Johnlock One-shots

280.Hatred

John hung his head with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the side of the building he was at. He sighed quietly and took the cigarette out of his mouth, puffing out some smoke.

He stared at the drug den with a burning hatred. That place was the reason his fiancé was dead.

He slumped against the nearby building, thinking about his lover. He tilted his head to the side and let out another puff of smoke, disgusted with who he became. His entire life revolved around Sherlock, and now that he was dead, John didn't know what to do.

He understood that he was causing more damage to himself by smoking, drinking, and getting high. That didn't matter anymore though, anything that would take away the pain.

It all started when Sherlock came stumbling home after a visit with Wiggins and getting something new. He fell down on the couch, had a heart attack, and died.

John was in their room making their beds and cleaning up the place, changing the bedsheets, things like that. When he came back out, he saw Sherlock laying on the couch.

“Aw,” he said, because Sherlock looked cute sleeping there with a hand over his chest and his other arm beside himself.

But then he quickly noticed Sherlock wasn't breathing and took action. He still blames Wiggins for giving him something new he couldn't handle. He hated Wiggins, who feels horrible about the thing.

John would used to go to the drug den at rare times to drag his lover back home, so everyone knew him. They also knew him because Sherlock's non stop jabbering about how amazing he was. Now, barely anyone saw him but those people. Although, he would spend most of his time with Sherlock, sitting near his grave.

But Wiggins gave him an offer of free drugs for the rest of his life, so he was regularly around to get high time and time again.

He just couldn't take the pain. He looked down and sighed, closing his eyes and thinking about Sherlock. It he looked back up, realising it had started snowing. John sat down in the soft snow and watched the sunset, then moved into the alleyway more and curled up.

He was awake for hours. His body was buried in snow now, it was completely over him. He was so cold, but he wanted to feel cold. He went to sleep after a while, and as he slept, the swirling wings that now transformed into a blizzard engulfed him.

He was so cold, and then warm again as he started dying. It felt like he was being cuddled protectively against Sherlock. Eventually, the snow melted around him, in his view at least. He looked up and saw Sherlock, that made him smile. He stood up and held Sherlock's hand, walking off with him.