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Sherlock always knew it was going to end.
In fact, thinking back on it, he’s surprised it even managed to last this long. He was never really good at keeping things after all, and especially not at keeping people- not that he’s ever had the chance to even try with his reputation. And he’s fine with it, really, because what use was sentiment to him, when all it brought was hurt?
He always knew it was going to end, he really did, he just… hoped that the end wouldn’t come so soon; that maybe, maybe he was ‘the one’ for him. He also knew better than to believe that would ever be the case for him- not him, the freak, and most definitely not with John. John, rugby captain and school heartthrob, undeniably the most popular guy in the school with his fitted form and easy smile; John, who was the epitome of perfection, and who Sherlock was lucky even looked at him- let alone be with him. And Sherlock’s known all these, in the couple of years they’ve been dating- just like he’s always known it was going to end.
So he doesn’t understand why he finds himself in his bed that night, unable to stop the tears streaming down his cheeks or the choked sobs of “John” that endlessly tear themselves from his throat… or his heart from feeling like it was being ripped from his chest.
Because what is he going to do now, without John Watson to guide him?
It all started a couple days ago, one of the mornings after Sherlock stayed over, when Sherlock came across a postcard that his rugby captain boyfriend had unwittingly dropped beside the sofa- presumably having fallen out of his pocket or bag as he rushed to get to class. It was a simple postcard, an innocent pale blue in shade, with all but two sentences written on it- “I’m coming back next week. Would you come meet me at the airport, as you always used to? –MM”- and it hadn’t interested the ballet dancer, not at first, till he saw the initials signed at the end. ‘MM’; Mary Morstan, one of John’s many ex-girlfriends granted, but the only one he’d been serious about (in fact, Sherlock thinks that they would possibly have been married happily by now if she hadn’t moved overseas), and also the one he’d been pining after for the two years before he’d met Sherlock.
Sherlock likes to think that he’s never been afraid before; he certainly wasn’t when he fell off the branch he was up on at the age of six, nor when he came out to Mycroft- not even when he’d overdosed and nearly died but now, those seemingly harmless words twisting in his gut, tangling his breaths in his throat as he shakily struggles to contain the overwhelming emotions, he thinks that he finally understands what the true meaning of fear is.
Tamping down the unease in his heart, he tries to reassure himself that he’s being silly and John wouldn’t leave him, because John is with him now, and John always calls him brilliant and amazing and one of Sherlock’s personal favourites (not that he would ever admit it), “love”, and John loves him, he knows he does, so of course he’s being silly, because John… John wouldn’t leave him, right?
But… What if he does?
Because of course he will, why on earth would he want to stay with Sherlock when she’s coming back and was actually in the same league as him, what with being a cheerleader and all- and even if she wasn’t, she’d still be a better choice than Sherlock, anyone would be.
He’s always known that it was a fluke of the universe that he managed to end up with John; he never thought that he could be with anyone, let alone John. John, with his ridiculous sweaters and gorgeous blue eyes; John, who made tea just the way that Sherlock loved, who made sure Sherlock ate and slept when he was lost in his experiments; John, who somehow knew about Sherlock’s unspoken need for constant affection, and yet was still kind enough to provide that for him, always hugging him tight and close and brushing gentle kisses across his skin. John… God, what was he going to do without John, his conductor of light and the one and only love in his life?
He’s nothing without John Watson.
When John returns home that evening, lips lifting in a warm and pleasantly surprised but weary smile as Sherlock goes to greet him at the door, he reaches up to plant a soft kiss to Sherlock’s wild curls.
“Hey you, have you been here the whole day then?”
“Yeap. Couldn’t be bothered leaving since i didn’t have class. You’ve had a busy day, I see. How did that open heart surgery go? It was a success, I gather. Congratulations.”
“How did you- nevermind. You’re bloody brilliant, you know that? Anyway, I was only there to observe, not to actually do the operation, but thanks for that.” Sherlock hummed noncommittally, waving a hand in dismissal as to the specifics of his role in the operation- it didn’t matter, not really, because he knew John would have been able to do the surgery just as well, if not better, by the time he graduated and was allowed to.
“So… what’s up?”
“Hmm? How do you mean?”
“Well, you don’t usually hang around to greet me by the time I return, so… did something happen?” Sherlock scoffed, pushing away the thoughts of asking John about the postcard. He’d promised himself that he would cherish these last few days he had with John; that he would be happy with John, for John, before he had to leave him. And he would leave, because he knows that John- kind, responsible John- would stay with him, out of obligation if not out of love, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want John to force himself to be happy with him, didn’t want to be a burden and hold John back, didn’t want John to end up hating him.
And so he would leave, and he would stay away from then on, even if he had to move overseas to do so, even if he had to rip his heart from his chest and leave it with John- if that was what had to be done, he’d do it.
“Nothing, I just… I missed you, that’s all.”
“Oh what now, am I not allowed to miss my boyfriend?” Sherlock scowled irritably as John raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. The blonde simply laughed, pulling the taller male into a hug, nearly sending him into tears because this was the last night he had with John. And that thought is what causes him to clutch at John’s jumper, the fuzzy oatmeal one that he secretly adores, and if John notices the slight desperation tinting the hug, he doesn’t comment, just pulls Sherlock even closer to him and engulfs him in that comforting warmth.
“I missed you too. Sorry I’ve been so busy lately too, I wish I had more time to spend with you.”
“No, it’s fine. I know you can’t help that…”
“Hmm? What is it?” John prompted, sensing the hesitance in the pause Sherlock left trailing behind and knowing that the other male would most likely not continue if not encouraged to.
“Um- well… It’s just… I was wondering if you were free the day after? There’s a show put on by the junior members of the academy, and I thought we could maybe go and see it?” John winced apologetically, running his fingers through those silky curls in the way he knew Sherlock liked.
“Sorry, love, but the day after isn’t good for me… I’ve already planned to meet up with some old friends.”
“Oh.” Sherlock replies softly, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice because John was going to meet Mary, just as he knew he would. He’d just hoped against all hope that he was wrong- for once in his life, he wanted so badly to be wrong- that John would choose him over her.
“I’m really sorry, Sherlock. Maybe we could go sometime in the week after?”
“No, that’s… it’s fine. It’s not important.”
“Well, I am sorry about it, really. Tell you what, since I’m back now and it’s not too late, how about I take you somewhere tonight to make up for that?”
“…There has been something I’ve wanted to do for a while…”
“Come on! They’re still open!” Sherlock beckons to his boyfriend, grinning madly as he leaps from the cab to stare in bright eyed wonder at the glowing lights of the London Eye. John laughed at his excitement, reaching for his hand as he dragged him along to the entrance, only to stop short when the lights flickered and dimmed. He feels the smile slip off his face, heart drowning in the sudden shock of despair as all he can do is stand there and stare up despondently, the large wheel slowly blurring before him as his eyes welled up.
“Hey…” Numbed, he turned to face the rugby captain, his voice uncharacteristically soft. John was watching him worriedly, eyebrows furrowed as he reached over to take Sherlock’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“I’m sorry, love, but they’re closed.”
“W-Why?” I just wanted this one last thing…
“What’s the matter, love? You look really upset.” Painting a small smile on his lips, he shook his head to reassure his boyfriend, staring up at the wheel wistfully.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. I just… really wanted to go on the Ferris wheel with you.” John chuckles quietly, reaching up to pull Sherlock down to him, foreheads resting together intimately.
“I did too. But there’s always next time, we’ll come back, alright?” And Sherlock can feel the tears building up as he forces out a tight smile.
“Come on, love, let’s go get some dinner instead.” Slowly releasing a shuddering breath, he casts one final forlorn glance back at the darkened Ferris wheel, before turning to follow John.
There won’t be a next time.
“Goodnight, Sherlock.” And he’s terrified when John turns to leave, fingers pulling away from Sherlock’s, because he doesn’t know how he’s going to continue without John- wonderful, brilliant, perfect John- his life and his heart and his everything. John will no longer belong to him come tomorrow; he has to let go, though God knows he never wants to, but he will, for John- because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for John. And he’s gripped by a sudden desperation to just… just-
“John!” And before he can stop himself, he’s sprinting towards the surprised blonde, flinging his arms around him in a crushing embrace.
“Sherlock?” He presses his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply to commit to memory the mix of tea, spice and jam-a scent so uniquely John- and the underneath it all, the faint scent of home.
“Sherlock, you’re shaking.” And when he feels those warm, familiar hands running soothingly down his back, he tears himself from the embrace. He needs to do this, to give John a proper farewell, because this is what John deserves. Planting a chaste kiss on cold lips, his whispered words lingering with a heavy sense of finality, ignoring the shocked protests of his soon-to-be ex- boyfriend as he abruptly flees indoors to hide the overflowing tears.
“Goodbye, John Watson.”
-
A couple weeks later, he hears a knock on the door of the villa he’s been residing in, which considering is in France, is pretty surprising all in all. A week after that night that he left his heart with the rugby captain, a week of sleepless nights and a lack of eating, a week of ignoring John’s calls and feeling his heart bleed as he did so, Mycroft stormed his room, threatening to sanction him- and he would have done it too, that fat git- if he didn’t come here, where his brother could at least keep an eye on him.
So when he opens the door to reveal him on the doorstep, he’s surprised- surprised being an understatement of epic proportions. He downright panics for a moment and almost slams the door right back in his face- almost, but he doesn’t because he’s right there, and he’s been aching to see him. He’d utterly resigned himself to the thought that he would never see him again, in fact, because why would he, now that she’s back and he can actually be happy.
“J-John?” Wordlessly, John pulled him into a strong embrace, folding the brunette tightly into his arms as he nuzzled into the skin beneath his ear, broken curses murmured under his breath.
“You… You crazy, stupid-”
“John?” Sherlock whispered, voice small and vulnerable as he clings to John, praying desperately that he wasn’t about to wake and find that this was all just a dream- because how can John really be here with him, in France.
“Idiot. You bloody sod! God, I just-…” Breath hitching with what sounded suspiciously like a sob, John squeezed Sherlock even more tightly against him, deflating against him with a heavy exhale.
“I was so bloody worried about you. You wouldn’t answer my calls, and I didn’t know where you went and I-you scared me. What happened, love? Why did you leave? Are you alright?” Sherlock shook his head rapidly, curls bouncing with the force of his actions.
“I had to! I-I didn’t want to, John, believe me. You have no idea how much I wished I could have stayed with you. I… love you. Deeply. And it’s because I do, that I had to leave. Don’t you see?”
“I don’t- I don’t understand, Sherlock, why…”
“Because she came back!” At this, John pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, eyebrows furrowing in a confused frown.
“Who came back?”
“Mary!”
“Sherlock-”
“No, John, I know you went to meet her, and I understand, I really do. I just… I couldn’t stay.” He feels the sting at the back of his eyes, and his eyes flutter shut briefly as he inhales deeply, voice shaking with a slight tremble when he finally gathers the strength to continue.
“Because I can’t compete with her, I know I can’t. But you would’ve stayed by me, just because you’re John and you just… I didn’t want to force you to stay with me. You deserve so much more than this- than me, John. I’m not good for you, I-” He’s abruptly silenced by a familiar pair of lips on his, the kiss hard and strong, but also so, so gentle and he can’t help but melt into it, a small whimper escaping from him.
“You listen to me, Sherlock Holmes. You’re more than good, you’re perfect for me. I don’t want anyone else, I only want you, and I will only ever want you. Do you understand?”
“But Mary…” Sherlock starts, uncertainty lacing his voice when John stops him with a caress to his cheek. John sighs, forcing his lips into a pained smile though his eyes are swimming in guilt.
“…You’re right, I did go to meet Mary. But not to get back with her… quite the opposite in fact. I went to tell her that I didn’t want to be with her again; that I didn’t think I could ever want to be with anyone but you. And I’m sorry that I didn’t make that clear. That you were suffering all this while, thinking that I’d just leave you when she came back. I’m not letting you go, not ever, because you’re mine, and I’m so, so proud of that. That someone so utterly wonderful and amazing as you are, is mine.” And he can feel the tears welling up again, blurring his vision as he rushes to throw himself back into John’s embrace.
He’s never thought he could belong to someone, that someone could look at him, at the cold exterior and the fragility within and still love him. He never thought that he could mean something to someone. And yet… here was John, perfect perfect John, who was holding him close and whispering sweet nothings in his ear, and he falls in love all over again.
And as it turns out, Sherlock could be wrong after all.