Old habits (Johnlock)

Chapter five

Just ten minutes beforehand, Sherlock stood in front of the mirror.

His knotted hair and thin face made him want to scream. The dark bags like bruises under his eyes made him break down sobbing, wishing he was somebody else. Somebody loveable.

John was loveable, Sherlock thought.

John was beautiful, John was kind, John was perfect. Johns name clawed at his heart, ripping it to shreds. Sherlock knew there was no point to loving him anymore, John was married, he was finally happy. Sherlock felt his own presence and interruption in their suburban paradise was tedious and bothersome.

Sherlock assured himself that John wouldnt even notice his disappearance, and that if he did he would pull out a bottle of champagne and that he would certainly buy streamers and balloons and scream thanks to the heavens.

In reality, although Sherlock had convinced himself this was the case, it was quite the opposite.

Sherlock had shut himself off from the world weeks ago and nobody had noticed. Not even Mrs Hudson. Sherlock couldn't stand this anymore. He couldn't bear the shredding sensation in his chest or the aching in his head from the constant stream of tears. He couldn't do it anymore. He just couldn't. Not on his own, living would be bearable with a friend but he didn't have anyone who truely cared anymore. Even if he did they didn't matter, to Sherlock only John mattered. He assumed Mary was the only thing that mattered to John.

There was only thing left for Sherlock to do.

All he could do was what everyone around him appeared to crave.

All he could do was die.