spirit cold ➙ writings

stumbling through a symphony.

Stumbling Through a Symphony!

SUMMARY; Another — unsurprisingly — failed relationship leads to aggressively making tea and an unsettling lack of ridiculousness where ridiculousness should be present.

PROMPT; "She broke up with me because she thinks I have feelings for you."

PAIRING(S); Sherlock Holmes/John Watson.

TRIGGER WARNINGS; N/A.

NOTE(S); Title — and overall general theme of the story — derived from "Bees" by the Ballroom Thieves. / inexplicably, this is my favorite sherlock one shot i have written thus far. i hope some of you might enjoy it, as well.

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"How was your date?"

John tried to craftily hide his horror. He shrugged off his coat, hanging it next to Sherlock's Belstaff. More so to hide his expression than anything else — it was unusually cold in the flat. Possibly another one of Sherlock's experiments gone wrong. He reckoned he was better off not knowing.

An exasperated sigh informed him that his defection attempts had not gone unnoticed. Of course they hadn't; had he forgotten who he was dealing with? John took a deep breath, preparing to answer. Without turning around just yet. Baby steps. "Could've gone better, I suppose."

He didn't have to turn. He felt Sherlock arch his brows, curious as ever. "Oh? How so? Take her out on another exceedingly dull date, have you? I've warned you—"

"Yeah, I still don't take dating advice from you." Possibly he should. He couldn't do any worse. Theoretically. "No. No, it just . . . it wasn't my choice of restaurant, I don't think."

"Choice of clothes? I told you, that jumper is hideous. I've seen people from my homeless network dressed better."

"What? No! No, it—" John paused, glancing down at himself. His jumper, striped black and white, had been one of his favorites for awhile. He hadn't thought there was anything wrong with it. Exhaling sharply, John shook his head. "It wasn't my outfit, Sherlock. Christ."

"Mm. Wasn't it? Would've been if I was her."

That one struck a bit too close to home. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wish I was him. Her words continued to echo in John's thoughts, though it was devoid of much tone. He hadn't paid enough attention to her to memorize her voice. Maybe she had a point there. He could've done better, been better, but —

But.

Silence rarely lasted long when Sherlock was curious. He let out a low hum. That single sound was so knowing that John silently weighed the pros and cons of slamming his own head in the door. "Ah. Another one of those, was it?"

"Another one of what?"

"You know what."

They'd never discussed it before, but considering the conversations John's past girlfriends had with Sherlock, there was no need to. Glaringly obvious, really. Even Mrs. Hudson had caught on, pulling him aside only days before and inquiring if it was honestly worth it, pursuing this new girl. He'd taken a deep breath, shrugged her off, and muttered his infamous response about well, I'm not actually gay and ignored the look of pity she'd shot him.

Yes, dear. But that doesn't answer the question. Is it worth it?

Leaving instead of responding seemed like the logical action. So that was exactly what he'd done. Days later, it turned out she had been correct: It wasn't worth it. Never was, considering his new lifestyle, yet he tried and tried again. Bit masochistic, really.