The One Next Door

The Pets Know More Than the Pests

"Everything alright?" Molly asked.
"I'm taking the day off." Sherlock admitted.
"Maybe that's for the best. I'll come over, get a pizza or something later." Molly suggested.
"I'm not hungry." Sherlock insisted.
"I'm sure you will be." Molly decided. Sherlock just shrugged, lumping his apron together and putting it under the counter. "Don't do anything stupid!" Molly called after him. Sherlock didn't respond, just shuffled sadly over to the door and pulled on his trench coat. There was no black coat with stupid leather patches hanging over top of it, there was no John to tease, no John to talk about hardware store inventory, there was no John period. And that meant there was no Sherlock. He pulled on his coat as he walked out of the shop, an unusual feeling to be walking down the sidewalk alone. But it was alright, he should really get used to being alone again. It was a relatively chilly day, the sun was shining but there was a cold wind blowing through the air, ruffling his curls and scraping against his now pink cheeks. Sherlock kept his head down as he walked, to make sure no one noticed the tears still forming in his eyes, or how his face was blotchy and streaked, or the dead look in his eyes that just screamed of a broken heart. Even if people did notice this, they'd think that it was probably for the best. Sherlock and John had been so public, they've held hands on the street, kissed in public, even sang Barbie Girl in front of half the town, it seemed like everyone he passed knew that what they had was bound to fail. Maybe everyone knew, everyone except Sherlock. When he got back to the apartments, he heard the telling noise of little paws on the carpet, Dudley was coming down the stairs, and that only meant that his handler was coming as well. Sherlock ducked out of the way, into someone's door way so that he wouldn't have to talk to John. His neighbor probably thought that he was gone, John would think that Sherlock was still at work, that even though his life was falling apart around him that he could still keep up his duties. But no, Sherlock couldn't even manage making coffee anymore.
"Dudley, slow down, stop it, what's gotten into you?" John growled, pulling on Dudley's leash from the top of the stairs. Sherlock pressed himself even farther into the wall, hoping that John wouldn't notice him if h blended into the shadows. But of course, it was the dog that gave him away. Dudley gave a bark of excitement and scrambled into Sherlock's corner, trying to jump up on his legs to lick his face.
"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John asked. Sherlock didn't move, looking into the face of the man he still loved.
"I have nothing to say to you." Sherlock decided, and with that he tried to escape. The bad thing about a corner though, was that there is only one way out, and John was blocking it. Sherlock tried to step around him, but John moved with him, blocking Sherlock's only mean of escape.
"Stop sulking and let's talk about this." John insisted. Sherlock tried to barrel through him, throwing all his body weight forward, but John just pushed him back into the doorway, making Sherlock fall into the door, probably scaring the inhabitants.
"What, what do you want to talk about?" Sherlock insisted, straightening his askew jacket and standing up straight.
"Oh, you know, the weather, politics, maybe our bloody relationship." John growled.
"I don't think we have one anymore." Sherlock decided.
"Yes we do Sherlock, we do have one, I'm not going to give you up that easily." John insisted.
"Good thing I did it for you then." Sherlock snapped.
"How can you say that?" John asked his voice cracking. "How can you possibly say that, Sherlock, we were in love!"
"Yes, I was, evidently my feelings were not returned." Sherlock decided.
"Stop this, I see right through you! You're not fooling anyone, with this whole laugh in the face of death act, Sherlock, you're broken, you're breaking, fading away inside, it feels like your heart is dissolving in the pain, you feel hallow. I know that you try to keep your head up and a smile on, but it feels like you're being dragged by strings, society's expectations is your puppeteer, I know that because I feel the exact same way! So stop this, just stop this, and let us talk." John begged. "Let me love you again."
"My puppeteer inclines me to walk away right now." Sherlock decided.
"Then let's walk together." John pleaded.
"There's nothing to talk about John, I know that you 'made a mistake' I know that you've been hiding your pregnant girlfriend from all of us, lying, to all of us, to me." Sherlock assured.
"And I want to fix that." John begged.
"What can you possibly fix? Are you going to abort the baby, are you going to make her leave, are you going to run away? She's your family now, and no matter how much you 'love me' there's nothing you can do to change that!" Sherlock insisted.
"I know. I know that I can't do anything to stop Mary, but I can do things to fix you." John debated. "And I need to talk to you about something, something important, please would you hear me out?"
"You have five minutes, then you're gone." Sherlock decided.
"You don't really mean that?" John asked.
"I do." Sherlock decided. "Now, Watson, for your own good, let me pass." John sighed, looking at Sherlock in defeat, but stepped aside to let Sherlock storm up the stairs. Dudley strained on the leash, and John followed, up the stairs to Sherlock's apartment.
"Clock starts now, talk." Sherlock growled, throwing his key roughly onto the counter so that it bounced off and landed on the floor. John let go of Dudley's leash, and the dog ran up to the couch, curling into a ball next to the empty vodka bottle.
"Every time Mary comes over, I have to lock Dudley in the bathroom." John sighed.
"Why?" Sherlock asked, keeping his scowl on and leaning over the counter. John's face slacked as he glanced over to the painting on the easel.
"Because he growls at her, whenever she comes in. I don't understand it, he loves everyone, but he can't stand the sight of her. I think he knows that something's wrong, that she shouldn't be walking into my flat. That you should be." John guessed.
"Even the dog can see it." Sherlock sighed.
"Sherlock, I'm a traditional man." John decided. Sherlock snorted with disbelief, but let him continue. "And I know, I know what to do when you get a woman pregnant, I know what I have to do." John sighed. Sherlock looked down at the counter, feeling whatever was left of his heart crumble. All the hope of being with John once again was officially gone.
"You're going to marry her?" Sherlock asked in a small voice.
"I have no other choice. I know it was supposed to be you and me, it was always supposed to be us, but I have to marry her. This gives you a chance to move on; it gives you a fresh start, to find someone more deserving of your love, to find someone that will always make you happy." John muttered.
"You were...the only one that made me happy. You still are, indecently, you're still making me happy even though you're hurting me. Mycroft was wrong, I do have a heart. I know I have one, because I feel it breaking." Sherlock muttered.
"I don't want to break your heart." John begged, taking a step forward, but Sherlock took a step back, the counter separating them.
"You already have!" Sherlock demanded. Dudley whined from the couch, giving the empty bottle sniff and sticking his long tongue into the neck of it, licking out whatever reside remained of the alcohol.
"Even the dog can't cope without a little help." Sherlock sighed.
"Was that bottle full?" John asked.
"It was yesterday." Sherlock sighed. John looked down in shame.
"Well, I'll have to buy a ring, and I'll have to ask her, and I'll have to move away from here, eventually." John decided. Sherlock sighed, walking from behind the counter into the bathroom without any explanation.
"Sherlock, where are you going?" John called, not following. Sherlock grabbed the little purple box from the floor and walked back to the kitchen, pressing the box on the counter and sliding it towards John.
"I'm sorry there aren't any diamonds. Then again, you didn't want any." Sherlock sighed. John looked up in disbelief, his face beyond sadness, beyond despair. Sherlock couldn't look him in the eyes as John picked the box up from the table, opening it and staring at the ring inside.
"This was for me?" John asked.
"We were going to be happy. I knew that we were going to be happy. Yesterday I thought nothing could come between us, how wrong could I have possibly been?" Sherlock admitted. John walked closer to him, around the counter to stand next to Sherlock. Sherlock didn't back away, he didn't feel able to walk away, as if he changed his feet position he would go toppling down.
"We can leave." John decided.
"No we can't." Sherlock insisted.
"We can, I don't know, pretend to die, fake a car crash, counterfeit death certificates, I don't mind breaking her heart, I just want to mend yours." John decided.
"There's more at stake here than Mary's heart. There's more to Mary than her heart." Sherlock pointed out.
"I still want to be with you Sherlock; I'll always want to be with you." John begged, stepping closer to Sherlock once more. Sherlock looked down on him in shame, resisting the urges to either step closer or step back. John reached out to touch Sherlock's hand, but Sherlock jerked it away with a twitch, not going to give himself the false satisfaction John's hand could bring.
"John, you need to step away." Sherlock decided.
"I need to step closer." John insisted.
"John, please, just take the ring, leave, this can be our goodbye." Sherlock begged.
"I don't ever want to say goodbye to you." John debated.
"But you have to." Sherlock breathed.
"No I don't." John insisted, taking another step closer until there was barely any space between them.
"People have affairs all the time, she could never find out." John insisted.
"Yes, you are particularly good at hiding relationships." Sherlock agreed.
"I can take Mary as my bride, but I can have you as my love." John decided.
"That can never happen." Sherlock insisted.
"Not with that attitude." John agreed, standing up on his toes to get to Sherlock's height. "She never has to know." He muttered, leaning closer so that Sherlock could feel his breath, his lips so close... Sherlock drew his head back, taking a step backwards.
"John, leave, please." He decided. John stepped a defeated step back, looking heartbroken.
"I have to go propose to Mary with the ring that was meant for me." he clarified.
"Yes, you do." Sherlock agreed.
"And I have to slide it over her finger, knowing that it was going to be symbol of our undying love?" John asked.
"Call it, payback." Sherlock nodded.
"I don't want payback, I don't want revenge, I want you." John begged.
"Well, I'm something that you just can't have. Not anymore." Sherlock decided. "Now please John, before if have to possibly call the cops." John sighed, taking a step back and pocketing the ring.
"This doesn't have to be goodbye." John insisted.
"I'd like it to be." Sherlock decided.
"It doesn't have to be." John pointed out. Sherlock sighed.
"I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock admitted.
"Good." John decided. "I love you Sherlock."
"Don't get used to saying that." Sherlock sighed. John nodded, and with that he walked out of the apartment, leaving Sherlock standing alone at the counter in shame. 

         A week later, Sherlock checked his mail box alone. Molly was out with Tom, John was out with Mary somewhere, and Sherlock was alone as usual. He flipped through the bills and the advertisements, trying not to think about how he was going to afford the bills if all the money he had was now on Mary's finger, when a white and gold envelope stuck out of the pile. Sherlock pulled it out, seeing his name spelled out in very near cursive writing, the handwriting unknown to him. Sherlock looked around, setting the rest of his mail on a ledge as he pried open the mysterious letter. An equally shiny piece of paper fell out, and the words broke his heart. You are formally invited to the wedding of John Hamish Watson and Mary Elizabeth Morstan. Come join the union of two young hearts on Saturday, January 23rd. Sherlock sighed, tucking the letter back into the envelope and stuffing the rest of his mail into his pocket, trudging up the stairs alone. So this was it, John had asked, Mary had said yes, and now their two young hearts would unite officially. And of course, Sherlock's young, broken heart would be left behind. And he had thought he had it all. A meow brought him back to his senses, a little sound that he would normally ignore. But, since he had nothing better to do, Sherlock turned to see Hell Spawn perched on the banister, licking one of her paws and looking at him with those evil yellow eyes. 

"What are you doing out of the flat?" he spat. Hell Spawn thankfully didn't respond. Sherlock looked around to see if Molly was anywhere to be found, or if her door was open. But she was absent, and her door was closed and locked, so there was no way for the cat to have gotten out. Hell Spawn jumped down from the banister and circled Sherlock's legs, purring and rubbing up against his calves as if they didn't even hate each other.
"Come on cat, back home." Sherlock insisted. Hell Spawn continued to circle him, purring loudly.
"Get out of here!" Sherlock demanded. Still, the cat stayed put. Maybe the only thing in this world that didn't leave him. "Alright then, come on. We can't have you wondering around unsupervised." Sherlock decided, walking up to his flat and unlocking the door. Hell Spawn waited patiently, the moment the door was open she ran inside, jumping up on the counter and purring once more.
"Since when did you like me?" Sherlock asked, locking his door and throwing his mail down on the counter next to the cat, who rubbed up against his arm. Sherlock sighed, giving in and petting the cat behind the ears. "You pity me, don't you?" Sherlock decided as Hell Spawn rubbed her head against his hand.
"You don't have to, I'm fine." Sherlock defended. He didn't know why he was talking to the cat, much less lying to it. Humans may fall for the 'I'm fine' trick, but animals certainly didn't. Helen probably saw right through Sherlock, as John had.
"Right then, want some food? Thankfully, Molly has some cat food in my fridge." Sherlock decided, walking over to his fridge and pulling out the ancient cans of Fancy Feast wet cat food. Helen waited patiently on the counter as he pried the can open and dumped it onto a little plate, sliding it over to her and watching her lap it up.
"Did Molly not feed you?" he asked, stroking the cat as she ate. "She's forgotten to feed me as well." He admitted, his stomach growling. Of course, he was totally broke, his twenty dollar reserves spent on another bottle of vodka. So he would be skipping yet another meal, not expecting John to pay him back for the ring or anything. He'd suffer, but he was used to that by now. Burning quietly while the world functioned around him, while lovers went on dates, and old friends got married, and everyone left him once more. When Helen was finished eating, Sherlock threw the little plate in the sink and went to sit on the couch, turning on whatever crap television he could find and putting an old cigarette to his lips. Helen pranced over and curled up on his lap, right as he was about to light it. Sherlock sighed, not wanting the cat to inhale second hand smoke, and set the lighter aside, shoving the cigarette back into the pack and saved it for later.
"Looking out for me, huh?" he asked, stroking the cat's soft fur. Helen purred a little ball of fuzz on his lap. "Maybe you're the only one anymore." he sighed, letting his head fall back on the couch. "Maybe you're the only one that remembered little old me." Helen didn't respond, but that was alright. Her purring, just her presence, told Sherlock enough. That somehow old resentments can be put aside in times of need, when Sherlock needed a friend and Helen needed someone to look after her. Maybe now, all they had was each other.