Title: Of Rats and Men

Chapter: Farewell and Forever Gone

Place: London

Characters: John Watson; Sherlock Holmes; Gregory Lestrade

Warnings: it's the End

John had never felt so at peace in his whole life, if he'd been shot there and then he would have died a happy man. His heart warmed to a roaring cozy fire when he heard Sherlock's response before drifting off into the darkness of dreamless sleep. The morning came by unnoticed at first, the man still holding onto the other loosely in his sleep.

Sherlock woke up slowly when he felt the first sun rays touch his skin. He shot them a glare - normally he would love to lay for few minutes, bathing in the sun, but right now, the coming morning signalled something far, far darker than he would like. He wondered if he should wake John up, as the older would hate being late, but decided that right now he just couldn't talk to him without breaking down. He settled back into the blanket, closing his eyes in perfected pretence of sleeping, nudging the older in 'unintentional' move.

With the nudge, John was claimed back from his sleep and stirred slightly. His mind was still in the drowzy ignorance of dream until the stark reality of the morning hit him hard like a slap. John's heart sank as he realised what the events of the day would be and sighed slightly, not moving and and looked at the apparently sleeping Sherlock next to him. "Good mornin'.." He whispered, thinking the other couldn't hear. John ran a hand gently through the other's messy curls; he would miss them so much. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

He almost gave a sob a that, but caught himself. He had his body in complete control, it shouldn't be so difficult not to move closer. But it was. It took Sherlock all of the self-control he had not to buck his head up against John's hand, but he managed. He stayed unmoving, regulating his breathing and heart-beat to stay calm, even, asleep.

He played with the other's hair softly, hoping not to wake him up. "I've been nothing but a twat to you." He watched Sherlock's features with a sad smile. "I..I used to think..I didn't know how anyone could ever put up with you. You..drove me insane with all your carryings on but.. After all the stuff that's happened in a short time that all seems so little. To be honest..I've never had this much fun." He could feel the tears forming and cursed himself for crying. He just felt glad that Sherlock couldn't hear him. "A-and now..I have no idea how to say goodbye. I just want to be with you..just stay like this forever but I can't..we can't a-and.." He caught himself, closing his eyes and hiding his face in Sherlock's side. "I'm sorry"

Sherlock sighed and moved his arms to rest them around John. He kept his eyes closed and breath even, not smiling and not frowning either. "Just run.. run you clever boy.." he murmured, for a moment tightening his arms around him before letting go. "Stay alive, don't write. Keep in touch with Gregory."

John closed his eyes tighter, hoping that by somehow he could just stay forever right there with the younger on Baker Street. "Don't write...? I..you don't want to hear from me again? You don't want to keep in contact.. But I thought.." John cut himself off, he knew he sounded like a child. Did he mean anything he said last night..? Of course he did. When he felt Sherlock's warmth gone from him, he felt like he was a million miles away already.

"Come find me when you are back for good." Sherlock sighed. He turned around to face the other side of the room, curling under the blanket by hugging his knees close to his chest. He closed his eyes, just counting each and every shaky breath as he waited for John to leave.

Taking a second to compose himself, John nodded. "I will." He pulled himself out of bed, picking his clothes up and got a shower before getting changed into a new set of clothes. "I'll see you later then..yeah? Don't get into too much trouble." He stood at the foot of the bed, watching the lump under the blanket.

Sherlock didn't say anything at that, because of course he can't promise no to get into trouble. The Game will start in five years. That's too much trouble even thinking about it. And John didn't have the right to tell him anything about staying out of trouble or safe; he was going into a warzone.

"Alright then. I'll see you." John nodded with a shy smile before heading out of the room. He went to his own room to get his bag, dragging his feet. He sighed. Wasn't even gonna get a goodbye.. He took one last look around before heading out of the flat for good.

The younger waited till he heard the door close, before he let himself tear up. Calming down after five minutes, he messaged Gregory and moved to go trough the flat, making sure there was nothing left of John. Then he proceeded to delete every message sent between himself and the male, as well as few of those just mentioning him. Sherlock laid down on the sofa, palms propped under his chin as he waited for Gregory to come.

John took a second to calm down and breathe, his body shaking as he stood against the wall. He took the tube from Baker Street station to King's Cross, getting on a train to Suffolk. When he sat down, he looked through his phone, reading through messages and called his dad to let him know he was coming and called Harry to make sure she'd be home but he doubted it anyway.

When Greg entered the flat, he found Sherlock locked in his mind palace and sighed. He sat down on the chair and waited for Sherlock to emerge to play his part.

It took the younger ten more minutes before he sat up, instantly spotting Lestrade on the couch. "Why hello there, Gregory. To what do I owe the pleasure?" he titled his head sideways, eyes cold and calculative.

"You wanted me to come and tell you few things." Greg narrowed his eyes. He pressed a finger to his lips to silence Sherlock when he saw him take a breath to speak up. "Just listen. You needed to delete few things. To stay safe." I guess that's the truth at least from a part. Greg grimaced, "And you had to delete a person as well, so I am to tell you about my school mate, so you don't get confused if you two ever meet."

John managed to get some sleep on the train, thankfully. 20 years army service. If he completed his tour he'd be into his fourties. He could imagine being that old. John woke when someone sat down next to him and he frowned. Would it be worth texting Sherlock? Greg? No.. It wouldn't do anyone any good.

Sherlock titled his head as he listened; had he deleted a part of his information? He trusted Gregory, and the fact that the older looked quite.. upset with the situation meant he hadn't agreed with the plan. Sherlock's idea, then. That meant he won't try to get the deleted facts back. He had to have a good reason to do so, after all.

"His name is John Hamish Watson; age twenty-three." Greg closed his eyes as he began to explain. "He was here to visit once with me. You two talked few times. He had an organisation trying to protect him by killing anyone who could be a threat to his life. Tried to kill you. You surely noticed few bullet marks on your body. Tried to kill Jim Moriarty, who had been disguising himself as John's friend under an ali-"

"Alias of Richard Brooks. I do remember that." Sherlock nodded. "Do continue on, though."

John rest his head against the seat as watched the trees go by. He couldn't sleep with so many strangers nearby and with a crying baby screeching away. Could he do this? On his own. He'd always been with someone. Home, Rich, Greg, Sherlock. Now..just John. Private Watson. He could do this. John looked at his phone again. He still had two hours.

After twenty minutes Greg stood up and left the flat, letting Sherlock think about whatever it was the boy needed to think about. He just couldn't bring himself to stay. He did like him, really. Whatever it took. But trough those few months of the younger crushing after John, he had grown accustomed to Sherlock that was emotional. Almost sensitive, sometimes. He didn't think he could stand seeing the old Sherlock right now.

And the old Sherlock was all he was going to get.

End.