently placed his lips against the doctors; there was no lust, just passion. John parted his mouth, providing access for the detective who willingly took it to his advantage and deepened the kiss. They eventually parted, breathless and panting; their eyes still locked onto each others. “I love you too, Sherlock Holmes.” whispered John.