There were many outcomes he expected; one was that Sherlock would-hopefully-comfort him and come up with some sort of solution for their problems; another expected outcome was that John would comfort Sherlock instead and figure out something together. Never in his mind had he expected Sherlock to ask John to leave. It took him off guard from his train of thoughts; just like a slap on his face would, which was what Sherlock's words felt like to him: a slap in the face.
Slowly, he loosened his hold on Sherlock's arm, but still his fingers were slightly wrapped around them and refused to move, "What did you just say?" he asked, staring up at disbelief while Sherlock stayed very composed.
"Don't make me repeat myself John, you know how much I hate repeating myself-"
"No. Don't start talking about how you hate that, I know you do. But I must have heard wrong, you want me to leave?" he asked. From the brief pause between them, John thought he had heard wrong until Sherlock nodded his head at him, "Why the fuck do you want me to go?!"
"I need time to think." he said. When John made no signal to move his hand, Sherlock removed his arm himself from John and walked over to the bed and took a seat; then raised his hands up to his chin in a praying pose; his elbows on his knees. This looked exactly like Sherlock was they were both on the rooftop after John decided to unexpectedly kiss Sherlock: when Sherlock was trying to erase something, or someone.
"I can't give you a minute. What are you thinking about?" John asked. Walking over to Sherlock he crouched down and placed his hands on the opposite side of Sherlock's elbow. There was still no answer from Sherlock, even when John tried to nudge his arms to get his attention, but still Sherlock stayed silent.
"Look Sherlock." he started, "I've only got a few months left here and I don't want to spend it arguing with you. If you think there's nothing we can do then we should spend all this time we have together and making the most of it."
John was hoping Sherlock would at least move, or even look at him. Anything to show that John was being listened to or that Sherlock was thinking the same idea. But what he hoped wouldn't happen; Sherlock wouldn't even open his eyes for him.
"I know exams and revising are going to make it harder for us, but why should that stop us? You said yourself that you don't need to revise as much because you know most of it, and I believe you because you're just that clever. You're cleverer than I could ever be." he sighed, "Are you trying to figure something out for us?" Nothing. "What are you doing then? Ignoring me?"
Hopefully- John thought- this would grab his attention that he longed from Sherlock, but still he stayed mute towards him. It was too painful to even imagine it happen, let alone happen to him at that moment. 'Why was Sherlock ignoring him?' he thought.
"Please Sherlock." John removed his hands from Sherlock's arms and held them up to his face so that at least their faces were looking up to each other, although Sherlock's eyes were still closed, "Just talk to me. Move. Open your eyes. Anything!" He ran his thumbs under Sherlock's eyes; cheek and chin. Anywhere to show that John was still there, "Sherlock. I swear, if you don't move your eyes or even move, then I'll go but I won't promise that I'll come back."
John had to check with himself twice to make sure he actually said those words, they sounded odd to say but yet he wouldn't take them back. It was his only idea of getting anything from Sherlock and if that meant intimidating Sherlock into looking at him, then he was willing to say it. What truly hurt John- as if his heart was shattering into tiny pieces- was that no matter how much he begged-as he was on his knees- Sherlock still didn't move; didn't even open his eyes to look at him. John didn't realise how angry he was of Sherlock until he suddenly jumped up on to his feet; making sure to nudge Sherlock as hard as he can as he did it.
"You know what, fine!" he shouted, walking towards his trainers to put them on, "Ignore me. Does it look like I care? Because I don't. Stay like that for all I care." When he finished putting on his shoes, he got up and made his way towards the door. Before leaving he stopped to turn around and look at Sherlock's statue-like figure on the bed, "You- You machine! Do you even care? For anyone? Was all of what you said before a lie!? Well if it was, it doesn't matter now. I'm leaving. I'm going back home, to my family and you can stay with yours. Unless you're just going to sit there and do fucking nothing!"
Turning back around, he reached his hand towards the door handle and turned it so that the door opened and John put one foot across the doorway, "I don't know if you're listening to me now Sherlock, but I just want you to know that what you're doing is-" he gulped, "-it just hurts me, to think that you were capable of doing something like that, let alone towards me. I'm moving on the 24th June, if you want to know. If you cared for me in the slightest, you would stop all this and find me, but it looks like you're not going to do that now." Then he put his other foot across and turned to face the room once again, "Goodbye Sherlock Holmes." he said, before closing the door.
The door was finally shut and John rested his head into the wooden texture; breathing in its oak scent as he tried his hardest not to cry, not again.
"I love you so much." he whispered into the door, before straightening himself up and making a move to walk back down the stairs for the last time.
There was no rush to get home, but still he couldn't help running as fast as he could to get there. Luckily he wore trainers or else it would have been difficult for him. To be honest, John didn't know why he was running, but as he was, the wind brushing into his face only made him cry more as he made no move to wipe them away.
John must have been at Sherlock's for a long time, as the sun was setting behind the buildings and the streetlamps were starting to come on. There was no problem of getting lost, as John had grown to know this route home off by heart. It could possibly be the last time also that he takes this route. Not unless Sherlock was to call for him again, but after what happened, that seemed less likely to happen.
Turning the final corner, he finally managed to get back home without tripping or being stopped by a random person wondering why he was in such a state: wearing his pyjamas and trainers while uncontrollable sobbing. If any of his past friends saw him now, they would all say he was acting like a moronic teenage girl. But in all honesty, he couldn't care less what people thought of him, because they don't know what he's been through.
Someone was in the house-luckily- as the lights were on, so John went up to the door and knocked three times and took a step back. Lifting his head, he looked up at his house. He remembered the first day he saw it with his family; when he first moved in. It also reminded him for some reason of his first day of school, where he got lost. When he first met Sherlock.
The door opened- making John jump- and his mother hurried towards him and threw her arms around his shoulders, but he didn't do the same. Usually, if he saw his mother cry his natural instinct would be to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. But this time he didn't do that; he kept his arms at his sides and just stared at Harry who was sat on the stairs. It was like the time that John came home from Sherlock's one day; Harry and his mother being in the exact same positions as they were now. The only thing missing was his father's shouting, but then he remembered.
"John, I'm so sorry for everything. Harry didn't mean what she said. She wants to apologize to you." John could tell those were lies, as Harry gave him a cold glare of disgust that matched her tone when she was on the phone with him, "I promise John, we will be supporting you through the exams in every step of the way. Then when we move to Durham you'll get support from all your family and friends and then-"
John used his own hands to remove himself from his mother while continuing to stare at Harry, "I don't have friends."
"Well of course you do. Your family are your friends. There's Sherlock also, even though you two are together-"
"I said." He walked around his mother and towards the staircase. For a moment, Harry looked like she was in fear of John; that he was going to hurt her, but he wouldn't do that, even after what she said to him. When he got closer towards Harry, she crouched down closer to the banister but relaxed again when John walked past her and headed up the stairs, "I. Don't. Have. Friends. I have no one."
The sounds of his mother calling after him were mute to John as he got closer towards his room. It sounded like his mother's cries got louder as Harry was also calling out for John in an angrier tone, but neither of those made him turn to look.
When reaching his room, he opened his door quickly, walked inside and slammed the door fully shut so that the whole house was drowned out by the noise. The walls seemed to be like soundproof walls, as John now stood in his room in silence. Even though there was a light switch next to him, he made no move to turn in on and just stood in the darkened room. Alone.
It was strangely odd, but for some reason John didn't continue to cry as he did before; however there was still an agonising pain in his chest that he tried hardest to ignore. It was like he ran out of tears to shed, even though there were so many reasons to cry about.
In two months he had to do his best at exams while trying to get over the fact that his whole life was crumbling down like dried up foundation walls. It was going to be hard. The hardest months he had ever had to endure, but there was no way to stop it. John had to live up to the facts, he was alone.
There were people around him-his family- of course that said they would be there for him, but even if they were, it still felt like they were doing nothing better for him. The only fact that John accepted at that moment was that nobody was actually there for him; and that nobody can possibly understand what has happened to him in the span of two years. It was enough for anyone to go mad over.
His whole body slid down the door until he collapsed down on the floor and brought his knees up towards his chest and locked his arms around himself; making him into a form of a secluded ball that locked itself away from people, because that was how John felt. The arms acted like a barrier for him to keep safe from the outside world, and if it meant being alone to keep safe then so be it.
Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.
Author's Note: OHHH, Sherlock you bastard. To tell you the truth I hated Sherlock in this so much, but this all leads up to the end which- I'm sad to say- will be soon. I'm not sure how soon yet, but we're slowly getting there. Again, hello to new followers; thank you everyone for reading and following the story every week. I'm sorry I'm not updating a lot, but I try and make it up to you by adding more words to each update :)