A/N: This is without a doubt the silliest and at the same time the most tragic fic I've ever written. So I dedicate it to my friend A_Sherlocked_Girl who understands me that way.
He hated Sherlock Holmes with a burning passion. Sherlock Holmes, the great, self-proclaimed, egotistical, consulting detective was the sole reason he had been abandoned without so much as a warning or a good-bye by his beloved John.
He was the one who had been there for John when no one else had. He had been the one literally supporting John all through his difficult return to London. No one else. But now, he lay forgotten, gathering dust and growing bitter.
But he would get his revenge. Oh, yes. He'd almost gotten to Sherlock once but the man had escaped his clutches by a hair's breadth. But he was patient, he could wait for the rest of eternity if he had to. There he was again, that smarmy git, strutting like a peacock across the living room while his poor love-struck John shuffled behind him like a lost puppy craving attention. Oh! He was coming this way, this was his chance. He would get his revenge, even if it killed him.
Sherlock fell.
"John!" Sherlock yelled, startled when he noticed his flatmate was standing right next to him. "Why didn't you get rid of that cane. It's not as if you need it anymore."
John picked up his old cane, now bent at an awkward angle after Sherlock had tripped on it. He would have tried to explain the sentimental value that he'd attached to it, but that would be rather pointless with someone as logic-oriented as Sherlock. So John shrugged, cradled the poor abused cane in his arms to go outside. And binned it. He didn't need it anymore after all.
Notes:
Vade mecum: something a person carries about for frequent or regular use.