Sherlock & John (A Teenlock Fanfiction)

Chapter Fifty Three - Getting Through the Night

Sherlock

John was going crazy from it all, rubbing his eyelids, trying to gather what sanity he had left. It wasn't working, and Sherlock could see that as easily as the nose on his face. "I have to go," John said. "Sorry, Sherlock..."

Sherlock could feel his stomach close. Then his throat, then his lungs, then his mouth. He didn't want to speak, because then he'd say something utterly stupid, like, "Why?"

It was obvious why. "You could... talk to your mum tomorrow. It'll look all different in the morning."

"No..." John whispered hoarsely, shaking his head. "It won't. You saw what he wrote on my books. There were other things he wrote... worse things..."

Sherlock felt his lips tighten. "I... I don't want you to leave."

"I..." John looked at his hands. "Still so sorry."

"Where will you go?"

John said, "My dad's. I don't know. He said I could come down whenever... And I can't stay at the Dilane's. So I was thinking... my dad's. In Cornwall."

"Cornwall. That's eight hours away."

John nodded.

"John..." Sherlock whispered, looking into John's dark blue eyes.

"I know," he said. "I know."

There was no way to sit in the seat next to him, so Sherlock dropped to his knees and let himself pull John to the dusty linoleum floor.

John

"When are you leaving?" Sherlock was running his fingers through John's thick, blonde hair, trying to pretend his mind was quiet.

"Tonight," John whispered. "Can't go back. Even if I wanted to... which I don't."

"How are you going to get there?"

"I don't know. Think I'll take the bus," John lied. He was going to hitchhike.

"You're going to hitchhike, aren't you?"

"Yep." John could walk as far as the Interstate, and then he'd thumb any and all trucks that had families in them. If he didn't get stolen or killed, he'd call Rory when he was close. "How'd you know?"

"You're doing your tell."

"I am?"

"Yeah."

"Right now?"

"Yep. And you can't hitchhike."

"I can."

"You can't and I won't let you."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. I'm going to drive you."

"To a bus station?"

"To Cornwall."

John frowned. "Your arm, Sherlock. It hasn't fully healed. And... and your dad."

"I don't care, John."

"But he'll... hurt you."

Sherlock took his hand, and then put his other hand on his face. "Do you think I care about that, John?" he asked, looking into John's eyes. "Do you really, truly think that I matter more than you?"

"You should," John whispered.

"I don't."

Sherlock said he'd be back later, after his dad went to bed, and after everything was quiet. Then he'd get the keys, and drive up in the Mustang.