Compromises - A Johnlock Fanfiction

Chapter 3 - Domestics

Chapter 3: Domestics

I came about to consciousness very slowly, being aware of sounds of movement in the room long before I came to the point where I could open my eyes. My mind was placidly blank as I looked up the pristine white ceiling from a pristine white bed. I looked to the side of the bed as a shadow fell over me. Sherlock had stopped and was watching me as I came back from the heavy sleep I had fallen into. My neck ached slightly  as I tried to sit up, Sherlock's hand shot out,

“Don't get up, I forgot that your sleeping pattern isn't like mine. Your body can't deal with such little sleep. I rang in sick to work for you, all you need to do is sleep.” I frowned groggily, that was very kind and considerate of him. It seemed like something he would delete from his mind palace; that I worked and that I had over slept...and my well being. I looked up at him again, I felt lots of confusion. Was I in Sherlock's room, sleeping in his bed?

“How did I get here?” I asked, pushing myself into a sitting position in the bed. I thought back to last night wondering what the hell I had done to get me here and then it all snapped back into place and I slumped in wonder. Sherlock's mother was dead, he had thrown a mug at the wall, he had cried and we had hugged for a long time. I looked back over at Sherlock, assessing him for drugs use. I checked his nose first, his arms – which were exposed from where he had rolled up his sleeves which made me suspicious – and then his clothes. He had washed and dressed which made me wonder what time it was. I looked over at the clock on his bedside table and saw it was 3 in the afternoon. I had had more than enough sleep.

“Has anyone been over? Have we had any calls? Have you eaten anything?” I eyed him suspiciously which made me feel bad but I had been out for a long time. Sherlock dragged a hand carelessly through his thick, dark curls thinking about it “Lestrade came over with a case but I turned it down. It was a 3 which is no priority of mine. Mrs Hudson came in and cleaned up a bit while I was on the laptop. A client called but it was another 4,” he retold, clearly annoyed by the way I was checking up on him “I haven't eaten a thing. I'm not hungry.” he finished stubbornly, sounding a bit more like himself. I nodded, happy with what he had told me. I watching him for a few minutes as he picked up things from the floor and put them on any clear space. There was still plenty of evidence for his...outburst; smashed jars with eyeballs falling out of them and the photo still laid untouched from the night before. “Listen, if you want to talk about it. I'm here for you,” I started, seeing if I could get Sherlock to open up to me.

“What is there to talk about?” he replied coldly, as if nothing had changed.

“I just thought that you would like someone to talk to, you seemed pretty upset last night and--” Sherlock didn't look very happy as he spun around and faced me.

“My mother is dead, the only person I have left is someone I despise. I don't need to talk about, that's a 2 in comparison to the big picture, John.” his eyes narrowed and darkened.

“I just thought it might help to talk about it.” He turned away, clearly done tidying up for now and chose to instead head for the door.

“Are we done?” he said rudely, he was almost purposefully being nasty to make me angry.

“You don't need to be so horrible all the time you know. I know you haven't quite grasped the normal human way but it's not just with me, you do it with Molly as well. That girl has been nothing but wonderful to you and you treat her badly.” Sherlock span back on his heels, his eyes wide with rage.

“How should I be then, John? Not myself? Should I just be what everyone else wants me to be? It is nicer to be hounest to people than to pretend to be something I am not. I never said I would be a nice person, you know what I'm like so why do you keep expecting me to change just because it's not considered 'right' to society,” He fumed for a few minutes “When will you see that I don't care what other people think?” I gasped at his outrageous reaction. It was a bit of the dramatic Sherlock I knew so well.

“I have never expected anything from you but I know that that was just the pain talking. Your mother's death has hurt you and I think that it would help to talk about it. You can't just keep everything locked up inside you, it'll only make it worse!” I retaliated. Rising to match his furious mood, the tension in the room was too much to not contend with. He ran his hand through his hair again, his agitation increasing.

“The pain talking? Is that a joke? I don't feel emotional pain John, I thought you understood that caring isn't an advantage.” he breathed in a calm manner that scared me in contrast to the rage he had just been channelling. He took a deep breath, challenging me to say something in the time he had given me by taking that long, drawn out breath and then walked out. I jumped out of Sherlock's bed, rushing after him out into the living room where he paused to throw on his coat and wrap his dark blue scarf around his neck.

“Where are you going?” I asked. He looked over at me, his eyes bright with new moisture that hadn't been shed last night. He just looked at me before opening the door and leaving. I watched him run down the stairs and throw open the door, leaving it open for Mrs Hudson to shut as she came in from putting the bins out. She was looking after Sherlock as well, the frown on her face displaying exactly what she thought, what she always thoughts when Sherlock walked out like that – 'lovers spat' was a good description of what she thought had happened. She came up the stairs, looking at my dishevelled clothes and gave me a pitiful look. 

“Have you two had another domestic?” she looked into my face and saw the distance upset look that I thought I was hiding well. Mrs Hudson patted my arm as if to comfort me “He'll come back feeling guilty, he always does,” she ensured me. “It's just something you have to go through as you get used to each other's differences. He's got more differences than any other person I've ever met but just focus on the good things he's done. He has changed so much since I first met him, since you first met him for that matter.” she went on to busy herself with picking up the basket of dirty washing on the armchair but I ignored her actions, focussing on her words. Even though she, and everyone else, thought we were a couple her words still rang true.

I went to my own room and got dressed and washed, wanted to actually do something with my day.

***

Sherlock hated walking out like that, even though he hated to admit it he felt terrible walking out on John. He had let John down so many times and hurt him in so many ways and marvelled at how John stuck with him even though Sherlock himself couldn't see why John stayed by his side when leaving Sherlock behind would save John a lot of pain. Sherlock pulled up the collar of his coat against the cold, harsh wind which bit down on his neck and chilled him to the bone. Sherlock looked up at the window but didn't see John looking out and watching him like he usually did, it was probably because Mrs Hudson had been going up as Sherlock walked out the door but Sherlock couldn't help but feel that he was pushing John away. It had been a particularly horrible fight about something so stupid and insignificant. He had hardly seen his mother in the past 5 years so why would he want to talk about it. The only reason he had shown such a loss of control was because he had felt guilty for abandoning his mother that he had adored just because she had been struck by a mental illness she couldn't have helped. Sherlock couldn't stand that his mother was losing the intelligence and impressive mind that shaped her personality. He knew that with in a short amount of time she would become unrecognisable to him and he hated this. Sherlock headed to Angelo's knowing it had been a total lie when he had told John he wasn't hungry and then he furthered his self hatred when he gave a speech about hounesty. Sherlock growled to himself and wished he could punch himself in the face as he let the guilt take him over and force him to turn around and go back.