rough ashes ;; johnlock

Chapter eleven

I trusted you,
and you broke
me.
n.a

JOHN

John laid next to him, clutching his icy fingers inside his hand. Sherlocks dark head was on his chest as he rose and fell. The beauty of their breaths as they both inhaled and exhaled, in a patterned motion.
Sherlock was only a kid.
And his heart was hammering inside his chest at the speed of a thousand suns. The boy's cheeks were a pale, almost pastel pink, as if someone had painted them on.
Sherlock grimaced as if he was in pain, and shut his eyes. "I can't John, I simply can't."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm broken and nobody can fix it." he croaked, "not even you."
"well, give me the opportunity to try."
"I'll only just hurt you."
"Again, what an opportunity."
Silently, he lay there, in John's arms, John, having no idea what so ever, on what to do with this valuable, fragile, ceramic treasure.

SHERLOCK

They day was like pieces of a puzzle scattered along twenty four hours. there were a thousand pieces, and it didn't help that his heart wouldn't stop beating so fast. The nightmares had come back to haunt him, not only in his dreams but in his waking hours as well.
He wanted it just stop.
Every fucking second, of this world, to just stop. He wanted to stop the world, get off, resign the contract for feelings and carry on with his life.
But then he could not love John.
Did he love John? It was a question he asked him self time and time again, questioning his very own sexuality.
Did he love John?
Was it all really that hard to decide? He was beautiful, there was no doubt about that, he wasn't beautiful like the models in the magazines or the men on posters and whatanott, he was beautiful like the sunlight off the water, like the surface of a jew, like, like -

But was that enough to love John?
He was honestly the best thing that had happened to him.
The only one who loved him.

But why did John care so much? Why did he love Sherlock? Why did he kiss him?

Why does anyone do anything?

John got up from the bed, pulling on the creased uniform that hung on his chair. "I simply refuse to go to school." Announced Sherlock, from underneath the covers.
"Did I ask you?" Said John collecting his bag, "Why would I?"
"Just a phase of conformation, just in case the thought ever crossed your mind."
"You've missed two weeks so why start now?" He paused for effect before touching his lips to Sherlocks forehead.
"Bye,"

He never said "Love you," at least he didn't anymore.

JOHN

When John arrived at school, there are only whispers, just whispers, about them, but mostly about Sherlock. Some say he's been suspened, what for, john doesn't find out, others day he's over dosed and been carted off to rehab.

They don't question John, after all he hasn't shown up for at least a week now. He regains his old seat, the one he choose at the beginning of the year, not out of sentiment, but because it helps him think.

His mind wandered, it branches loose from the relevant subjects, and onto Sherlock. Thats all he ever thought about.

But did he ever love him?

He was just too afraid to ask, "Do you love me?" Afraid of the answer that had at least a fifty - fifty chance.

"Do you love me?" He whispered to himself.

"Nah Watson, no one loves you, you fag." Replied a boy that sat behind him.

It was truly hilarious how precisely accurate he was.

SHERLOCK

Did you miss me?