Gone

Chapter 1

Sherlock paced the living room and John watched him. The dark-haired man was obviously deep in thought and John knew how much he hated to be disturbed, so he just watched. He didn’t know quite why he was watching Sherlock Holmes with such intensity, but it seemed right somehow. As John watched Sherlock, he noticed things. He noticed the wild fluttering of those grey-blue eyes and the constant movement of his long slender fingers, tapping the air as if playing the violin. This kind of rapid hand movement and inability to keep still was common in musicians, especially professionals and John found it endearing. No. No, Sherlock wasn’t endearing or the least bit attractive, John thought quickly. Because I am not gay. I am straight and that is that.

“John?” Sherlock’s deep baritone shattered John’s mental argument between his head and his heart.

“Yes Sherlock?”

“Oh, it wasn’t suicide. The facts don’t add up to suicide. It was most obviously murder, just a clever one. The murderer died though, and that was suicide.”

“Sherlock, there was only one body. How?”

“The murderer was taken away by the police. Lestrade told me.”

“Would have been nice to know these things,” John grumbled. “Anyway, we’re out of milk so I’m going to the shops, need anything?” But Sherlock didn’t answer. He had picked up his violin and was now proceeding to play a short piece that he was mid-way through composing. Without warning, John snapped. He was sick of being the sidekick, the dogsbody, not even worth Sherlock’s voice most of the time. He cared for this man and looked after him but he wasn’t even an equal. Not anywhere near Sherlock’s level because he was ordinary and Sherlock didn’t deal with ordinary people.

“You know something, Sherlock; you are the most annoying, arrogant, selfish person I have ever met. All these things I do for you; I keep you healthy; treat you when you need it; save your ungrateful arse; put up with you when nobody else will and I am not even treated as an equal. I’m just the sidekick, the accessory, the dogsbody. Stupid Watson who doesn’t need to be treated like an equal because he can’t see things like me, the genius Sherlock Holmes. I won’t even grace him with my voice or acknowledge his existence because he is beneath me. And I’ve had enough, Sherlock, I really have. So this time when I leave, I won’t be coming back.” John marched towards the door, the smothering silence filling the flat. He left.

……

Sherlock listened as the flat door slammed shut after John. He raised his head slowly, put down his violin and steepled his fingers. For a reason that Sherlock was unsure of, he was suddenly regretful of how he had treated John. John has obviously been more than just another person, he had been the first friend Sherlock had ever had and he had pushed him away, like he had done with everyone else: Mycroft, Molly, Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. Everyone had left him because Sherlock had made them and now he had done the same to John. He felt guilty and ashamed which immediately shocked him. He thought he had deleted all ‘feelings’ long ago. Sherlock drew himself up, gathered the feelings and deleted them. He let out a sigh of relief and began to play again.

……

John sat in the empty park, breathing hard as the realisation sunk in. He’d told Sherlock about some of his feelings, yes, but only the negative ones. And he couldn’t go back to 221B because he said that he wasn’t coming back and he was in no mind to go begging back to Sherlock. As he was so wrapped up in his thoughts, John didn’t see the man until it was too late. Something heavy cracked against the back of his head, causing white stars to explode behind his eyes. Then thick cloth was pressed over his mouth and nose, forcing him to breathe in the noxious fumes. Chloroform, John thought as he blacked out…