The Evanescent Fairy Tale of Sherlock and John {discontinued}

Chapter Five

+I miss you so completely, I cannot get warm. I do not believe this is at all a coincidence. -Tyler Knott Gregson+

        Minutes turned into hours; hours turned into days; days turned into weeks. By our first month together, John and I had established a friendship. Well. As much as a friendship as I had ever known before. He would always insist on me practicing my violin before he trodded off to his bedroom to sleep, for it apprently "made him knackered." He thought it was absoutely hilarious when we would go to eat, and I would pick random Baskerville students and deduce them. And of course, he just thought in general that I was something special.

        I didn't see what he saw.

        "Sherlock," John says lazily, tilting his head back against the armrest of the chair. He was so small that he could fit his whole body on the cushion if he chose to.

        I hum a response. 

        "Let's go do something fun." 

        "Fun is childish, John." 

        "Will you stop with the childish rants?" 

        "Nope." I say, popping the p like a piece of bubblegum. "Childish is the new sexy." ((Shoutout to @WallflowerKaitelyn for that phrase! Thanks darling <3)) 

        "You are ridiculous." 

        "And you have told me that more than a hundred times." 

        "Did I just hear Sherlock Holmes use a hyperbole?" 

        "Did I just hear John Watson use a big word?" 

        "Shut up, you prick." 

        "I assure you that I am not genitila." 

        "Sherrrrloooock," he groans, obviously annoyed with my familiar antics. 

        "I am not interested in fun things." 

        "Fine." He sits up, raising his arms above his head in a stretch. His golden face, framed by golden hair contorts into a wide yawn, and I close my eyes again. "I'll just go to Mary's."

        My eyes whip open, causing pain to shoot back into my brain from exiting my mind palace far too quickly. 

        "Why?" I clench my jaw. 

        "Because she's my girlfriend." 

        "All she wants to do is get off with you." 

        John rolls his eyes. "No, she doesn't." 

        "Yes, she does." 

        "No, she doesn't." 

        "Yes. She. Does." I pronounce each word clearly, hoping to get my point--and deduction--across. John just continues to stare at me. 

        "No, she doesn't, Sherlock. Some of your deductions aren't always right." 

        "Eh," I shrug. "Ninety six point eight times out of one hundred, they are." 

        "Oh Jesus, of course you've figured that out." 

        "You sound angry." 

        "I AM ANgry." His shout falters to a small whisper, and I glance over at him. John's fists are clenched at his sides, turning his knuckles a ghastly white, almost matching the grey tone of his knit jumper. His eyes are downcast, narrowed at the black carpet that is smattered with dust and crumbs. His chest is slowly rising, up and down, up and down, as his heart was probably beating rapidly fast by now.

        And I caused this. 

        I caused his anger. 

        "John." I swing my legs onto the floor, pushing myself up off the sagging couch. "John. I'm sorry." 

        "No, you aren't." 

        "Yes, I am." 

        "You're a pyschopath." 

        "I assure you I am a high--" 

        He cuts me off. "A high-functioning sociopath," John mocks in a high-toned voice. "As you always remind me." 

        "John, please." 

        "I'm leaving." He starts towards the door, arms swinging. And I almost reach for his hand. I almost reach to intertwine our fingers and squeeze comfortingly, truly assuring him that I mean my apology with all of my...mind. 

        The door slams hard...so hard that even I shudder from the tremor. And all I can do is whisper my dormmate's name. Helplessly, wholeheartedly, irrevocably. "John, John, John, John." A foreign sensation pulls at my chest, pulls me towards the door. But I stand, frozen, absoutely cold in fear.

        Everyone I favored always left. Always. Redbeard left. Sherrinford left. John left. Everyone always left. 

        I crumble to the ground, digging my fingernails into the soft carpet to aid the pain in subsiding. But it doesn't. And I am absoutely broken with defeat.

        But the door slams open, just like it slammed shut. And there is John, with his golden face and his golden hair. "John," I whisper. 

        "Sh-She...Sherlock...M-M-Mary's..." His breath catches in his throat, and his face pales almost immediately. 

        "What's wrong?" I run up, hands circling on top of his shoulders, never touching. 

        "She's dead. Mary's dead." 

~~AND THE CROWD GOES WIIIILLLLDDDD. heh heh heh. i love being evil. and also, forewarning, there are lots of more deaths to come. some of them you will absoutely hate me--and probably murder me--for. but murder is fun. right? right. vote, comment, fangirl bc DING DONG THE WITCH IS DEAD. love you, darlings!~~