Don't Be...Dead

6- You Left Me

I went back to the flat. I had meant what I said to Sherlock; I couldn’t live there anymore. Not without him. I had held out as long as I could, but it was tearing me apart.

I went up to my room, my old room where all my things remained, despite sleeping in Sherlock’s room. After putting a jumper on, I started to pack. I moved slowly, reluctant to leave but knowing that I had to, that it was best for me if I did.

I packed up my things, taking great care not to touch anything that might be Sherlock’s. I grabbed a stack of shirts out of a drawer and turned, the stack falling out of my hands and onto the floor.

“You’re dead.”

Sherlock nodded taking a step closer. “Yes.”

My hand flew back of its own accord, and before I knew it blood was spilling from Sherlock’s nose. “Why the hell would you fucking do that?!” I lashed out blindly with my arms, like a three year old having a tantrum. How could he do this?

He caught my arms by the wrist, holding them slightly over my head. Sherlock’s eye latched on to my right wrist. I yanked my arms, knowing what he had seen and trying to pull away. He let my left arm drop and, still holding my right wrist with his left hand, he used his other arm to pull down my sleeve, exposing a series of thin lines across my skin ranging from a pale barely visible pink to a dark red.

“John…” he started, not taking his eyes off my arm. “What are these scars from?”

You left me. My mouth formed the words but no sound came out.

“John?” he asked again.

“YOU LEFT ME! You left me here alone! And n-now I find out that you’re not really dead?! That I-I went through all that for nothing?! What are you mocking me? ANSWER ME SHERLOCK! TELL ME WHY!” I collapsed on my knees to the floor, all the energy having gone out of me, hiding my sobbing face in my hands.

“John?” I heard Sherlock’s voice from the other side of my hands. “John, look at me.” I sat there, refusing to look up. “I was trying to save your life.”

I froze. “You…you…?” I sat there dumbfounded, trying to comprehend what had just been said. Looking up, I saw Sherlock sitting on his knees in front of me, his face inches from mine. He placed his hands gently on my shoulders.

“John, he was going to kill you. I had to. I couldn’t let him. I care too much about you.” Suddenly all the anger was gone. I grabbed him and hugged him, pulling him close to me. He sat stiff as a board for a moment, not sure what to do about such a display of emotion. Hesitantly, he softened, placing his arms awkwardly around me, holding me close. I pulled away. "Sorry," I said, knowing how any amount of human interaction made him uncomfortable. Sherlock sat there in silence, his arms still wrapped around me.

 (Sherlock)

"John?" I looked at him, the tears still silently flowing down his face. I reached up with the back of my hand, not completely sure what I was doing.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” I didn’t respond, instead moving my hand closer to his face. I don’t know what compelled me to do it, but gently I brushed the tips of my fingers against his cheek. I felt heat fill John’s cheeks and his face went red as I made contact with his skin. I pulled my hand back, now damp from wiping away his tears, and observed John. Pupils dilated, heart rate increased… No… All the facts pointed to it, but… Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be true. Suddenly I was aware of the space between our faces lessening, and I realized I was leaning forward. I placed an index finger under his chin and hesitantly pulled him towards me, closing the space between our lips. John’s eyes went wide with shock and for a moment I felt his body stiffen around me. After a second he recovered himself, urgently pushing his mouth against mine, parting my lips. His teeth played gently with my lower lip and I heard a small moan escape my lips. What was I doing, showing my emotion? What was wrong with me? This thought was pushed out of my mind as my lips attacked John’s, my tongue moving into his mouth. Finally, we both pulled away, gasping for air.

"Was...was that real?" John asked cautiously.

"Do you want it to be?"

“I-I don’t…I…I can’t-” I watched motionless as he jumped up and ran out of the flat, hearing the slam of the door downstairs as he left.