FAULT LINES Part 4

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Victor Trevor, John Watson/Sebastian Moran, John     Watson/Greg Lestrade,
             John Watson/Mycroft Holmes, John Watson/Others
Warning: M/M Slash

Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson belong to each other.
Thanks to NOFAVRELL for the Beta. See her art =)
http://nofavrell.deviantart.com/art/I-m-back-John-322461855?q=gallery:nofavrell/32180411&qo=31


Link to CHapter 3: http://akistrife.blogspot.com/2013/01/fault-lines-part-3.html

You can also read the whole fic in ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN:   
"http://archiveofourown.org/works/616139/chapters/1111274"

Summary: ‘I don’t have to be guilty about anything.’ John reminded himself as he shut his jaws tight and looked Sherlock in the eyes squarely.

Chapter 4

His

Then I see you standing there

Wanting more from me

And all I can do is try

Then I see you standing there

I'm all I'll ever be

But all I can do is try

--Try

*~*~*

‘I don’t have to be guilty about anything.’ John reminded himself as he shut his jaws tight and looked Sherlock in the eyes squarely. He doubts that he looked even remotely remarkable what with his head still throbbing and laced with alcohol. He really had been looking forward to that warm mattress back at Harry’s house and not a chance encounter with Sherlock Holmes when he was still feeling miserable and hurt. He didn’t want to meet the consulting detective like this, with his shirt still rumpled and damp with sweat from the quick dirty encounter in the loo, his member still sensitized from the activity and his face still flushed and warm from the exulting feeling of release. He felt naked and unprepared. Whereas he’d always felt Sherlock’s scrutinizing eyes as if they were peeling his clothes off one by one and surfing through his deepest, dirtiest secrets, John had always thought they were welcome as they can be. Sherlock could be invading but John had always been comfortable with it, brushing the feelings aside, because they were part of Sherlock’s brilliance. This time was different, he felt embarrassed and small and he didn’t want Sherlock to figure anything out—especially the dirty act he’d participated in voluntarily. ‘So much for wishes.’ Sherlock had perhaps already figured out every minute detail of John’s activity with the waiter. The only consolation, he thought grimly, was that Sherlock didn’t know who it was John had spent his time with. Besides, why would he care?

Sherlock’s silver eyes were not leaving John’s, the consulting detective pursed his lips in distaste and sniffed in irritation. It was only for a brief second and John wasn’t really sure he’d seen it but Sherlock’s eyes twitched at the corners the way they always did when he was in pain. It was gone just as fast as it had come when Sherlock flicked his eyes upon the whole length of John’s body before flicking sideways at the doctor’s sister.

Harry. John almost forgot that Harry was with him. He chanced a look at his sister and saw her glaring defiantly at Sherlock, her arms crossed over her chest. She was mercifully keeping herself quiet and John just hoped that her first introduction with Sherlock could come to pass without setting off bombs.

Sherlock huffed and John slid his attention back at his ex-flat mate. “Don’t delude yourself, John. Of course I care.” He said without preamble, as if to answer John’s private thoughts. Bloody Holmes reading people’s minds, John thought.

 “A quick encounter in the loo most definitely. With the waiter called Raz.” The consulting detective continued abruptly, his face now wearing a look of disgust. “You’re drunk but not intoxicated enough. You’re walking properly except for the swaying gait and your legs aren’t even remotely tired. So a blow. Your trousers had been brought down as the folds suggested but you didn’t get on your knees. You’re also fairly coherent so an amateur did it, someone probably young. Raz has the reputation for being overly eager.” Sherlock spat the name with revulsion.

A loud piercing laugh suddenly broke out from Harry. She was clutching at her stomach and was bent by her waist as she shook out with humor. “By God’s John! Is he always this funny? Is it his hobby deducing people’s sexual encounters?”

‘You haven’t even heard what he says to Sally and Anderson’ was what John’s mind supplied.

John rubbed a palm against his face and groaned, somehow getting hold of himself altogether again. Trust Harry to break the ice for him. “This is not really the place for those deductions, Sherlock.”

“And this is not the place for you to be loitering around and flirting about!” Sherlock rumbled. “Of all the people he’d pick up, it had to be you. I told him not to touch things of mine; I’ll have to properly see him tomorrow.” He said more to himself than to John’s benefit.

“Wait. Sherlock, you knew him?”

“He’s one of my networks, John and he needs to properly learn his place. Now, let’s get you home.” Sherlock grabbed at John’s arm, his gloved hand slipping down to John’s wrist where it clamped securely and pulled.

John had taken a step closer before he stomped his foot back and pulled his wrist from Sherlock’s grip. The consulting detective just dug his fingers tighter and deeper, not releasing. John growled. “Sherlock, I’m not coming back with you. And I’m not yours anymore and if Raz clearly knew you and not me then it’s clear I was never yours so just let go. Maybe it was someone else you introduced to him. And leave the poor man alone!” God knows the power the Holmes could hold.

Sherlock snarled at the mention of the waiter coming out from John. He rounded swiftly at the ex-army doctor, his face close enough for a snog. John felt the detective’s sharp breath on his face. “I told you there was no need to leave, John! You need to get back in 221B instead of whoring out yourself like this to get back at me even if it somehow clearly works.” Sherlock punctuated his words as he sneakily slipped a gloved hand into John’s pocket and snatched the little piece of paper that contained Raz’s number. The consulting detective crumpled it before tossing it somewhere on his back.

“Oh God.” John groaned, his fists shaking with newly found rage.

“I still care for you. I told you.” Sherlock continued, a little softer. I love you. It was there in the way Sherlock talked. Sherlock would probably have said it if Harry wasn’t in their presence. John’s still very good at reading and understanding the consulting detective but right now, all the ‘I love you’s that Sherlock would say was just like a knife slicing at John’s heart. It didn’t do any good for him in the long run and probably won’t continue to be so in the future.

“God, Sherlock,” John whispered, his voice dangerously low. “Just leave before I punch you…”

“Or me.” Harry spat, walking directly behind John’s back.

“John—“

“No, Sherlock. God, is it always about you? You think I’m whoring myself out to get to you?” John hissed, his voice croaking and the sleeping snake on his chest slowly stirring and gripping at his insides. He was not going to cry over this, he told himself as he felt the familiar tightness of ache. He inhaled sharply, the cold air burning his lungs. “It was for me, Sherlock! I simply and plainly needed it! And I’m going to do it or be done by it over and over as long as I need it.”

“Come home, John...” Sherlock hesitated as he looked over at John who was now shaking in anger and pain.

John pulled at his wrist brusquely until the consulting detective released it. He felt a little at loss and confused at suddenly missing the contact from the curly haired detective. God, how he still bloody loves Sherlock.  “You’ve chosen, Sherlock.”

“I did.”

John felt yet again how words could slap you in the face like a bitch. He winced and looked patiently at the detective. He’s learned enough how he shouldn’t get his hopes up and presume anything.

“You’re still my friend, John.” Sherlock simply stated.

It hit John like a wrecking train: the realization of what this was all about. It dawned on him like a searing burn would feel against an open wound. Sherlock, the bastard, couldn’t let go of him or didn’t want to. He had the gall to try to keep both him and the other guy who still hasn’t arrived. John felt dizzy and green. He felt the bile rose up to his throat and he wanted to double over and vomit. Did Sherlock think he could still live in their flat like old buddies and stomach seeing him with the other guy flirting about? It fucking hurt to feel belittled. And definitely belittled was what John had been. Did Sherlock not understand or he just fucking didn’t care?

John really wanted to get a good cry now, one that would leave his throat with hoarseness from weeping, but was saved from it as Harry swept like a blur past him and decked Sherlock in the face. Sherlock tumbled backwards, surprised, holding at his cheekbones that was now bruising and bleeding.

Harry still wore a trinket from Clara on her knuckle.

“Shit!” Harry cried as she waved her hand in an attempt to soothe it. “The man’s got a sharp bone!”

John remained deadpanned as he stared not blinking between Harry and Sherlock. He was almost overcome with the need to walk over to Sherlock and check up on his wound instead of going over his sister who’d solidly stood by him. John chastised himself and bit at his cheek. There were some things he just couldn’t help. John stepped a little closer to Sherlock who was staring at him, fished a hanky from his pocket and threw it at the bleeding detective. Sherlock caught it with his hand.

“Just go home, Sherlock.” John said quietly. “I’m really not feeling well and I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Possibly ever!” Harry quipped.

John’s lips twitched in bland humor at his sister. He looked at Sherlock and saw the man looking back at him, still desperate and maybe a little at loss for clue. “ I…” John started, “I kind of get it, Sherlock, for one crazy reason, I do; but I hope you bloody understand just for this once. I’m not going back to 221B.”

“John—“

“And I’ll think about it; If I could still be your friend.” John said softly, his heart clenching and protesting wholeheartedly even when his voice was steady. That was what Sherlock needed and John, the fucked up that he was, has already been considering it whether or not it makes him more of a masochist. He heard Harry groan in frustration at his words.

John avoided the detective’s eyes this time and turned to leave. “Say hi to Mrs. Hudson for me.” Then hesitatingly added, “Goodbye Sherlock.”

LINK to CHapter 5; 

http://akistrife.blogspot.com/2013/01/fault-lines_5.html