Everybody Leaves

Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Into The Mind Of Watson

John stomped down the stairs and collapsed on the sofa in the family room.

What the hell is the matter with that brat? Such a dick. I mean, he waltzes in here, demands the fucking world, and I don't get one fucking once of respect? I should kick his boney arse out on the street, what the hell is he doing here anyway? I should-

"Johnny dear, do you mind giving me a hand with this?" His mother called from the kitchen.

Groaning, he lifts himself from the couch and trots into the next room, trying his best not to stomp.

His mother is in the kitchen, standing at the table with a knife in one hand and a onion in the other.

"Oh, John, you look all flustered," she fretted. "Come over here and dice this onion for me, hmm?" As if that would make it better.

"Yeah, sure Mum." He took the onion and knife from her and started chopping while she rounded the table and began to peel the potatoes.

"That little friend of your's, he's sure a contrary one, isn't he?"

"I guess you can say that." John mumbled.

"Oh, well. I'm not going to question. Your choice in friends. If you like him, then I'm sure he's a good kid."

Oh, no. Let's not jump to conclusions.

In the midst of his cutting, John looked up at the small tv sitting on the counter next to him.

".. Shocking news," the on-screen reporter continued, "A body found in the Thames last night was identified by that of Walta Balts. The women whose front yard had been a dumping ground for bodies just a mere three days ago.."

"Ah!"

A sharp pain radiated through John's finger and he drop the knife in his hands, just barely missing his toes. As if slicing his finger open wasn't bad enough, the onion juice began seeping into it, and John clutched his hand and stomped his foot as it burned.

His mother was suddenly at his side. "Oh! Johnny, you have to be more careful! Let me see that," she grabbed his hand and stared at the cut. "Oh my, how did you get it that deep? Poor baby, run your hand under the faucet to stop the bleeding, cold water, don't forget!"

John waves her off as he walked to the sink and turned the nob for cold water. "I know, I know.." He grinded his teeth together and his hand went blissfully numb before shutting off the tap, drying his finger off, wiping on anti-infectant, and putting a band-aid over it. It wasn't deep enough to need stitches.

He went back to cut but his mum stopped him.

"Oh, no, dear! You're hurt! Go and lie down, I'll take care of this and call you and your little friend down when it's ready, yeah?"

John chuckled a bit. "Mum, I'm fine, it's just a little cut, I don't need to lie down,"

"Did you see how much blood was pumping out of there? I'm surprised you haven't fainted, I nearly did, aren't you feeling light headed?"

John rolled his eyes. This is getting ridiculous.

His mother shook her head. "I know that look, young man, go right now and no 'buts' about it."

John raised an eye brow before turning around. Fine then. "I'm going, I'm going."

He traveled up to his bedroom to find Sherlock in the same position he was in when he left.

Surprisingly, he wasn't very angry anymore.

"Tea?" Sherlock asked, holding out a hand.

Ah. Thinks John. There it goes again.

"Get it yourself." He says, swatting Sherlocks feet aside to make room for himself on the bed.

"Well that's incredibly rude," Sherlock says, not liking at him. "I'm your guest, you're supposed to be offering me tea, something to eat, money..."

"Ah, no," John cuts off. "And your not even a guest!"

"Yes I am, you invited me and I am currently residing in your home."

"No, no no, I did not invite you, you invited yourself, Sherlock, and you are not currently residing in my home, you're here until.." John thought for a moment. "I don't even know why you're here! Again, you invited yourself! Not a guest."

When he looked down at Sherlock he was slightly surprised to see the teen staring back at him, as John suddenly felt self-conscious, like a specimen under a microscope.

"You don't like me." Sherlock finally said.

"Well, I-" John thought for a moment. "What?"

"You don't like me." He said slower.

"Well I wouldn't say that. I mean, yeah, you're arrogant and rude and you never bloody eat and you think you're so much better, and well, yeah.. No, I don't like you."

Sherlock took a second to respond. "You said I was smart." He stated.

"Yeah," John agrees. "You are. I don't have to like you to say so."

"Hm."

"But I do."

"Do what?"

"Like you."

Sherlock looked at him, plain confusion on his face. "But you just said-"

"Yeah, I like you but I don't like you."

John smiled at the completely lost look on Sherlocks face and watched as he tried to come up with an appropriate response.

"Just shut up and accept it."

Sherlock nodded, once.

"Alright."