Sherlock couldn't believe how much of an idiot he had been for saying those things to John and driving him into that damned woman's path!
In the beginning, when John started going out with 'her' he hadn't been too concerned but as the days turned to weeks and the weeks morphed into months Sherlock began to worry that he might be losing John again. Only this time for good.
Sherlock was furiously typing away at the computer when John came home that day, Sherlock didn't pay any attention to him at first: expecting him to go into the kitchen and make a cuppa tea, like always, but when John instead crossed the small space of the living room only to look out the small window directly in front of the desk he was working at Sherlocks interest was peaked. As John was staring out the window, refusing to make direct eye contact with Sherlock, he didn't notice the consulting detective studying his features intently. Within a matter of moments Sherlock knew exactly what was up with John and it shattered his heart.
Jaw clenched and lips pressed tightly together: something hard to say. Eyes hard and refusing to look at Sherlock but they had an underlying softness to them: something he didn't want to tell Sherlock but John was happy about whatever he couldn't say.
There weren't many things that made John happy that he felt he couldn't tell Sherlock so that narrowed the list considerably.
His clothes were formal, new blue shirt, plain black jacket and his best black trousers: usually John wore jeans so this must be something special for him, some sort of special occasion maybe.
There was a smallish thing in his pocket, a phone? No a box of some sort...
Sherlock felt like he had just been plunged into ice water as he fitted the pieces together.
The small box was clearly for some sort of jewellery but it was too small to fit anything other than a pair of earrings or a ring inside. Why would John be nervous to tell Sherlock that he had bought earrings? So it had to be a ring, an engagement ring. John was going to purpose to Mary...
There were traces of some sort of sauce residue on the corners of his mouth: he had just had a meal, most likely Italian.
His body seemed to radiate both nervousness and an underlying joy and happiness: the nervousness was clearly about telling Sherlock, not asking Mary which could only mean one thing, he already had.
He had asked her to marry him and she, of course, had said yes.
It took Sherlock a couple of moments to compose himself, not wanting to let John know how utterly heartbroken he was. Once he was certain that his voice wouldn't crack he said,
"So she said yes." The question he had intended to ask came out sounding more like a statement.
John jumped slightly and then turned his whole body to face Sherlock, eyes still refusing to look directly at him.
"You know. Of course you know" Johns voice was surprisingly small and in that moment he looked like a small child, afraid of the future. Sherlock wanted to get up and embrace him, tell him that everything would be okay but he restrained himself knowing that John might not value his comfort.
"Yes." Was all that Sherlock said.
"Is that all your going to say?" John asked him.
"Congratulations" the word burnt like acid in his mouth. John just stared at the ground not saying anything. After a long pause Sherlock asked,
"What do you want me to say?"
John looked up quickly his eyes locking with Sherlocks for a moment and then he looked down again,
"Nothing, I just... I mean... I didn't think you'd take it so well." John finally said with a shrug.
"Why wouldn't I take it well?" Sherlock asked trying to hold onto his composure and not let John know just how badly he was taking the news. John just shrugged again not saying anything. After a long stretch of silence John finally asked Sherlock,
"Will you be my best man?"
Sherlocks walls came crashing down, he could feel his eyes watering and the pain flash across his face for just a sort second before he regained control and the walls came slamming back into place.
"I can't." Johns eyes widened slightly at Sherlocks answer.
"How not?" John asked genuinely curious.
"The whole 'everyone thinks I'm dead' thing makes it kind if difficult." Sherlock smirked slightly as John let out a startled laugh.
"Of course, I forgot." John said as he rubbed the back of his neck. Sherlock didn't quite understand why this hurt him, why should it?
"... But I still want you to be there." John piped up.
"Oh sure we can just dye my hair orange for the day or maybe get one of those oversized floppy hats." Sherlock chuckled at the image in his head. John smiled at Sherlock before continuing,
"I'm serious, your my best friend and I need you there."
"Don't worry John we have plenty of time to work it out.." At seeing John grimaced Sherlock began to panic "...don't we?" Sherlocks voice was suddenly very weak as he felt the crushing fear inside of him. Time he needed time! Time to hope and greave and recover. 'Please give me time' Sherlock pleaded, time to except this horrid ending to all his hopes and dreams. John, very slowly, moved his head back and forward. All the wind was knocked out of Sherlock, leaving him gasping for air.
"How long?" Sherlock choked out, not bothering to hide his pain anymore. John looked at him with a mixture of sympathetically and guilt before answering,
"A month"
Not enough time. Sherlock stood abruptly, not bothering with pretences now and headed straight for his room.
"Sherlock!" John shouted after him but he didn't stop, he had to keep moving. He had to get away. Slamming the rooms door behind him Sherlock slide to the floor hugging his knees to his chest and allowed the tears, he had been trying so hard to hold back, to fall. Sherlock could hear John knocking on the door and calling him name repeatedly, desperately, but he ignored him.
Then there was silence for what felt like an eternity before Sherlock heard John say, voice low and breaking and full of pain,
"I'm... So sorry... Please... Forgive me..."
Through the door Sherlock could hear Johns quiet sobs.