The Obsessed Heart

Chapter 4: /Friends/

        Puffing out a breath as you and John exited the kitchen, looking at the Detective in the chair where you once sat, John picked up his coat from the back of the chair and spoke, "Well, I'm just going to pop out to the shops and pick up a few things," he explained, adjusting the collar on his coat and zipping it up until comfortable, "I'll let you guys catch up on old times." He smiled, heading for the door and leaving.

        Now alone together, Sherlock really had nothing to say. He continued to sit in his chair with his legs crossed and fingers forming a wide steeple in front of his mouth.

        You slowly walked around towards him and sat in the opposite chair, just wondering what to say or even begin.

        "What do you really want?" he asked, leaning up and sitting on the edge of his chair, "Why are you really here?"

        Gulping, you looked down to your nervous hands and smiled, "I should've known you'd read me like a book," you joked, trying to somehow lighten the mood, but it didn't seem to work, "I- uh, I have a problem..." you began, looking up and over at him worryingly, "There's this guy-" you went to explain, but Sherlock interrupted with an exasperated laugh.

        "That doesn't really surprise me." He almost laughed ruthlessly.

        Swallowing hard, you nodded, trying to push back the past and focus on the matter, "Yeah, um, he's-" you continued, but once again was interrupted by the Detective.

        "Oh please, what? He's cheating on you? Probably." Sherlock spoke resentfully.

        "Please!" you yelled, your eyes almost filling with pain at hearing him be this way with you, "I- I think he's stalking me." You said, calming yourself, reaching out and touching his hand with yours.

        Listening and swallowing hard as he watched you explain, you were clearly distressed and disturbed by just thinking about your problem, let alone speaking about it. Sherlock sighed, looking down and feeling the warmth of your soft skin against his when he began to think.

FLASHBACK:

        Now, fifteen years old and in high school, Sherlock had his fair share of bullying along with being the cool kid as he had blackmailed his own way out of fights and things. But that really wasn't the worst for him; the worse part of it all was watching her, you, throw your life away with idiots and other boys, while he had to watch and be your 'friend', feeling his own heartbreak every time he saw you with someone else. 

        Eventually, he slowly began to avoid you by walking home alone and ignoring whenever you called for him. He didn't care. Thinking he had a chance was stupid, of course you were good looking, wanting to try new things and going to parties; ones that didn't involve inviting the loser, Holmes. 

        But this day was the day you'd had enough of being ignored and followed him home, confronting him on his own doorstep, "Why are you ignoring and avoiding me at school, Sherlock?!" you yelled irritably at him.

        "What?!" he replied loudly, sighing and throwing his bag down on the floor, "You're not my friend so why would I even talk to you in the first place?" he frowned, "I've grown up, and I don't want to be around idiots like you!" he finished, slamming the front door in your face.

        Sighing, Sherlock leaned against the door and closed his eyes hurtfully, holding back his angry and hatred tears. It was hard enough to keep his secret hidden without him wanting to scream and yell how much, and how long he had felt this way for, but now, he had blown any chance of that every happening, of ever being with you.

        Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother heard the loud noises and the door slam loudly. He came down the stairs looking confused at the boy, "What's going on?" he asked.

        Opening his eyes and inhaling deeply, the younger Holmes pushed his own self-hatred aside to look up and move away moved away from the door, up towards his brother, "Nothing." He replied, pushing passed him and heading towards his bedroom.

        Letting out a deep breath, Mycroft nodded, turning to look at his brother now at the top of the stairs, "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock," he said, "It will only cause more pain."

END FLASHBACK.

        "No." he said, standing up and pushing your hand away from him, "You're overreacting over nothing! He's probably just one of your ex-boyfriend and I find it rather insulting that you would come to me for help. I specialize in murder, not your pathetic relationships and stupid worries!" he huffed, facing the wall away from you and regulating his angry breathing.

        "Sherlock?" you whispered confusingly as if wondering where his sudden hatred and rant had come from.

        "I would like you to leave now." He decided, not bothering to turn or look back.

        Keeping quiet and simply staring at him, you felt betrayed and upset as you got to your feet, "I- I'm sorry, I just thought that you might've helped me since you're my friend..." you explained.

        "Well you thought wrong," he said, turning around and looking at you, "I don't have friends. You're very much mistaken to think you were mine." He explained showing no emotion at all.