What Did I Do Wrong?

Chapter 5: Important

oOOOo

Sherlock headed up the stairs of the Baker Street flat slowly. He hated to admit it, but he was afraid to face John.

John, who was waiting for him in the kitchen, the kettle on. He turned to look at him, eyes scanning him intently, obviously trying to reassure himself that Sherlock was in fact alright. Sherlock turned and looked into the sitting room. It looked incomplete without his violin, skull, papers. It wasn't right.

"What did I do wrong, Sherlock?" he demanded suddenly, without any buildup. "I still don't understand. Seriously, what did I do?"

Sherlock hesitated, gazing over at John, emotions roiling. Mycroft was right; it was time to face his demons.

"You got shot," he stated abruptly, whirling around to face John directly, coat swishing around him. When John looked thrown off, he continued. "You fell into the Thames, almost froze, and drowned. You died, do you even realize that? When they pulled you out of the water, your heart had stopped. And it did again, twice, in that ambulance.

"You jumped in front of the bullet for me, didn't you?" he demanded, looking at John almost accusingly. When the doctor nodded slowly, Sherlock scowled. "I thought so. One moment you were definitely behind me, and then next, you were definitely in front, getting shot. You idiot."

He paused, surprised he was capable of being so emotional, inhaling and exhaling shakily. "And I had to watch, John. I watched you fall into the Thames, watched them revive you ... And I watched you die in front of me. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

John just stared at him, lips parted slightly as if he was about to reply, so Sherlock forced himself to plow on before he could be interrupted.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he murmured plaintively. "You just made me realize."

He blinked, swallowing hard. Difficult, these emotions. John frowned, finally looking a bit less angry.

"Realize what?" he asked softly.

"That you ... you're ... important," Sherlock stammered. "And someone important like you shouldn't ... can't ... die. Especially not because of me."

"What you talking about?" John said, a bit more fiercely than his expression seemed to warrant.

"I'm dangerous, John," Sherlock implored. "I'm going to get myself murdered someday by some mad criminal, or get blown up or something, and I just ... I can't let you-"

He stopped, suddenly having no idea what to say or how to say it. He fidgeted, shifted uncomfortably, wanting John to understand but at the same time having no clue how to express himself.

"Sherlock," John said quietly, cerulean eyes locked on his steely verdant ones. "For a genius, you are oftentimes a total idiot."

Sherlock blinked, caught off guard by the blunt statement. "I ... What?"

"I think we sealed the deal a long time ago, you and I. When I shot that cabbie, when you invited me to dinner afterwards. I'm not going anywhere," John finished with a gentle smile.

Sherlock looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"God, you're such an idiot," John sighed. He stepped closer, gripping Sherlock's arms. "If something happened to you, something I could have prevented, like what almost happened on the bridge, I would never be able to forgive myself."

Sherlock seemed to deflate. He looked down, sadness in his eyes. "I don't want you to die, that's all."

"So don't you think I feel the same way?" John asked. "You can't push me away just because you're worried about me, because I worry about you too. You've got to let me be there for you, for both our sakes. You've got to trust me enough to do that."

He looked at Sherlock sternly, waiting for him to again meet his gaze. "Do you trust me?"

Sherlock nodded. "With my life."

"Then will you let me back into it?" he asked, squeezing Sherlock's arms gently, barely daring to hope.

A moment passed, in which Sherlock just looked at John with that sharp gaze of his. Then he nodded. John exhaled in relief and nodded back, stepping away. The kettle was screaming, and he turned to seize it. Sherlock watched him making the tea for a minute, then turned toward the door.

"Hey, wait," John called. "Where are you going-?"

Sherlock paused, his hand on the doorframe. He half-smiled. "Well, I can't just leave the skull at Mycroft's, can I? I'll be back soon."

John grinned. "Okay."

oOOOo

About five minutes later, John's phone vibrated.

Dinner at Angelo's? Meet you there in half an hour? SH

So much for the tea. John grinned. That was all John had really wanted to hear since the day he'd been abandoned in that hospital room. It felt like he was being welcomed back home again.

Sure, see you soon. JW

And in a cab somewhere, after reading this text, Sherlock leaned back against the seat in the cab in relief. John's not mad. Thank God.

And I can go home.

oOOOo

Well, that's basically the end of this story. Sorry for the delay in posting; I have been insanely busy. Hope you enjoyed.

Also, please keep the state of Oklahoma in your thoughts, and prayers if you believe in that. A devastating tornado has destroyed a substantial area, and the death toll, last I heard, is about 24 and probably climbing. A couple primary schools were hit, people are still missing, and it's overall a terrible mess. Just keep those hurting people in your thoughts today; it would mean everything to me.

Sorry for the long author's note.