Text Messages Cannot Convey Feelings

Chapter Eleven

I think I understand now. You aren't ever coming back. JW

Was John being serious, or was this all a part of the charade?

John had given up on him.

Of all the possible outcomes of the situation, this one had never occurred to Sherlock. He'd assumed that John would wait until Sherlock could come back.

There was the phone again. John scrolled down the screen, looking, but not sending anything.

The tiny eyes on screen grew steadily less tiny. John leaned back on the couch, in a state of shock.

Was something wrong? Had Sherlock broken his best friend beyond repair?

Sherlock pressed his nose to the screen of his laptop.

"John. You're okay. You're fine. Please be fine. I love you."

Suddenly, Sherlock's face was three feet from the computer. Those words... They had just slipped from his lips.

But he had meant them.

Oh, god. John was straight, achingly straight. He would never in a million years consider a relationship with Sherlock. Emotions, emotions were clouding his judgement.

Besides, even if Sherlock came home, there COULDN'T be a relationship. Because John would be DEAD.

He'd rather watch John move on without him than let that happen.

John was looking at the stairs now.

Why?

Walking towards, then up the staircase. He still seemed dazed. Once in his own room, John sat on the bed. Staring. At what? At his desk, at the drawer that contained...

His old service revolver.

*

"Suicide is not the answer," Sherlock heard John murmur.

Sherlock was outside, hailing a cab before he even registered getting up. "221b Baker Street!" He spat at the cabbie.

Goodbye, Sherlock. JW

"As fast as you can!"

Thank god Mycroft had made Sherlock's wifi mobile. He could see John get the gun from his desk. Turning it over and over in his hands.

Mycroft.

After telling his older brother to getba team there as soon as possible, Sherlock urged the cabbie to increase speed.

Not goodbye. Hello again. JW

With that, John pressed the gun to his temple.