Fear - feeling afraid. Other words are terror (strong fear), shock, phobia

Sometimes that same fear comes back. It appears to be 'out of the blue', due to my cross referencing of places, activities, situations and people surrounding these 'episodes' showing no obvious correlation what so ever.

The first incident occurred a little over two months after John's return. I had crept out of bed shortly after 5am so as not to wake him, and was entirely preoccupied in an examination of evidence from an unsolved case from fourteen years ago that Lestrade seemed to believe was somehow connected to a murder which had occurred the Thursday before. He was obviously incorrect; however since I had already solved the Thursday case I felt there was no harm in having a go at something slightly more challenging. I turned around to reach for a book when I suddenly noticed my blogger sitting across the room, fully dressed, tapping ever so slowly away at his keyboard.

'John?'

'Yeah?'

'How long have you been there?'

'Erm, about forty minutes, why?'

'Why didn't you say hello?'

'I know better than to disturb you when you're working, Sherlock.'

'Oh, right, of course. Tea?'

'Sure, I'll do that now.'

As I watched him plod across the flat in the slippers I had bought him as a makeup present two weeks previously and the cardigan he wore as often as was socially acceptable as he knew it was my personal favourite, it suddenly overwhelmed me. John was here. Within the time I had known him I had nearly gotten him blown up, nearly gotten him shot, been slightly responsible for his ASBO, drugged him, thrown myself off a building in front of him, tricked him into believing he would never see me again, and then nearly gone insane because he'd been on a few dates with a perfectly nice girl who I had made sure of had absolutely no hobbies which would be at all likely to get him killed. And he was still here, even though he knew he would always come second. He knew the work came first, and that's how it would always be, and yet he was still standing right before my eyes making the tea as if this was normal.

Because even though I have never claimed to be an expert on relationships I was well aware that there was no place on earth in which this arrangement could be considered at all normal.

And while I was certain that in that moment in time John was happy with living in this madness, I was also certain eventually, at some point, the novelty must wear off.

And while I was certain the loyalty within him would make him fight to make this work, I was also certain for a battle to begin both people must be fighting.

And while I was certain the rational in me would not resent John's choice in leaving, I was also certain whatever emotions I may or may not have would certainly not be as complacent.

And while I was utterly certain it was in no way medically possible, I was also certain that if John were to ever leave my heart would stop the second he walked out the door.

He had given up his entire normality to be with me and, other than intimacy and a small collection of letters, I had given him very little in return.

'Would you like to go out for lunch?'

I watched as John turned to me with a mixture of amusement, confusion and worry spreading over his face.

'I'm sorry, what?'

'Would you like to go out for lunch?'

'You're working.'

'I can take a break.'

And yet again, John Hamish Watson made every single one of my fears vanish within a single second.

As I knew right then that I need not worry about John having to work at this relationship on his own, as I was very much aware there was little humanely possible that I would not do to make sure I would get to see that idiotic grin every day for the rest of my life.