The Best Man

Brief Encounters

* 2 hours earlier *

John's eyes cracked open, but he was only greeted with darkness. He winced as he felt a throbbing at the back of his head and behind his lids. He'd been walking home when suddenly there was a bang, blood in his hair, and his world went black. It was Moriarty, wasn't it? He had finally come out of the shadows. What game was he playing? John doubted he'd be willing to play. He wasn't tied down or anything, he was just lying on a cold, stone floor. John pulled himself up and squinted, trying to make out his surroundings.

"Hello?" he called, using the wall to help him stand. He took out his phone and winced at the sudden bright light. It was half nine at night. How long had be been out? Sherlock was probably worrying, and—yes, with a quick check he saw two missed calls and four text messages. He went to dial Sherlock's number, when the lights above him switched on. He squinted as he pocketed his phone again. He was in a small, damp room. The walls were yellow, and the paint was chipping terribly, and curling in on itself. The floor was made of cobble-stones and it looked like an old street. The room was almost bare and completely windowless, only holding two lice-eaten wooden stools stacked in the corner. But, John didn't take any of that in. He stared at the figure in the door; Moriarty.

"Do people just...never actually died around here?" John asked, making Jim smirk as he looked John over.

"No, that's just me and your boyfriend." He stepped forward, hands held casually in his pockets.

"How?" John asked, licking his lips. "How are you alive? You blew your own brains out."

Jim laughed. "Oh, John. Johnny, Johnny, boy." He ran a hand over his face. "Mr.Holmes is slipping. Of course I faked my death. I wasn't prepared to let him win-"

"Win?" John scoffed. "He was tortured. Everyone thought he was dead. That wasn't winning. That was a compromise!"

"Oooh, I've hit a soft spot, haven't I?" Jim grinned, now facing John, right in front of him. "You can still remember, can't you?" Jim pouted. "How much it hurt when he left you-"

"Stop it." John shook his head. "No, I wont let you do this." he said, his voice raising.

"You can't stop me, John. And, you're not going to stop me."

"Stop you from what?" John asked quickly, his voice irritated, body giving small quirks of impatience and unease.

"Now, John." He placed his hands on his shoulders. "I have instructions for you. You will do as I say...or Sherlock gets his brains blown out." Jim grinned, while John's face paled.

"You wont touch him." John said back, voice weaker. "Wont let you."

"I have someone stationed in the cafe below your flat. They will call to your flat as a client with a promising case, and they will shoot Sherlock in the head...If you don't do as I say."

John swallowed hard and pulled away from Jim. "Tell me what I have to do, then."

Jim smiled simply, slipping his hands casually into his suit pockets. "You break up with him.''

 John could hear the blood rushing around his ears, he could feel his heart give a painful lurch and he shook his head softly, looking right at Jim. ''No, I can't.'' his voice was broken, words detached awkwardly. ''It would kill him.''

 Jim only grinned in response. ''I know.'' he nodded, never breaking the eye-contact he had found with John. ''But, he will actually die if you don't do it. So...break his heart, or break through his skull?''

 John gaped at him, shaking his head. ''You can't make me do this!''

 Jim took out his phone, tutting to himself. ''Fine, I'll give the say-so. Did you leave it on good terms before your baby has a bullet-''

 ''STOP!'' John screamed, staring worriedly at the phone in Jim's hand. He rushed forward, placing his hands over the screen. He raised his head to look at Moriarty, his face uncomfortably close. ''I'll do it.'' he swallowed hard. ''I'll-I'll...break up with Sherlock.''

*Two weeks later*

 ''No, really...'' Sherlock said in a frustrated voice, Lestrade at his heels as they moved through the crowds of people to get to the tube platform. ''It is simple, you're just not thinking hard enough!'' He sighed, pushing his hands into his coat pockets as he came to a stop. 

Lestrade stood facing Sherlock, a look of annoyance in his face. ''Alright, I can see what you're trying to get at,'' his eyes wandered. ''But, what if-'' he stopped, spotting something over Sherlock's shoulder. He couldn't help it, and his eyes widened. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and looked around before Lestrade could stop him.

Sherlock's eyes scanned the crowd, and then his eyes landed on John. He stared at him for a moment, eyes widening. Suddenly, it wasn't so easy to breath, or the swallow and a tight pain spread across his chest until it physically hurt to be seeing him again. He could feel the pressure of tears rising around his eyes and the smallest noise of pain escaped him as his lip quivered. 

Lestrade's heart nearly broke at how suddenly Sherlock went from arrogant cock to...Broken and longing and...everything human. He placed his hand on Sherlock's forearm. ''Maybe...'' he licked his lips. ''Sherlock, maybe you shouldn't go over.''

No words came to his lips and he kept staring at John, trying to keep those tears at bay, his mouth twitching. Look at me. Notice me. Come back to me. Hold me. Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me how I messed up the one good thing I had. Dammit, he was crying before he could stop it and he ducked his head, tears dripping onto his cheeks, shoulders shaking. Lestrade's eyes widened and he moved his hand up to rest on Sherlock's shoulder. ''Hey...''

Sherlock shook his head, wanting to crumple to the ground. He took in a sharp breath and let another pained noise slip past his lips. ''I just want to know why.''

Lestrade was shocked at this display of emotion, but he knew he had to help Sherlock right now. ''Sherlock, I...'' John had spotted him and Lestrade could see his eyes widen from across the crowd. John looked crushed. He even looked paler. Thinner. Sherlock's eyes looked up and he followed Lestrade's gaze til his eyes fell on John again. And, they looked at each other.

Sherlock felt his breath leave him, while John almost started to hyperventilate, guilt twisting in his stomach at how he had upset Sherlock. A tube came rushing onto the platform, ruffling John's hair, who was closer to the track. Sherlock kept their eye-contact. Talk to me.

Sherlock, I can't.

Please.

I just can't. John shook his head, stepping into the carriage. 

I still love you. Sherlock took a step forward. 

I know. The doors slid shut and then he was gone again. Without explanation, without a word to comfort Sherlock. The platform was clear now, apart from Lestrade and himself. They'd wait for the next tube. He lowered his head, tears drying tracks onto his cheeks. Lestrade took a hesitant step forward again so he could see Sherlock's face. 

''Sherlock-''

''Leave it.'' he muttered, taking in a sharp breath before looking up again. ''Just...forget it.'' 

Lestrade nodded and retreated a little, confused and surprised at everything that was going on. They both still wanted each other. That was plain as day. So, why did John leave Sherlock? Was he manipulated? 

''Sherlock?'' Lestrade tried again.

Sherlock looked up at him, his face clearer now. ''I was just thinking the same thing.''