I don't own any characters, or original content. Everything else is mine. MINE.
Enjoy~
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John sat, bare feet against carpet. He raised a hand, reaching towards the cup of chamomile tea that stood alone on the table beside him- watching as his hand shook with every slight movement. A sudden jerk of muscle- the cup shattered into jagged pieces at his feet. He stared at the wet glass as it glistened, warm tea soaking the ground beneath his feet.
"John?" Mrs. Hudson called from the first floor landing, "John, are you okay? I heard something shatter." John remained silent, continuing to stare at the ever expanding puddle of tea. Allowing it to soak into his every pore. Footsteps- "John?" Mrs. Hudson asked again, her figure appearing in his doorframe. He glanced up quickly, "yes. I'm fine. It's just tea- I've got it under control." She pursed her lips slightly, sad eyes- staring. "Well alright dear," she gave him a weak smile, "just call me if you need anything." John nodded, and Mrs. Hudson turned back towards her own apartment.
More footsteps. John didn't even look up this time. He just continued staring into the soul of the glass. Watching. "I leave you alone for a few months, and you all but destroy the place." A familiar voice caught John off guard. He jumped to his feet, impaling himself on one of the sharper shards. He ignored the pain. "You're bleeding on our carpet." Sherlock said, staring at the red liquid leaking from John's torn skin.
John tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. "I for one thought you'd be happier to see me." Sherlock smiled, and John's heart dropped from his chest to his stomach. He took a step back- still ignoring the throbbing pain in his foot. Sherlock's smile vanished. "Look-" he started.
"No." John said,
"Pardon?"
"No. This isn't happening. This isn't fucking happening."
Sherlock took a step towards him. "I can't- you- what- Sherlock." John's mind was racing. Happiness, relief, frustration, but beyond that; overwhelming anger. "I can't believe you fucking did this to me!" John shouted, taking another step backwards. "I thought you were dead! Dead, Sherlock! Gone forever!"
"John, I know. I'm sorry," he looked hurt, John thought, but he didn't care. He felt utterly betrayed.
"I mourned for you. I'm still mourning for you-" John choked on his words. He turned his back to his best friend, as tears began to rush down his face. "I thought-"
And suddenly Sherlock was behind him, arms around his shoulders. John turned around angrily, pushing forward. "No!" But Sherlock reached for John again.
John pushed; he pushed. Eyes fogged with tears. He continued to throw his weight against Sherlock's solid chest- but he only held him closer. John's arms fell limp as the sobs began to take him. He fell to his knees, Sherlock with him. And there they stayed, John sobbing into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock stayed, unmoving except to press John's shaking body against his own. "I'm so sorry-" he whispered, "I'm so sorry."