A Scandal in Baskerville High

Chapter 6 - Did I Say 'Go'? I Meant 'Stay'

•Sherlock's POV•

John thinks I want him to go. Good. Secretly, more than anything else I want him to stay. Stay here, with me, together...I'm so fucking selfish! With me, he'll only get hurt. Just remember, Sherlock, this isn't about you. You don't deserve anything. This is for John.

All for John.

He has to go. As long as he's with me, he's in danger. The clubbies will hurt him, I will hurt him...the list goes on.

"John. Just go. For your sake."

***

I woke up the next morning feeling dreadful, almost hungover. But I knew I didn't drink last night. I just FEEL like shit because I AM shit.

John didn't make any noise - aside from a pained grunt - as he changed into his clothes and left the room, going who-knows-where.

I thought about following him, but he'd tell me off. Why? Because I beat him into the ground.

Not just ANY 'him', MY fruitcake John.

When I first found out about his sexuality, I was excited. Yay, he's gay! Like me! I can kiss him and he won't recoil! But no. He has to go.

As much as I want to, kissing him is out of the question.

I lay in bed all day, not getting up to change, eat...nothing. I didn't sleep though, the nausea kept me up.

Speaking of nausea...I ran to the bathroom, making it just in time to empty the few contents of my stomach. Eugh, that's delightful. I deserve it.

I couldn't help it, I started to cry. I hurt John because I was afraid. I'm a selfish coward. I thought of myself before I considered John. It made me sick to my stomach, causing me to vomit again. I knelt next to the toilet, head down, sitting in a mixture of sweat, tears, and stomach fluids. Nice. Smells just fantastic.

But I hardly noticed. I just thought of how worthless I am, how much I deserve to just lay down and die.

Why don't I?

Just drink cyanide. Get it over with.

But I can't, because I'm a fucking coward.

"Sherlock...?"

I looked up, and through the blur of my tears, I could see a concerned John standing in the doorframe. Fuck. Hadn't even heard him come in.

"Jesus Christ," he slowly advanced, kneeling next to me, a safe distance away. He's scared of me.

"John, just...I'm fine..."

"You are not fine," he insisted, "Look at you. God, what happened?"

"I'm sick, John," I rasped, wheezing.

John rolled his eyes, standing up, "I can see that."

"No...I mean I'm SICK, I'm corrupt...I'm scared, alone, brutal, broken...I'm empty. An empty shell and...oh, God, can you ever forgive me?"

He stared down at my crippled form, "No. I can't."

I sobbed. Of course not, I never expected him to. I beat him senseless. I shattered his hopes and dreams of ever being friends even more than I shattered his face. HIS face, my John's face. He was so innocent, so hopeful, so small...I hardened him, broke him...now he's twisted, gnarled, and cold. Just like me.

This is what I do to people. I break them. This is why he has to go.

"No, I can't, Sherlock..." He sighed, kneeling again and taking my face in his hands, "But I can forget it."

I stared back at him, not believing my ears. What? Say that again?!

He shied away. Oh...he still thinks I think his fruitiness is repulsive and that he shouldn't touch me. If only he could know. Please, John...keep touching me. Call it impossible, but his warm hands seem to comfort me. I like it.

"I just got banged up bad in football," John smiled at me, "That's all."

"You did?"

"YEAH, how else would I get these bumps? Silly."

I flashed him a sad and maybe-a-little-too-loving smile. He's doing this for me. ME. Why? Why should he care?

So maybe I didn't break him. Silly me. John is more robust than that.

"God, you look horrible," John laughed at me, "Let's get you cleaned up."

He helped me to my feet, and I staggered before finding my footing, with help from John. I looked in the mirror. John's right - wet, swollen eyes, red spots around my face, gunk around my lips - mm, yummy! I look positively swoon-worthy.

While I washed my face, John cleaned up the toilet and surrouding area. Then he turned the washroom fan on, to air out the place.

He guided me back to my bed, laying me down and sitting on the foot of it.

"I need a smoke," I wheezed, reaching for the pack.

"No, you don't," John swat my hand away, "You need sleep."

I whined, crossing my arms like a baby and refusing to get under the covers. Eventually I got bored, realizing how tired I actually am and how cold the room seems.

I wriggled under the sheets, and John got up to give my feet room. No, John, come back...I'm cold...

I sighed. Haha, in your dreams, Sherlock. He still has to go.

As I drifted off, I could just feel John gently kiss my forehead before retreating to his side of the room.

**HIDEY HO LLAMAS.

So here's the update you've been waiting for! YAY!! *applause*

So lots of DRAMA going on. I know...YAWN, where's the action. I get it. HOLD YOUR HORSES, IT'S A-COMING.

I noticed this story has 221 reads. That's pretty awesome.

Heeheehee.

Irony, man.

Gets me every time.

SO, hope you enjoyed, my lovelies!!

Remember, y'all just keep being y'all!

XOXO, Garnent•.•**