Molly's execrable radio station announced something called "twin spin oldies". Sherlock resented the intrusion but couldn't quite snap at her after what she'd done for him. Sofa pillows pressed to his ears didn't stop the plaintive words from leaking in; he focused on the pleasure of deleting them later until the word "untouchable" wafted in and settled disdainfully like a cat. He eyed it warily, surprised to find that what had been a point of pride now felt painful, like a banishment sentence. He summoned it for further examination:
1. Impenetrable. He probed the dull ache of a long-deleted childhood memory like a sore tooth. Mycroft had drilled him in the art long before he unleashed the contemptuous forces that brought Sherlock here.
2. Indestructible. Well, he'd rather tempted that with his stunt, but so far it held.
3. Protected. Defended. Adored. John. Only John, and now he was leaving that behind.
4. Outcast. Exiled. Pariah.
Years, decades of practice to keep himself securely untouchable in the first two senses, and then... undone, in 18 months. The misery of the last inflicted by the absence of the third.
He didn't delete the song. He needed the reminder of weakness, the negative John-shaped space, to keep from slipping back, to continue moving forward. It was for this that he had a heart to burn.
Inspired by "My Skin" by Natalie Merchant, and Verity Burns' beautiful "John-shaped" spaces and boxes. And, of course, BBC/Moftiss Sherlock and ACD. No copyright infringement intended.
My Mac tells me the body of text clocks in at 221 even though FF disagrees.