A/N: So, I got this idea a couple of days ago after reading a few fanfics, and I'm quite proud with the product. There will be another chapter out sometime this week. I'm not sure where this is going yet, but Johnlock is probable. If you understand the title of the story, props to you.
The words "I'm sorry" and "Don't go" stick in his throat, although he will not say them. They are redundant and pointless. John will leave soon, and there is no point in making him feel guiltier for leaving than he already looks.
Sherlock tries to convince himself that he doesn't need the doctor. He tries to remember the way he was before John showed him that he could be more, but he can't deny the way John heightens his senses, improves his observations, makes him want to be good, to be better, to be as amazing as he can. He wants to need John, he realizes. He wants John here.
"I won't say 'stay safe', because I know that's pointless, but at least try to stay in one piece until I get back." John tries a smile, but it looks more like a grimace as he glances at his feet. Sherlock tries to ignore the nagging feeling that he should be saying something.
He wants to say so much, but there wouldn't be enough room or time for everything he's thinking. "Stay safe." "Don't get shot again." "I'll miss you." "When will you be back?"
"Who will tell me to eat, or sleep, or pass me my phone, or shop, or make me tea, or order takeaway, or fend off my boredom, or come with me on cases, or compliment me, or tell me not to blow up the flat, or complain about the head still in the fridge, or worry about me, or care for me?"
But he just sets his shoulders and pushes a meager,"I'll try," past the lump in his throat. He tries to delete, delete, delete the stupid thoughts filtering through his head as John tries another smile.
"And don't blow up the flat," the doctor supplies, wagging a finger like it's meant to be funny. If it's a joke, it falls flat.
The boffin merely nods, eyes wandering down John's body before settling back on his face. He wants to be comforting, supportive, reliable, every word he would use to describe his blogger, yet he stays inexplicably still, needing to search for the strength just to step forward.
The words "Stay alive" ring in his ears as he tries to communicate with his eyes what he can't with words. Hesitant, he runs his hands over the fine fabric of John's uniform, smoothing out the wrinkles and relishing ever dip and extension of John's body until he knows now is the acceptable time to pull his hands away.
John smiles at him as he shifts his kit bag. "Take care, Sherlock," he says, placing a warm hand on the detective's shoulder. The boffin catalogues the pleasant feel of it before it leaves all too quickly.
He realizes this is the last chance he has to say something to John in person. With a calming breath, he hopes he can convey through actions what he still cannot with words.
He bends forward, taking John in his arms, burrowing his face into the crook of his neck, reveling in the feel of the doctor's body pressed into his own. He savors the feel of John's one hand in his hair, the other dug into his back, the small sigh of approval beside his face.
"I'll write," John assures, lips brushing against his ear. "As soon as I can," he continues. Sherlock swears he can feel the doctor tracing shapes into his back. A triangle, circle, square.
Then his arms are gone, and he's stepping away. Sherlock lets him, and wonders what would be the best way to say farewell. He's always been shite at goodbyes, just like Mummy.
"Goodbye, John," is all he can muster, but he wishes he could know how to say more, how to convey these things he's never felt before blooming slowly in the cavity of his chest.
John smiles at him, and the detective aches when he thinks about how long it will be until he sees the curve of those lips again. Suddenly, he wants to hear John laugh, just so he can replay the sound over and over again in his Mind Palace.
John sighs, and the detective can see him biting the inside of his cheek as he pulls away. Simply, he waves. "Goodbye, Sherlock," he says. Then, he turns on his heel, and only now does Sherlock realize that this is it.
John Watson is leaving him.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed. Any criticism, feedback, suggestions, or questions are acceptable and gladly welcomed.