Written in Flesh and Blood - Johnlock

6 - Just Leave

~ Sherlock Holmes ~

John had decided to bring Mary home after they had gone out for dinner, why he had thought that was a good idea was completely beyond Sherlock. Sherlock had been a complete ass to everyone for the past 6 days, was he really going to risk it with Mary? John knew all to well Sherlock's ability to turn away girls, even when they were not after Sherlock himself. Still, Sherlock liked Mary, mainly because he knew John liked Mary, so for that reason he was going to be on his best behavior while the movie played. And because if he scared Mary away he would never hear the end of it. 

Sherlock sat at the small cluttered desk in the living room, facing away from the cheesy romantic comedy playing on the Telly and trying his best to avoid looking at John and Mary snuggled together on the couch. John's arm was loosely draped around Mary's shoulders, and it was very, very, very distracting. It was distracting him from his work, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach becoming harder and harder to ignore. He heard John chuckle along with the movie, his voice joined by the light sound of Mary's laugh. Ugh. 

Sherlock turned his attention back to the laptop infront of him. It was John's, not that he knew, or maybe he just didn't care? No he didn't know, he was far too ingrossed in whatever Mary was currently whispering in his ear. The screen displayed a list of poisonous beatles, found only in South America, a mans alibi depended on his findings, but right now Sherlock honestly couldn't care less. 

The credits of the movie began to roll and Sherlock shut the laptop with a sigh, angling his body slightly to face the happy couple. Now he was going to be forced into making small talk. He hated small talk. Maybe he could offer to make tea as an excuse to leave the room? Then John would definitely know that something was up, Sherlock never made tea, ever. 

John turned the volume down on the tv, allowing the music that accompanied the credits to play softly, almost a background for their conversation. Sherlock tried to focus his attention to the music and not what was being said. They spoke in whispered tones, in a sleep like manner, moreso than that of someone trying not to be heard. He could hear every word, he really, really wished he couldn't. 

Their flirting was absolutely unbearable, and after a few minutes Sherlock had finally had enough. He needed to say something, to cut the tension he was feeling and direct their attention away from each other. But what could he say that wouldn't result in a glare from John? A joke perhaps? He wasn't particularly good with jokes, inside jokes yes, but joke-jokes? Wait! An inside joke that was it! A way to make John smile and simultaneously being his attention away from Mary, and Mary wouldn't get it, she would be feeling as lost as Sherlock was right now. But what one to use? They had so many inside jokes in the few months they had been friends it was hard to pick one, it would certainly have to be one that fit the situation. Flirting? Did they have any jokes about flirting? Ah yes! Irene Adler, even after death she was of assistance. 

He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of both John and Mary. 

"William Sherlock Scott Holmes, that's the lot of it, if you're looking for baby names." He said with a wink. 

Mary looked confused. But John, John just went very quiet. He looked down at his lap, then up at Sherlock, before his eyes finally rested on Mary. He looked shocked, what on earth would he be shocked about? That Sherlock wasn't his first name? No that couldn't be it. 

John stood from the couch, his body angled towards Sherlock, "Uh - Mary, I'll see you tomorrow."

He looked down at the carpeted floor, then at the couch where he had just been sitting. For some reason he couldn't look Mary in the eye, why couldn't he look at Mary? And why was he asking her to leave? Nothing made sense.

"John is everything alright? You were fine a second ago." Mary asked expressing what Sherlock was feeling internally. 

"Just, just leave, please, I'll call you later." 

John sounded sad, desperate. He didn't WANT Mary to leave, me NEEDED her to. But why? What was so bad about what Sherlock had said that he had to kick his girlfriend out? Maybe it wasn't what he had said, maybe it was something he had realized at the same time, just a coincidence. 'And what do we say about coincidences?' Mycroft's voice leaked though into his thoughts, it was terrible, his brother couldn't even leave him alone in his own head. 'The universe is rarely so lazy' he heard himself reply. 

"Okay, are you at least going to walk me out." Mary asked, shrugging her coat on. 

She seemed agitated now. She thought she deserved an explanation for Johns sudden shift in attitude. Sherlock supposed she did. In fact he would like one too. 

"No, i'll - um - i'll text you, or whatever." John replied bluntly. 

He wasn't going to text her, it didn't take a consulting detective to figure that one out. 

"Goodnight John." She snapped, making her way to the door in a huff. 

"Night."

Mary was angry now, John didn't seem to care, barely even seemed to noticed. He was completely oblivious to what Mary was feeling. Which was usually Sherlock's job. 

A silence washed over the flat, neither men speaking, just looking. John at the ground by Sherlock's feet, and Sherlock at John. Sherlock stood up from his chair, taking a step towards John. He didn't say anything just waited, John would explain if he wanted to. 

After a minute of silence it was beining to get awkward, even for them. Maybe John was waiting for an apology, maybe Sherlock had done something wrong without realizing. He should say something. He should apologize. John clearly wasn't going to be the first to speak. 

They both spoke at once. 

"Look, John, I'm sor-"

"WILLIAM?!" John yelled, cutting out Sherlock's apology, "Your first name is WILLIAM?!"

So he was mad about the fact sherlock had lied about his first name, but why would that be such a big deal? 

"Yes, I don't understand why that matters so much or why you sent Mary..." Sherlock began to voice his confusion, a feeling he experienced very rarely and voiced even less, but he stopped when he saw what John was doing, 

John was unfastening the buckles of his watch. He removed it from his wrist, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. 

"William! your name is FUCKING WILLIAM!" He was shouting, a single tear slid down his face, followed by another, and then another. 

John's hand grabbed the end of his sleeve, yanking it forcefully up his arm. 

There it was, a stretch of curly white letters barely visible under a collection of old, twisted scars.

William.