The Doctor And The Detective (Johnlock)

Seven

John sat with his phone in his hands for another hour, staring at the screen until it became a blurred blotch of light. There was nothing from Sherlock, and John wanted to scream. Instead he tried to ring Sherlock again. There was no answer. With a frustrated growl John hurled his phone to the ground, fighting back the tears that once again threatened to fall from his eyes. He stood, unsure what to do. Unsure why he felt so worried, so scared. Because it's just like last time, only worse. He told himself. He's left you again, and this time without faking anything. Just gone, disappeared.

The fear turned into sudden anger, pent up rage that he needed to get out. John balled his fists tightly, his fingernails digging into the bottom of his palm until they broke the skin, but that only relieved him slightly. He swiped out at the couch suddenly, making the cushions fly across the room. He swiped one of the big cushions from the bottom up, raking his fingernails across it and biting it until the stuffing showed and the material covering the top was tattered.

Blind with fury, John whirled around and kicked out the TV, toppling it. The screen fizzed and went black as the chord was pulled from it. He ripped at the wall, kicked and punched the various surfaces and let his rage consume him.

And then, all of a sudden it ebbed away, and John was left standing in the middle of a destroyed living room. A strangled sob emitted from his throat, and he sank to the ground. What had he done? The couch and wallpaper were in shreds, the TV lying on its side and scuff marks adorned all the other surfaces. He put his head in his hands. What on earth had happened? The feeling he'd experienced was so... animalistic. 

John reached for his discarded phone. The screen was shattered, the cracks spiraling out from the corner over the whole screen. He ignored them and unlocked it, scrolling through until he found Lestrade's mobile number. He hissed as a small shard of glass embedded itself into his thumb, sucking it. Pressing the 'call' icon, John raised the phone to his ear and waited. The voice of Lestrade filled his ears. "John?"

"Do you have Mycroft's number?" John asked quietly. 

There was numb silence from the other end of the phone, then "Why? What's wrong?"

"Do you have Mycroft's number?" John said this louder and more forcefully. Lestrade made a small sound. 

"Yes. Why do you need it?" His tone was suspicious.

"Text it to me. That's not a request, that's a demand." John didn't wait for Lestrade's answer before hanging up. A moment later there was a new message from Lestrade, holding the number. John pressed it, crossing his fingers while it rang. Come on, pick up.

"Hello?" John asked when the ringing stopped. "Mycroft?"

"John Watson. How did you get this number?" Mycroft seemed genuinely surprised, but John brushed it off. 

"Where is he?" John gripped the phone with two hands to his ear. Mycroft chuckled. 

"You'll have to elaborate more. I don't understand."

"Oh you bloody well do understand. Where is he?" John growled. Mycroft hummed softly. 

"If he wanted you to know, he'd tell you himself." 

"What's that meant to mean?" John frowned, even though he was fairly sure what it meant and his heart was sinking fast. Mycroft was silent for a second. 

"As much as you think he needs you, he doesn't. Really, you need him. Have you ever considered the possibility Sherlock might not want you to tag along wherever he goes, to always be 'looking out' for him?" 

John couldn't find anything to say. He felt on the verge of tears, all the fight gone out of him. Mycroft was silent on the other end again, and a beep told John he'd hung up. He let the phone slip from his grasp again, clattering onto the floor for a second time that day. He could feel tears dripping down his face (again with the crying, and within two days of each other - John didn't know what he was becoming). Eventually he pulled himself out of stupor, and ran a hand through his hair. "Damn this," he murmured to himself. "I need a drink."