I Am Offering This Scarf

Chapter 15- Contract

Sherlock sits up abruptly. He swings his legs off the couch and pulls me to my feet. His grasp on my hand is incredibly tight as he starts to pull me out of the room. He turns around with rage in his face. "No. Not now. Fuck you Mycroft. He's not going."

Mycroft flinches at the tone of his voice. He stands. "Sherlock, he has no choice, he has to go. They have him scheduled to leave in two days."

Sherlock lets go of my hand and gets right in Mycroft's face. "You could have let us get the letter! Oh wait,... no you couldn't. You can't accept that anything makes me happy. Can you? That's why you had to be the one to tell us. You're such a God damn ass." His voice raises as he points over at me. "He's the best thing that's ever happened in my life and you are not going to be the one who takes him away! Not like you took away everything else! I never should have called you last night for help. What a great help you've been." He growls.

"Sherlock." I say quietly. I place my hand on his back. "Hey."

His breaths are ragged. He's angry as hell, but doesn't back away from his brother. "You always take away the things I love and I'm done with it. Don't try and talk to me again. He's not going." He turns around and grabs my hand, walking us out of the room. "You're not getting the phone either." He calls. His hand is wrapped around mine so hard, it's starting to hurt.

***

"Sherlock." I say softly as we close the door behind us. Close the door to the outside world.

He faces away from me, shoulders hunched.

I wrap my arms around him and put my chin on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay."

He pries my hands away from his waist. He faces me and pulls my hands up to his cheeks. They're wet. "No, it's not."

I sigh. "I'm the one who has to leave, and I'm acting fine. Sherlock, it'll be okay. I'm coming back."

Letting go of my hands, he slides down the wall and puts his face on his knees. A sob escapes his throat, and it's louder than something I would expect to come from him.

Ms. Hudson opens her door and peers into the foyer. "What in....Sherlock? John? What are you–..."

I rush over to her. "Please, go back into your flat. I've been told I have to go back over-seas. He's not taking it very well." I relay this very quiet, not wanting to set Sherlock off.

She covers her mouth. "John, but what about the wedding?" Her eyes start to pool.

That must be why Sherlock's broken down. But that wasn't even a definite thing, just a spur of the moment realization. "I don't know, Ms. Hudson. Please, he and I need to talk. Alone. I'm sorry." I close her door behind her as she turns around into her flat.

I look over at Sherlock and find that he's looking up at me, face absolutely defeated.

"You can't go..." He whispers. So much sorrow echoes in his words. Like he doesn't really believe what he's saying but he wants to.

Like he's losing the only thing he loves.

I crouch in front of him and put the back of my hand on his forehead. He's sweaty and his ghostly pallor is worrying me. "You're gonna make yourself sick."

His head leans against my hand. "I don't care." He's falling apart. I have to get him upstairs. I tuck my hands under his arms and help him stand up. He stays leaned against the wall, his sheet soaked at the knees.

I laugh sadly, "You're a mess." I take his hand and pull him up the stairs, the fading daylight shining off the edge of the robe I'm wearing. I can't believe I'm still wearing it. It looks awful.