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The night Sherlock returns to John, is the same night Sherlock returns to 221B, alone.
Sherlock hadn't realized that things would be so different. It was a perfectly logical prediction that he'd waltz right back into crime-fighting and John would make a beeline to follow him. Nevertheless, he sat in his chair, in the faint glow of his lamp, feeling melancholic, just like he used to.
"But so much has changed, hasn't it?", Sherlock observed, his thoughts now continuing themselves aloud, "John definitely has. He seemed to give not a care in the world about our- MY case... The volcanic temper, that's not new. A short fuse fit for a short man... I suppose I have hurt him though."
Utilizing his mind palace, Sherlock replays the moment he first saw John again. Grisly mustache, nervous ticks, an uncharacteristic mundanity with him. And yet, though unfamiliar he appeared, Sherlock recognized him immediately as his dear friend. The person who stayed with him when all others had turned away. The soldier who protected him without a moment's hesitation. The doctor who repaired his, well, "behavioral slip-ups". The man who gave out a kindness unlike any he'd had ever seen. Such a strong heart, yet so vulnerable and afraid-
His stream of consciousness came to an abrupt halt when he noticed his quickened heart beat. His cheeks were significantly warmer than they were minutes ago.
It took but two seconds. Two seconds for it all to come crashing into him.
"No... no... he's my friend. A good friend. It's always the two of us, nothing has changed!"
His heart drummed louder.
"No. Nonono.... I-I couldn't have... Not me!", Sherlock scoffed airily, "I haven't!... have I?..."
Intrusive images of John's smile seeped through into his brain and his heart thundered even louder and even harder.
"... please, it cant be...", the frightened man pleaded, to everything and nothing at all at the same time.
Confused, he delved deep into his mind palace to show himself the proof he needed that this wasn't what he feared it was. He flipped through their first day as flatmates, all their cases, their fights. Jennifer Wilson, Soo Lin Yow, Carl Powers, Irene Adler, Henry Knight. But those memories were... contaminated... they were different. John was different. All at once he seemed so loyal and caring, and sensitive and brave. Sherlock lost control of his mental slideshow and was now trapped inside his head with the very thing he'd been railing against his entire life...
"No... please! I couldn't have... I-"
Before his very eyes, his life in this flat flew. John's first laugh with him, his relentless compliments, his unwavering loyalty. His eerie smile when he's angry, his witty sarcasm, his sensitive manner. John has saved his life countless times and for once in his life, Sherlock hadn't the good sense to comprehend it.
But, this sensation, wasn't actually unfamiliar at all. It seemed as though his body recognized these palpitations of the heart. As if his body caught on quicker than Sherlock did that...
In shattering horror, with no defenses left to lay, he uttered brokenly into the silence.
"I've fallen in love with him"
And not only that, but he appeared to have loved him long before now. This wasn't right, he isn't one to harbor feelings for someone, especially not romantically. He must stay above it all. He should know better. Love is only a catalyst the heart uses to destroy itself, like a candle that only exists to burn. Love was weakness.
Why, then, did he feel so light? His every muscle was relaxed, as though a gigantic stone had been sitting on his shoulders, and only now removed. Why was he smiling? He really shouldn't be. Sherlock fell for the simplest trick in the book. He had allowed himself to fall victim to everything he had despised. But he was in a world in which John existed. What wasn't there to be elated about?
Now that the inevitability sunk in, he became carried away by thoughts of him and John in a relationship, growing old together, loving each other, the way other human beings did. If Sherlock had made himself so vulnerable, who's to stop John from also exposing his emotions for him in return? If love was weak, they could be weak together (Is THAT what love felt like?). They could both exist together, feeding their silly indulgences in each other, sharing the universe in a wholly different light than before!
"I must tell him... I... I must tell him!", Sherlock chanted excitedly.
Springing up out of the chair, his hand came into contact with the doorknob and he froze.
John is engaged.
John and Mary are getting married.
A single tear sat in his eye, despite Sherlock's need for a little dignity. He sat back down in his chair, glaring at the missed chance he spent running around London and yelling and solving crimes and being so, oh so blind! Another tear fell, this time he didn't bother to stop it.
"I'm too late."