The Game is On

Freak

John froze. He felt sick. How could Sherlock even think about saying something like that? It's true, Harry was being stupid and John wasn't all that close to her, but this wasn't about Harry. This is the fact Sherlock said something so cold and heartless on a day like this.

John snapped back to reality just to see Sherlock's face falling, "John I...I'm..."

"No, Sherlock. You don't say something like that."

John held his arm out to catch a cab. Sherlock jogged over, deep regret in his green-blue eyes, "John, I'm sorry! Please..."

"'Sorry' doesn't bring my sister back!" John whirled around and faced Sherlock, anger and sadness churning in his stomach. He opened the door and jumped in the cab, followed by the detective.

The ride was in silence, John staring out the window and Sherlock occasionally turning and looking at his partner, searching for words.

"John..."

"Save it, detective," John spat out the final word with disgust.

Once inside 221B, they found themselves standing in the main room, wondering what to say.

"John, I don't see why you can't accept my apology..."

John scoffed in amusement. Sherlock really didn't know anything about human nature.

"I know you agree with me, John. She was stupid. All I did was bring that thought to a reality. I said I was sorry!"

"Sorry doesn't bring my sister back!!" John yelled, holding his forehead. He swore he could just punch the silly git right now.

"But it does fix what I said!"

"No, it doesn't! It doesn't fix anything! It's all wrong!"

"It's not all wrong, John! I'm still here. The girls are still here. It's all okay."

"It's not okay! In no way is anything okay! Harry is dead, and now you're just...A jerk!"

"Me? I stated the facts! By the way you're acting I can tell you agree with me. Harriet was nothing but a stupid drunk and she paid the price for it."

"Oh...My God...You have no feeling, do you? No heart at all."

"I told you, John, I'm a sociopath."

"No. You're not a sociopath. You're a FREAK. That's it."

Seconds after John said it, he regretted it. All emotion-- Anger, sadness, sympathy-- Had been drowned out of the detective's features and replaced with one question: Why?

Sherlock closed his mouth and turned away. He slowly crossed the room and went upstairs into their bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.

John exhaled and sat down on the couch, dropping his face into his hands. How could he? Normally that insult is that of a child's, but in this case it meant everything. Every bad word he could have said all in one-- One terrible word.

Mrs. Hudson opened the door to the sitting room to find John looking distraught.

"Oh, my! Are you okay? I heard yelling..."

"Yeah...Me and Sherlock just...We just uh..." John couldn't even think straight.

"Do you want the girls back?"

"Would it be okay if they stayed with you for...A little while longer? Until we straighten things out?"

"Sure, dear. That'll be fine."

Mrs. Hudson took the cue and left. It was late so John decided he should sleep. But he couldn't go back to the room, not with Sherlock there. So, he slept on the couch.

In the morning, he was woken by a shuffling. The door opened, and Sherlock trudged out. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept much at all.

"Sherlock..." John tried. But the detective acted like John was invisible. Like he wasn't even there.

Three days. This went on for three straight days. Sherlock pretended like John didn't exist, like he wasn't there, and John couldn't take it anymore.

He dialed a number he didn't usually use, one he got after the great fall. It was the girl he had met but didn't love.

He held the phone to his ear and listened to the ringing, until she picked up.

"Hi, Mary...I know this is short notice but...I'm going to need a place to stay for a while..."

"Oh, John...What happened?"

"Me and Sherlock had a...Falling out. I just need an escape."

"Of...Of course, John. Come on over."

John packed up as much as he could until he needed clothes, so he racked up the courage and went into the room.

Sherlock lay in the bed.

John silently grabbed his clothes, hoping the detective wouldn't notice.

No such luck.

"Where are you going?"

The first words he said in three days.

"I'm staying at a friend's place for a bit."

Sherlock said nothing more, but he did let out an almost silent sigh. He seemed...Sadder.

John felt a twist in his chest. He was only causing Sherlock more pain. It was unbearable.

Once his bag was packed, he left 221B and took a cab to Mary's place. It was only a few blocks away.

"Hi, John," Mary said with concern, "I made you a spot to sleep on the couch...I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, that's great. I'm so sorry if this is inconvenient, I just didn't know who else to call..."

"John, it's fine. I know this is a hard time right now."

Something said she knew about Harriet as well, but she kept quiet.

John was thankful for that.

"I can...I can pay you..."

"No, John that's quite alright. It's lonely around here. Your company will be enough."

"Thank you so much, Mary, you have no idea how great this is."

That night, John couldn't sleep. It was too quiet in the house. He missed Sherlock playing his violin at 3 AM.

What was he going to do? Was this it, was it all over? What happens to the girls?

What happens to him?