The Professor NEW CHAPTER!!!

Graduation and War (It's been too long, compadrès)

AN: At last! She writes another chapter after weeks of neglecting. My apologies. I've been busy with...things... And by things I mean every other story and laziness....but still. Hope you like, and I hope you cry. I mean, you won't cry! Pssssshhht! Naw! Enjoy! 
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Graduation. John dreaded it, but couldn't wait for it to be over. It was the last time he would see Sherlock for a long time. They got to spend that evening together, but in the morning he'd be off to the army. Leaving the one good choice he'd made behind, and starting another, was the toughest decision he'd had to make. But in a way, he was relieved. He got to get away front he rush of London and pestering, unintelligent humans that crawled the cracked, rusty sidewalks there. Jeez, he was turning into Sherlock. His thumb ticked on his knee with a clock which he didn't know they had. One, two, three, he counted aloud. Tap, tap, tap, he played with his fingers. There was nothing more unnerving than trying to sleep when you know that you'll wake up and find you have to leave everything.

That's what he was doing, he had discovered. He was leaving everything he had, and he may not come back to it. He felt guilty. And every time he recognized an emotion he would think about why, and he'd feel it worse. He felt guilty because what about everyone else? Sherlock? Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade? They'd all grown to adore him, and now he was possibly leaving forever..nothing made sense. Nothing had ever made a lick of sense to him, however. And despite his feelings and sadness, he still came to the conclusion that he needed to be thinking of himself; of the people he'd save. One life for many, many more would be worth it in the long run. Though he couldn't save everyone, he could try. And try he shall.

Sherlock clung to him as if he were falling, and John was the only thing he could get a proper hold of, and even then he would still fall, possibly bringing John down with him over the edge of his cliff of insanity. Good thing he was leaving. No! This was far from good. He would just fall faster without John there. John was holding him up, but only stalling. There was nothing anyone could have done for him; it would have happened eventually. But that is for a different time. He woke with a groan from his throat. He was shivering, but he could feel the sweat which had pooled around him and John. He sat up, John noticing but not responding to the obviously frightened Sherlock.

He grabbed the doctor's arms, shaking him slightly. "John?" He said brokenly. His voice was a whimper that rasped with a plea, "John..." He was crying, and when John heard the sniffle his attention was ripped from his thoughts, and his eyes landed on Sherlock, rather than the window.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" He asked softly wiping a tear with the pad of his velvety thumb. He stopped tapping, stopped counting. All attention was on Sherlock.

"I don't want you to leave me, John.....please." John kissed him gently and chastely, laying down and letting Sherlock rest himself on his bare chest.

"I will never leave you, Sherlock. Not completely. I love you." How the three words slipped out like butter, and how easy they were to speak. It couldn't be truer, though. He loved Sherlock.

So, so much. How could he leave him? How could he be such a terrible person and leave the one he loves? Good people don't just leave when they're needed. John was needed. He was the branch who held Sherlock up; kept him from falling into a spiral of insanity. How could he do such a terrible, horrible, awful, disgraceful, wrong, piteous, ignorant, dishonest, selfish thing? Those adjectives didn't even begin to cover it. He was sorry, and that was all he could possibly be. Sorry. Sorry for telling you I love you. Sorry for being here, existing. Sorry for making you love me. Sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry. So, so, much.

He was trembling. This emotion was indescribable. It was like dying. He was losing everything. Again. But he had to leave. He needed to. He stood up, Sherlock falling on the bed, and sitting up confused. "I think it's best if I do this sooner. I can't sleep like this, and I need it. I'm going to Sarah's. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. I'll keep in touch." He left without another word. No 'I love you.' Nothing but a kiss on the cheek. Sherlock let little tears fall. His leaving was abrupt but Sherlock understood.