(Untitled)

[shutupimagenius]

Closed to dearjohnwatson .
R-18+ (sexytimes)
Continuation of Sherlock gets drugged, goes through withdrawal and tries to make sense of things that are way beyond his depth (ie, emotion)

Comments

[dearjohnwatson]

Leave it up to a logical sociopath to come up with the words to say it first, but John was only marginally okay with it. Convenience was definitely a factor, but the experiment thing was not what he wanted to hear. But it was clear by the way John's shoulders sagged at the admission that that's exactly what he was fearing. A smile creeped up onto his lips as he found some clean plates and forks, in case either one of them didn't feel like struggling -- ok, so John was still the only one that struggled with the chopsticks.

He moved across the kitchen and was about to step out of it and into the sitting room, but that would mean he'd have to step too close to Sherlock. Instead, he handed the detective the plates and set the forks on top. "We'll eat in there." Trying his best to sound normal was rather hard work.

[shutupimagenius]

Sherlock waited for a response, only somewhat okay with the way John reacted. Sure, he was glad to see him smile, but he was hoping for something to ease his own mind. John seemed relieved, like he really had been afraid that Sherlock would outright jump him whenever he got the chance. His stomach flipped at the feeling it instilled, the fact that he'd made John afraid to be in the same room with him for more than a few moments making him feel utterly depraved. When had he become governed by his baser desires like an average person to the point where it drove away his only friend

[dearjohnwatson]

John's continued failures seemed to only make John's roller coaster of emotions run the complete spectrum in one day. That wasn't healthy for any sort of human to take. Looking at the plates shoved back into his hands, John figured Sherlock wouldn't eat but he hadn't expected his complete disinterest in it.

Letting him storm off to his bedroom, John was only slightly glad to have the sitting room to watch telly for a bit before their-- his food arrives. Before he managed to find some god awful program to watch, the familiar smell of his cigarettes came creeping into the room. John wasn't going to have another one, he just had to stay away. As his thoughts wandered, he realized he'd stopped on a rerun of Never Mind the Buzzcocks.

Before John could think of another reason why not to go barging into his bedroom for the cigarettes, he heard the front door knock and realized the food was there. He was up like a shot and down the stairs to gather the delivery. He was starving by then, knowing a cigarette would ruin his appetite.

[shutupimagenius]

Sherlock gave it until his cigarette was gone and mashed out in an old ashtray on his dresser did he feel confident enough to leave his room. The nausea was gone moments after he had convinced himself that John knew he wasn't going to try to get near him again. On the contrary, he would be continuing his efforts to keep as far away as possible.

He heard John take off downstairs to get the delivery and took the chance to slink back into the sitting room and tuck himself into a corner of the couch. He spent the moments before John was back psyching himself up for acting normal and like he hadn't just made a fool of himself again. At least there was the tv to hold his interest and offer a welcome distraction from his inner distress and provide an excuse for him not to look up when John enters again.