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All I need is some comfort

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Like everything is after the event actually happened, the signals and signs should have been obvious. And John Watson wished with all his heart, or what was left of it, that he noticed earlier. 

 Being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes was never going to be easy, hell even being friends with him can be tricky, but John Watson dug himself a hole that is way too deep to climb out of now. 


The first time even something was a little bit off was when John was grabbing his coat and calling out to Sherlock that he was going to meet Greg down the pub, but Sherlock has pounced from the sofa and ran over to John telling him he can’t go out. John was confused but listened to what the sociopath had to say. 

 “What do you mean Sherlock?” John quizzed.

 “You can’t go because I don’t like you to go out alone” Sherlock covered his jealous outrage.

 “You can come if you want babe, you might be bored though” John huffed, pulling his jacket on and raising his eyebrows to raise an answer out of his boyfriend.

 “Okay” Sherlock replied, pulling in his coat and wrapping his scarf round his neck.

 John thought nothing of Sherlock’s outburst and he didn’t think anything of the way Sherlock held his hand the whole way to the pub or the way Sherlock always seemed to be touching him when they arrived.


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The second time something slipped out of the ordinary was during sex, John was never one to turn down sex but this one particular time he was feeling tired and slightly under the weather and couldn’t be bothered with it. 

John has been laying on the bed reading his book, sleep was starting to slip over him but he was awoken when Sherlock suddenly appeared in the doorway, advancing to the bed and straddling John and continuing to kiss John’s neck. John hummed lowly at the feeling but told Sherlock no anyway.

 “Not tonight please, Sherlock” John said, gaze roaming over Sherlock’s form.

“But you always want sex” Sherlock simply stated. 

“Not today though, I’m too tired” he tried. 

“Well I know something that will send you to sleep afterwards” 

John gave in, he didn’t know if it was because he was to tired to argue or if Sherlock had persuaded him but he told him self it was the former.  

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The third time something happened, John did register it but he didn’t want to believe it so he pushed it to the back of his mind and wiped away the tears from his eyes.

John and Sherlock had been in a steaming argument, this wasn’t unusual for them as they usually had very different views on things, this particular time it had been because Sherlock has no compassion that a three year old girl had been harmed in the process of Sherlock capturing the culprit.

John and Sherlock has been in each other’s faces, shouting abuse and growing angrier by the second when all of a sudden, a hand had raised and almost come into contact with Johns face. Sherlock had risen his hand to slap John but stopped himself before he did, he stopped because of the sheer look of horror on Johns face.

John had turned around and was already slamming the bedroom door behind him before Sherlock could utter an apology. For the rest of the night John stayed in there room, presumably already asleep from exhaustion of the case and overthinking about the event that had played out Sherlock didn’t attempt to go into their room however, he knew how John must be feeling even if he didn’t feel them himself.

The morning after began like any other, Sherlock was already awake and was in his mind palace on the sofa, John came out of their room, red rings round his eyes but fully dressed and a smile plastered on, determined to forget about it. This wasn’t Sherlock. Sherlock wouldn’t do that. John must have just done something that angered him way to much.

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Apart from those three, not so prominent in John’s mind, events - everything was as it should be. But alarm bells really started to ring when it happened a fourth.

But it happened a fourth and this time the alarm bells in John’s head really started to ring because the fourth incident resulted in bruises - though they were small, they were bruises none the less.

John has been making dinner for the two of them, it was only spaghetti bolognese but it was a good substitute for Chinese takeaway - which seemed to have a constant presence in 221b.

“Would you like tea with your dinner?” John called out to Sherlock.

“Yes” was the lonesome reply that came.

John flicked on the kettle and began to dish up the meal he had prepared, setting the table after he had done so.

“Babe, dinners ready” John directed his voice towards the living room.

John heard a diff but with seconds Sherlock was sat at the table which had actually been void of experiments for once. Sherlock started to eat whilst John finished making the tea. All of a sudden a smashing noise pulled Sherlock from his concentration, forcing him to look at John, who had dropped a mug.

“Ah for fucks sake” John groaned, wiping up the spillage and ceramic before running his burnt hand under the sink. Meanwhile Sherlock has stood up.

“Jesus Christ John look at the mess you made” he uttered.

“Sherlock I’m sorry, I am a bit burnt over here though” he said, wincing slightly.

“Oh for gods sake, it’s not that bad!” Sherlock grabbed John’s wrist.

“Ow Sherlock that hurts!” John shouted trying to wrench his arm free. But the grip only tightened and Sherlock growled and droned on about how he should have been more careful. But eventually the right grip became unbearable for John.

“Sherlock get the fuck off of me, you’re hurting me!” John shouted and the taller man reluctantly let go.

Sherlock ignored the bushes tears in John’s eyes and neglected to notice the tone of hurt and frustration in his lovers voice and felt no remorse when the bedroom door shut with John screaming -

“Sleep on the fucking couch tonight and don’t you dare come in here!”

John was alarmed and very aware of the situation, the bruises already forming on the wrist above his burnt hand. This was not his Sherlock.