I DON'T OWN SHERLOCK.
A cold look
And it was over.
A single harsh word
And everything ended.
Prologue – Part 1
He was lost in his mind palace again. What would he do without him? It was over now. All over. Three years of bliss, even after such a hard three years of pain. He thought they had gotten over that. That everything was okay now; that they would simply pick up where they left off and loved each other.
Guess not.
He pulled out his gun, cocking it and sending more bullets whizzing at the wall to edit the smiley already there. It was an angry expression now. One sick of the world.
That kind face…
That kind face wasn't here anymore. It had distorted into something defiant. Distant. Cold. What had happened? He had been so upset that he didn't even try to deduce his emotions to find out. But now he was gone, out the door. He just packed his bags and left that same night without a word.
In all of his thinking, he didn't hear the door open.
"Get out. Mrs. Hudson says only one of us should stay here anymore, and that's me." The brunette looked up to see the owner of the cruel, unrecognizable voice. That cold voice was glaring at him in return. He tried to see any sliver of information, but it was all stone. Where had he gone wrong?
Sherlock stood slowly, wearing his more casual clothes consisting of a purple button up and black slacks. He walked to his bedroom, pulling out the suitcases he had filled with his things earlier. He decided to leave his decorative things in the flat when he realized there were just too many memories in 221B. He had to leave or else he would go more insane than he already was. He left without a word, resisting the urge to fall into the shorter man's arms and beg for forgiveness for whatever it was he had done. The door was closed for him.
John crashed down in his favorite armchair, and simply broke into bitter tears. Everything was ruined, and it was all his fault. Sherlock would never forgive him. He had been so cruel…
It really didn't matter to him that Sherlock had been gone all that time. He had just been protecting John. That was all that mattered; they cared about each other. He had just had a stressful day, and took his anger out on the wrong person. Not just the wrong person… There was nothing worse than doing that to Sherlock. He was so new to having friends, let alone being in a relationship. But he couldn't fix it now. The deed was done. So John wept, his cane beside the chair for when he need it.
The blonde stayed this way for another hour, perhaps longer. He would have gone on, feeling sorry for himself, but there was a knock on the door that interrupted his session of depression. Most likely his older landlady to check in on him.
He wiped his face on his beige jumper and sniffled, trying to look as though he hadn't been crying. The cane was reflexively in his hand as he stood and limped over to the door. One thing bothered him though: Mrs. Hudson never knocked. Perhaps it was a package for his ex-roommate?
He opened the door and saw a man with ever graying hair and a tear stained face with bags in his hands on the other side.
"Lestrade, what a lovely-" John was interrupted by his visitor's upset voice before he could finish the formal greeting.
"Can I stay with you for a while?"
Hello dears! Thanks for actually caring to read the prologue! I promise that the future chapters will be longer; this is just something to give you a feel for my style of writing and the mood of the story. Please review, and follow/favorite if you like it!