Prompting Part XXXI
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After he’s done, he washes his hands and looks into the mirror. Staring back at him is irrefutable evidence that John was talking about someone else. Conventional human notions of beauty are rather beyond Sherlock for the most part, but he knows that he doesn’t match up to them. He’s a little too tall, too thin by far, with larger hands and feet that don’t fit his frame. His cheekbones, as even John has pointed out before, are too prominent, and his eyes are a colour that is best described as odd. His skin is too pale and his hair too curly and he’s been made more than aware, over the years, that he fits no one’s standard of beauty, with the possible of exception of Molly who has always been a little on the weird side, anyway.
Something clatters, out in the flat, and he looks around sharply. Footsteps on the lighter side, with the faintest hint of a scuffle, pausing near the coat rack before continuing on. It’s John and his limp is back. Annoyed, Sherlock moves out of the bathroom and into the kitchen. John is standing at the counter, pouring water into the kettle. His movements are overly stiff, like he’s working hard to keep himself under control. His hand is trembling faintly and he stands like his leg is actually paining him, shifting his weight onto his other side. Even though he must have heard Sherlock come in, he doesn’t turn around or offer any kind of greeting.
“Have a good night?” Sherlock says. The sneer in his voice comes out much more coldly than he’d intended, but it’s too late to take it back. John swings around to face him.
“Look, it’s bad enough that you did what you did,” John snaps. “But to stand there and - ” He cuts himself off sharply and shakes his head, just once. He presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly, looking very old and very tired. “Sherlock, I’m not in the mood to see you today. I only came back to the flat to get a change of clothing. I’m going to be staying with Harry for a while until I get this under control. I don’t want to ruin what we have and right now I feel like I’m going to.”
Sherlock doesn’t understand and he doesn’t like that. Why would John be going to stay with his sister? Unless he hasn’t confessed his feelings yet. Or possibly the name of his new lover is Harry. Or maybe he’s been rejected? There’s not enough data for him to be able to draw a viable conclusion. He thinks about just leaving it but instead he hears his traitorous transport speaking without his permission, saying, “Did your new lover reject you then?”
John stares at him like he’s crazy. “You were there, you pillock. You know what you said!”
“What does it matter what I said?” Sherlock counters.
“Because you - okay. Okay, hang on.” John turns fully aware from the stove and looks at him carefully. “I think we’re having two different conversations, Sherlock. What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and the man you’re in love with!” says Sherlock, exasperated. Normally John can keep up with him without too much trouble. Sometimes he needs to be guided a little, but he’s never been this obtuse. “You didn’t come back to the flat last night so I deduced that you would’ve gone to see him, considering how you sounded yesterday when you spoke about him. But now you’ve come in and said you’re going to stay with Harry so I can only assume you’re either going to your sister’s because he rejected you or the name of your new lover is Harry, which seems unlikely.” He narrows his eyes and stands stiffly.
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Only Sherlock doesn’t want to hear anymore, not now. He doesn’t even know why he bothered to begin this conversation, why he didn’t just let John leave. He turns sharply and leaves the room, ignoring John’s sharp call of his name. He walks into his bedroom and shuts the door behind him, but before he can turn the lock John is there and pushing it open with his body, preventing Sherlock from slamming it shut. So Sherlock stalks over to his bed and flops down, deciding that he will ignore John until John gets frustrated enough to leave. He pointedly rolls over and draws his knees up towards his chest.
There’s a soft sigh from somewhere behind him. “Sherlock. You... you do know that I was talking about you yesterday.”
And all of his plans to ignore John go out the window. “Ridiculous.”
“Why?”
“Because, John, I would think that even you would have the basic understanding necessary to know that the person you were describing yesterday is most assuredly not me.”
“Really.” John sounds a tiny bit amused now. “What part are you talking about that doesn’t fit you, then? Intelligent, clever, funny, knows me better than anyone, beautiful, a sarcastic sod when you - ”
“That!” Sherlock says, and in spite of how he knows he shoulder just let it go he can’t.
“You don’t think you’re a sarcastic sod?”
John sounds baffled and Sherlock huffs, having passed his tolerance for this kind of stupidity. He rolls over and sits up. “Beautiful,” he says coldly.
“You don’t think you’re beautiful,” John says slowly, like this is very difficult for him to process.
“I know I’m not attractive according to conventional standards, John. It has been pointed out to me several times during the course of my life,” Sherlock tells him. He really doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. His heart is beating very quickly and it’s making him feeling dizzy and a little bit like he wants to throw up again. He turns away again, curling up into the smallest ball possible, wrapping shaking hands around his knees. “I’m not sure what game you are trying to play and frankly I don’t care. Just go away, John. Please.”
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You make it sweet and then it hurts and then it's sweet again and then there's pain again and gosh IT IS SO GOOD.
Oh Sherlock!
I knew it wouldn't be wrong to stalk this :)
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i mean - you might be magic or something :)
how can you just take a concept this... uninteresting to me(and to be truthful almost ridiculously sounding at first) and make me read it from the first paragraph on almost without stopping for breath, make me choke up at parts and feel like a teen again and you are not even trying that hard are you?
i am sorry i am a bit incoherent - it tends to do this to me, your writing ...
my favorite part for sounding just so painfully believable (and i don't care if its IC or not one tiny bit, in fact IC and OOC doesn't even come into it for me a this point)
“I’m not sure what game you are trying to play and frankly I don’t care. Just go away, John. Please.”
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