John stares at the fireplace, listening to Sherlock leave, wander away towards the promise of the brandy nearby.
He was half tempted to sock the other man. Nose and teeth and all. But something, be it the alcohol or the relief or the hurt or the anger in general allows the moment to do so slip by. And he doesn't have the heart nor the conviction to chase after the slight slump in Sherlock's stature to lay on the physical punishment for the grieving that had consumed the doctor.
Instead, he tucks the book, that telling book, under his arm, and staggers to the door without saying a word. He grabs onto the doorknob like a grounding, the drinks making his head spin. Leaning his forehead against the door, John takes a few deep breath's through his nose and closes his eyes.
no subject
He was half tempted to sock the other man. Nose and teeth and all. But something, be it the alcohol or the relief or the hurt or the anger in general allows the moment to do so slip by. And he doesn't have the heart nor the conviction to chase after the slight slump in Sherlock's stature to lay on the physical punishment for the grieving that had consumed the doctor.
Instead, he tucks the book, that telling book, under his arm, and staggers to the door without saying a word. He grabs onto the doorknob like a grounding, the drinks making his head spin. Leaning his forehead against the door, John takes a few deep breath's through his nose and closes his eyes.