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Sherlock didn't know anything about love, but with John crouched between his thighs, a sheen of sweat across his brow, sad eyes fixed, and hands delicately preparing him for a seven percent solution, he felt a surge of something, some thing, like love overtake him. The doctor wasn't happy about his task, but he understood what Sherlock needed... and if love isn't giving up everything you stand for just to make the other person's world seven percent brighter, then what was it?
John had been disturbed by Sherlock’s request, I’ll do it wrong, John. I need you. Please., and though he was disturbed, John agreed. He would do anything for him. Even this.
The case was over. Two people dead, one murderer caught. Sherlock was only moments late to the scene, their blood was still flowing when he found them, and he blamed himself for it. If he’d just been quicker, or if he was smarter... but he wasn’t. He was Sherlock; and being Sherlock hadn’t been good enough.
His arm was exposed, the strap was tightened, his veins were pressing against the skin, aching to be caught by a needle. John was still on the floor between Sherlock’s knees. He stroked his forearm from elbow to wrist and looked him deeply in the eye.
You don’t have to do this. Please don’t do this.
John loved Sherlock. John thought he was brilliant, fantastic, better than good, to John, he was the best. John thought he didn’t need to retreat into his mind palace and lock himself inside with drugs, but he would give him that seven percent safer, seven percent hazier world. John would do it, because John loved Sherlock.
Sherlock, however, could never love John. He needed John, he appreciated him, he wanted to keep him near and happy, but that wasn’t love. Sherlock didn’t know anything about love. All he could do was watch from behind the glass encasement of his mind as John showered him in love. He didn’t want to be seven percent farther away from John, but he could never be seven percent closer.
Sherlock closed his other hand around the back of John’s neck. John closed his eyes and sighed.
“You don’t have to stay,” Sherlock whispered, his fingers dazedly trailing the back of the other man’s neck.
John swallowed, his eyes still shut. “I know.”