Nothing Like Love and Everything Like a Phoenix

Chapter Eleven

How did all of this fall apart? How could John let himself hurt Sherlock? It felt like a black hole was in place of his heart, and John didn't know if he was breathing or if the world was forcing air down his throat. He felt numb without Sherlock, lost without Sherlock.

He got dressed in the morning, got to school on time, did all his school work, and smiled at all of his teachers, but when he came home there was no one. There was no smoke in the air, or ashes on his floor. There weren't quick smiles from beside, or above him. There was no flame anymore.

John didn't know what to do. One second he thought of confronting Sherlock, and the next he reasoned he should leave him alone. Sherlock didn't want him after all.

John wondered how he let himself think that this would last. They were teenagers, and they were boys. John really was an idiot.

He went a day without Sherlock, then two, then three, then a whole week had passed and John's chest ached every time he got home. Everything melted together without Sherlock to make the days notable. Everything was bland and boring. Just like John himself.

Molly stopped asking him questions since every time she did John shut down. No matter how much time passed, or how much John built his routine around not having Sherlock there, the wound was still fresh in his mind and the words kept replaying in his head.

The quick shrug from Sherlock, and the confirmation that John was just a plaything in Sherlock's massive play. John thought about the time they first met a lot , and the way he couldn't believe Sherlock approached him first. The way Sherlock took over John's vision, and how John thought he was a wildfire.

Really, it was all John's fault. He was the one constantly picking fights, he was the one pushing Sherlock, he was the one who made Sherlock chase after him. He always made it hard on Sherlock. He shouldn't be surprised that Sherlock left.

"John?" Molly tilted her head, her eyebrows furrowed in concern, "Are you listening to me at all?"

No. He wasn't. He was busy focusing on the people who had just walked in: a tall, blonde paper shaker with long legs and a short skirt, dangling on the arm of an even taller Sherlock Holmes.

Molly looked over her shoulder, "Hear they're going steady. Is that why you two had a falling out?"

John felt something larger than anger build up under his ribcage. Sherlock shouldn't be looking at anyone like that, but him. That girl didn't know anything about Sherlock. She didn't know what it was like to be destroyed by him from the inside out. She didn't know what it was like to look over and see a rare, wide, grin coming from Sherlock.

"We didn't have a falling out. We just..." John shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it.

Molly huffed, "You're starting to worry me. You two only knew each other for what? A couple weeks? And it's not like he was your best friend."

John nodded absentmindedly, though she did have a point. He didn't even know Sherlock for that long. Everything he said could've been a lie, but John couldn't get Sherlock's face out of his head. He kept thinking about when he woke up with Sherlock and he was just sleepy enough to kiss him on the forehead, or when he would say something that shouldn't have been romantic or sweet, but still made John smile.