Part 22 - empty heart

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Your p o v
I sat in 221B and was waiting. I hadn't been this bored in such a long time. I had finished my most recent book and made tea. I even helped Mrs. Hudson clean.
Finally Sherlock and John showed up.
"Y/n good to see you," Sherlock muttered.
"I've been stuck in here all day and that's all you have to say," I cross my arms.
"Well we had to leave early," was his only reply.
I rolled my eyes. "I'm so bored...the world is insufferable."
"Now you see how I feel,"Sherlock sat next to me.
"I've got a case," I smiled.
"Great I'm ready for a new one," he smiled.
I correct him, "I've got a case. From the agency."
"Not fair I let you help me with mine," he whines.
I role my eyes, then think of the letter I got. The agency was going to let me be part of the honors society. Only the best got in, but it was in America. No way I could tell them just yet.
"What's wrong," Sherlock asks?
I shake my head. "Nothing."
He looks at me, "I'm me remember."
I sigh, "work."
"Stress?" He concludes unsurely.
Instead of answering I sip my tea. "Something along those lines."
Without waiting for a reply I head to my room. I couldn't say goodbye to Baker Street, but this is a huge opportunity. I'd have to take it.
"Y/n are you upset with me," Sherlock came into my room?
I shake my head. "No, you've done nothing wrong. That I know about."
"Well you're keeping a secret," he huffs.
I close my eyes, "I'm not ready to say."
"Just tell me, I won't tell anyone," he promises.
I took a fearful breath, "I've been offered a spot in the Honers society. I think I'm going to take it."
He smiles, "that's great, why would you keep it a secret?"
I cringe, "it's in America."
"Oh," was his only reply and for a second he looked heartbroken. Just for that second before he put up his emotionless facade.
"Sherlock..." I start.
He freezes, "it's perfectly fine if you want to go I won't stop you."
"Please don't be upset," I plead.
"I don't get upset I'm Sherlock Holmes."
Great, he's doing this. Wait a second what's that feeling? Oh right, crippling guilt.
"Please," I whisper.
He turns around and mouths, "caring is not an advantage." Then walks away.
I sit there for hours or minutes...not sure. Then I finally walk out. Sherlock seems fine, just experimenting.
"Hi," I sound so stupid.
He stops, "it's customary for a speech."
"For the ceremony? Yes a family member normally makes the speak. I don't expect them to make it," I shrug.
"Let me," he orders.
"Let you what," I ask?
"Make the speech," he insists.
I don't know. "Sure," I do owe him.

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