Purple

Eventually, it just gets bad. About a month after John leaves, Sherlock still hasn't let it go. John stops trying to communicate and get over it, he just lets Sherlock pout and remain angry.

Sherlock doesn't know if he'll ever get over it. He wondered for a while how long it'd take John to leave him, and now that John has, Sherlock won't forget it.

One night they get into a fight. It's about nothing, really, but most of their fights aren't about anything. John doesn't want to make it better. He doesn't want to stop the fighting and move on. He wants out.

"Just get out then!" Sherlock shouts. It takes a lot for Sherlock to shout at John and now is one of those special moments.

John stares at him, unmoving. Sherlock doesn't move either, so John finally throws his hands up in defeat and nods, backing out of the kitchen. "Alright. I'm leaving."

Sherlock takes one step at John. He doesn't actually want him to go, he just wants him to go. Sherlock doesn't know how he feels. He is very confused, and at the moment very scared.

John takes one step towards Sherlock. He thinks the fight will end now, he hopes Sherlock will ask him to stay, but Sherlock steps back again and doesn't move. John takes a deep breath and nods, then turns and walks out the door.

John decides to go to a pub. He doesn't call anybody to join him, he wants to be alone, so he walks in and goes right to the bar.

"What'll you have?" the man behind the counter asks.

John orders and waits. He looks around the room. It's coming up on 7 PM on a Friday night, so there are quite a few people surrounding him. He turns his head and glances behind himself, briefly locking eyes with a beautiful woman. She flirtatiously smiles at him and he grins while turning his back.

Half an hour later she approaches him. She rests a hand on his arm and takes the seat next to him. "Waiting for someone?" she sweetly asks.

He shakes his head.

She smiles at him. "Hi, I'm Lizzie."

He smiles back. "I'm John. Can I refill your…" he motions at her drink.

"Oh, it's water," she says. "I'm the designated driver."

John glances back where she came from. "Busy night with the friends?"

She nods. "Friday nights are girls' nights."

He nods in understanding. "I'd hate to keep you from your friends."

"Oh, don't be silly!" she playfully pats his arm. "Trust me, I can already tell that you are far more interesting."

He laughs.

They talk for almost an hour. He's very interested in her, and she is interested in him. She flirts and laughs at everything he says, and he likes that. He doesn't mention Sherlock, he doesn't even think about him.

Finally Lizzie looks at him seriously. "You want to get out of here, John?"

He looks at her friends. "Won't they need their driver?"

She swats a hand at them. "They won't notice I'm gone."

He knows he shouldn't. He knows. John Watson was once the king of, 'You wanna get out of here?'. Nobody needs to tell John that he's making a mistake when he takes her hand and lets her lead him out of the bar.

John also knows he's drunk. Not completely, completely wasted. It's been worse. But he is drunk.

He doesn't even feel himself walking behind her. It seems like seconds before they find her car and get in.

"Where are we going to go?" he asks.

She turns to him without starting the engine. "Where do you want to go?" she seductively asks.

His eyes fall down to her breast and back to her mouth. "I…uh…" he babbles.

She leans over and kisses him. It's rough and soft at the same time. It's rough because it's so sexual; John thinks first kisses like this should be a sin. It's soft because her lips are so full and plump. Sherlock's are full and plump, John recalls, but when Sherlock puckers, his lips turn rough and rigid.

Oh god, John thinks as Lizzie deepens the kiss. Sherlock.

John scrunches his eyes tightly shut and pulls away. "I can't," he says.

"What do you mean you can't?" Lizzie demands. "Are you married or something?"

"No, no," he assures her for no reason.

"Well, then," she says, taking hold of his face and pulling him towards her.

She really is right, he thinks. Technically Sherlock isn't my boyfriend. Technically I can do whatever I want. He frowns into Lizzie's mouth. But I love him more than anything.

John pulls away again. "No, no, I can't."

Lizzie sighs in frustration. "What the fuck?" she mutters, but John hardly hears her.

John, suddenly very aware of everything he's doing, hops out of the car. She gets out after him and stands in the car door. "Where are you going?!"

"I've just…" he points down the street and walks in that direction.

John doesn't turn back. He walks far away from the pub and feels ill. He can't believe he just did that. He feels horrible, he feels like he just cheated on Sherlock.

The thought doesn't even cross his mind to not tell Sherlock. Sherlock will figure it out sooner or later. So John walks up the stairs to their flat with a guilty look on his face.

Sherlock's sitting at the desk on John's laptop. He glances up at John, then back at the laptop. "Home early," he observes.

"I needed to come back," John says.

Sherlock looks up at John with intent this time. "John? What is it?"

John can't bring himself to look at Sherlock. He looks at the floor and shifts his feet. "I kissed someone else," he whispers at the ground.

"What? I can't hear you, John."

John looks up at Sherlock now. "I said I kissed someone else."

Sherlock's stomach drops. "Who?"

John shrugs. "Some woman I met at the bar."

Sherlock never thought of John to do something like this, but he really didn't anticipate it hurting so much that John cheat on him with a woman. "A woman?"

John nods.

"Well, was it…" Sherlock begins. "…a small kiss? Was it…more?"

"More," John recalls Lizzie's tongue down his throat. "Much more."

For someone who makes such a huge deal about human contact and simply loving one person, kissing is equivalent in Sherlock's mind as sleeping with someone else.

It's apparent on his face how much it hurts. John wants to cry, wants to beg, wants to tell him that it absolutely meant nothing, but he doesn't. "Sherlock, I'm so sorry."

Sherlock's gaze had dropped from John to the floor, but when John says he's sorry, Sherlock looks back at him. "You're sorry? That's all?"

"What else do you want me to say?" John softly says. "I never meant it," he decides to try to beg. "Please, Sherlock, believe me. I didn't mean it."

"Oh, well then it's fine," Sherlock sarcastically says as he stands from the desk.

Sherlock strides right past John towards his bedroom. "Sherlock," John follows. "I didn't mean it. I didn't leave here going looking for it, I promise. Sherlock?"

Sherlock slams his bedroom door in John's face.

John stands there for nearly ten minutes with his head against the door listening to Sherlock throw that bouncy ball back and forth against his wall.

The next day, John doesn't even try to talk to Sherlock. He knows Sherlock needs his space and he just feels horrible. He feels sick about what he did.

Sherlock leaves around noon to get some fake work done. He has nothing to do, but he wants out of the flat. He needs to get away from John. The thought of being in the same room as John makes him sick.

He goes to the park to think. It's a clear day, a beautiful day, and Sherlock hates it. He doesn't think it's fair that the world is still turning when his world is crashing. John cheated on him. He can't stop thinking those words.

John cheated on me, he thinks. Most people wouldn't even consider it cheating, but it hurts like he did something more with her. Judging how he was acting, how guilty he looked, he probably did. Sherlock doubles over his legs and gags. He nearly throws up, but he doesn't.

I've never had this much emotional stress, Sherlock thinks, sitting back and wiping his eyes. Perhaps John and I aren't a rightful fit. Perhaps our relationship should terminate. Forever? For a while? Sherlock takes a deep breath. I can't be in the same room with him right now, Sherlock continues in his head. The thought of him being with someone else, no matter how they were together, disgusts me.

Sherlock goes home after a long while. He doesn't speak to John. Doesn't even look at John. He goes straight to his room, but not before hearing, "I love you!" coming from the living room. His heart breaks.

A week later, John is growing tired of the silent treatment. He loves to hear Sherlock talk, hear him deduce, hear him insult, but even at crime scenes Sherlock is silent. Everyone glares at John and wonders what's going on, but it's not like John's just going to talk about it at a crime scene. So he doesn't.

At the two week mark, John is done. He is so tired of the silent treatment that he shouts at Sherlock while making his tea.

"I am so fucking done, Sherlock!" he shouts. "For two weeks now, you haven't spoken to me. Isn't it enough now? I'm so sorry for what I did and I can assure you that I will never, ever do it again. For the past two weeks, where have I been? Here. With you. Right next to you even though you won't speak to me. Isn't that right?"

For the first time in two weeks, Sherlock acknowledges him. He nods.

"Ok. Thank you. Can you talk to me now?"

Sherlock clears his throat and lifts his chin. "I don't know what to say."

"Anything, Sherlock. Please, God, anything."

"Very well," Sherlock grants his wish. "You've disgusted me, John. The thought of you with someone else literally makes me want to vomit."

"It wasn't like that, Sherlock. It was just kissing, I promise you."

"That doesn't change how I feel, John. When I decided to take our relationship further, I never thought you'd kiss or fuck anyone else ever again. And now you have."

John shakes his head and rubs his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock. It was a huge mistake."

"Fine," Sherlock says.

John looks up. "Fine?"

"Fine. What's done is done."

John looks optimistic. "So what does that mean?"

"It means we're finished, John."

John looks sad again. "What?"

"If you want me to speak to you now, then we're done. I can't get over this with you clogging up my brain. If you leave me alone, then I can gradually work to forgive you. I suppose you can choose. We should move on, however. I'm getting bored with this childish act."

John feels sick all over. He wants to show Sherlock that he's sorry, but he knows nothing he can say will change Sherlock's mind. "Ok. I have to respect your wishes. I love you, Sherlock. I want you to feel comfortable around me again."

Sherlock nods. "I should probably delete the last few months, then."

John feels like crying. "You can't, Sherlock. Please. Not when I can't."

Sherlock nods again. "Very well, then. It was…" Sherlock thinks over a nice word. "Fun, I suppose."

John looks at him. Sherlock can see the tears in his eyes. He doesn't feel like crying, it's been long over for him.

"Moving on, then," Sherlock says before disappearing into his bedroom.

John stands in the kitchen, nearly crying, wondering what that means.

*Oh man! Stay tuned guys. I promise it gets better. Purple's words are Loathing, Disgust, and Boredom.