A/N: John, Sherlock, and Mary all belong to the BBC. This story belongs to me :)
"That absolute BITCH!" John shouted.
He couldn't believe everything Mary had done. She'd lied to him, and he'd accepted that. He thought that his love for her was forever. But as he viewed the information, it all slowly evaporated.
Sherlock, across the room, cracked an eye open.
"John, I understand that this information must be hard for your tiny little brain to process, but I am trying to think." He went back to focusing on the nicotine spreading through his veins from the three patches on his arms.
Despite the slight, John ignored Sherlock's remark.
He pulled out his phone and sent Mary a text.
Lose my number.
It was cruel, but that was what he needed at the moment. Well, almost.
Please.
He glanced at the couch where Sherlock lay on his back.
Mrs. Hudson bustled in, carrying a tea tray.
"Read the file, dear? I'm so sorry. I heard the commotion, and thought you'd like some tea. And Mary seemed like such a nice girl. You know, at one po–"
Sherlock opened his eyes and fumed at the ceiling.
"Mrs. Hudson, would you please shut up. I'm working on a case."
"Oh! Sorry dear, didn't see the patches..." She hurried out.
John turned back to his computer, fuming. He ejected the thumb drive and pulled it out. Disgusted, he threw it on the floor and crushed it under his heel.
"Excellent, John, get all the anger out." said Sherlock sarcastically, "Now for the love of God, be quiet!"
John got up and walked out of the flat. And to think Mary was pregnant! Well, she could keep the child. He wanted no reminder of her in his life.
He opened the door out on to Baker Street and turned right, no idea where he was going.
As he walked, he thought. As he thought, his anger grew. How could she possibly live with herself, lying like that? He could almost forgive her about her past. After all, she wanted to change, for him. But clearly she hadn't changed enough because she lied to him about such important things!
He passed by a little coffee shop where he and Mary had shared many a coffee when they had courted. He glanced in. He saw a young couple, chatting happily over a cup of coffee. And just like that, his anger subsided. By the time he got to the park, he could hardly walk. He collapsed on a bench with his face in his hands, which were soon wet with tears. His whole body shook violently, and his breath came in short gasps. How could she betray him like that? He thought they had something! And they did, but he knew he could never forgive her lying like that.
His head buried in his hands, John peeked out between his fingers. A few pigeons had stopped in front of him, pecking at the remains of a bagel lying on the path. A few seconds later, he felt a presence come sit beside him.
"Funny little birds. Their brains are even smaller than poor Anderson's."
"Sherlock," John said, sighing, "Now is not the time. Please– just leave me alone."
"There, there, John," Sherlock said, awkwardly patting his back, "You know that now is a time when you need– er, friends most."
"I do, but you're not the best at being a friend."
"I know." said Sherlock, his hand settling stiffly on John's back.
Later that night, lying in bed, John was questioning Sherlock's actions. Normally, he wouldn't even try to comfort John, especially if he were thinking about a case. As a sociopath (even a high-functioning one), he didn't really know how to go about being kind to someone, and he normally wouldn't put in the effort. Was he starting to care? Was this some bizarre form of research?
John's dreams that night were plagued with Mary's face, jeering, and somewhere in the background Sherlock was saying "There, there, John."