I remember years ago someone told me I should
Take caution when it comes to love
I did.
~o~
John ...
You were always stronger than me. I always knew. Always wanted to tell you. You were so much better than me. I was happy, honestly I was, with you. You made me a better man, made me want to be a better man. You gave me something that I thought was impossible.
When I was young my mother told me I should take caution when it came to love, I suppose I took this too literally because I got careless, I forgot that I didn't have to be with you.
Falling out of love was hard and I'm sorry. Sorry for the embarrassment. But I was happy. You made me happy ...
~o~
It must have been cold outside, the window pane was misted, small drops of cold rain ran down the glass like tears, leaving soft, clear tracks through the chaos. The glass was chill against Sherlock's skin where his forehead was pressed against the pane as he watched. He'd seen this scene so many times before; John crossing the street, walking away from him. Away from him and to her. Her. His stomach roiled and his chest tightened in a way that was too uncomfortable for words. It hurt. It wasn't like he'd ever experienced before. He'd experienced pain before, pain of all kinds but nothing, nothing, compared to this. It wasn't like in the books. In those romance novels his mother used to read. There was no bright side, no silver lining or happy ending just waiting over the page. This was it. This crushing pain. But it was so much worse than that. He couldn't help feel that John had betrayed him. His John, the only person to ever truly manage to heal his scars. And he had. That plain, boring, brilliant and beautiful man had fixed him, made his heart swell and beat for reasons other than facts. Something that should have been impossible.
As John disappeared from sight Sherlock closed his eyes. Underneath it all he knew this wasn't John's fault, or even hers, this was all on him. He couldn't blame either of them for this. All those empty promises, promises that he'd stop, that he'd try harder, that he'd be better. Wasted words. And he'd finally pushed John away, into the arms of another, into her arms. Betrayal. But no, John wasn't the betrayer. He was. Sherlock. John had risked his heart for him and he'd broken it. He'd been happy. They, they'd been happy. What had he done? John had been everything Sherlock needed, wanted, and he'd pushed him away, hurt him, because he was scared.
~o~
... I broke your trust and I broke your heart. If I could I'd show you just how sorry I am. I know. I know now just how much I ruined you, tore open all your scars, those very same scars you'd worked so hard to heal, and I betrayed you. You have to know I didn't do it to hurt you. I didn't know any better. My over caution did this and I promise you John, my John, I will fix this. There's nothing else I can say...
~o~
Now. Sherlock was going to fix this now. Pushing off from the window he moved across the room, dropping onto the sofa, pen in hand and paper before him. With only a small pause he began to write, his smooth hand scrawling heartfelt words across the paper. It took minutes before he finished, folding the paper and scrawling John's name clearly on the front, propping it against the skull which had made its way onto the coffee table. Digging in the pockets of his jacket he pulled out a small, clear packet, settling it in the palm of his hand for a moment, one left. It was the pill from that case, their first case together, ironic really, he'd made sure to take this from the crime scene for testing and never gotten around to using it, and he knew, knew this was the right pill, the 'bad pill.' Leaning forward he set it carefully on the coffee table beside the mug of tea John had left from that morning. He stared at the speckled pill for what seemed like hours before he moved, easing his phone from his pocket he threw his jacket to the far end of the sofa, opening a fresh text for John, he simply wrote:
'I remember years ago someone told me I should take caution when it comes to love. I did.'
A beat and then he added,
'I'm sorry.'
Hitting send he dropped the phone to join the skull on the table. Scooping up the pill he dropped it into his palm, rolling it with the pad of his thumb before popping it into his mouth, swallowing it down with a mouthful of the cold tea. He set the mug down again carefully, he didn't want to make a mess for John, and stretched out on the couch, closing his eyes. All he had to do now was wait.
~o~
It wasn't half an hour later that John burst into the flat. His heart pounding in his chest, full of fear. That text had scared him. Scared him and made him understand. He understood everything now and he realised, it was Sherlock. Yes he was an arse but it was Sherlock he wanted, Sherlock he needed and it was always going to be Sherlock. His blood froze in his veins when he saw the man who owned his heart, pale and sickly looking on the couch, dark rings beginning beneath his eyes and blue tinted lips.
It was later, much later, that he noticed the letter.
~o~
... Goodbye and good luck. Know that I love you and believe me to be, my John, very sincerely, now and always, yours.
Sherlock.