John awoke Wednesday morning to a rapping on the door. He sat up, wiped the sleep from his eyes and swung his legs over the side of the couch. The door creaked open and Angelo walked in holding a glass of water and a plate of eggs, and a bag hanging from his wrist, pushing the door open with his behind.

"Morning, here's some hearty breakfast and some lunch for school. Fatten you up a bit, skinny lad." Angelo placed the food on the armrest of the couch, smiled and left, door swinging shut behind him.

John thought about how he would make Sherlock listen to him today. He would make sure Sherlock understood that John didn't and would never cheat on him. Never. John's heart sped up when he imagined Sherlock forgiving him, realizing that John needed him, holding him and never letting him go.

John took a bite of the salty, delicious scrambled eggs and a sip of water. Something felt off, like someone turned off the gravity. I think I'll just lay back down. He thought, closing his eyes and letting a dreamy feeling to wash him into unconsciousness.

Sherlock lay awake, having not slept at all. He wondered where John was, then chastised himself for it. You don't need him. He lied to you. That's what people do, they will break your heart. Sherlock gradually stood up and trembled downstairs. He's been lonely before, but once he had a taste of John's companionship it was hard- almost unbearable to go back when there was still a chance…

When he got to school, he thought about talking to John, sorting this out, hopefully John would come back and forgive him for being rash. But John wasn't in calculus. Or science. Or lunch.

Sherlock didn't want to worry, but he couldn't quite ignore the gnawing in the back of his heart. Was he okay? John's old enough to take care of himself, he doesn't need you to protect him. But what if he's in danger. No, he's not your responsibility anymore. He was never my responsibility, he was my privilege. Gah.

Sherlock went the whole day without talking. Lost in his studies and his thoughts. With a heavy heart, Sherlock decided to sulk home instead of calling his mom to drive him. He quietly shuts the door behind him, takes off his shoes, and trudges up the stairs to his room. His mom calls to him but he ignores her.

Sherlock lowers himself onto his bed, pulls out his noise-cancelling earbuds and drowns out the world with classic rock. The pounding of the bass in his ears is interrupted by the ping of a text alert.

He rarely texts anyone, only his parents, molly, occasionally Mycroft, and maybe an old friend. What he doesn't expect is quite a long message from an unknown number. As he reads it, his heart turns cold.

Hello Sherlock,
Ever since that girl at the party kissed me I truly questioned what I am. Leaving you in the dark was because I wasn't sure, I was confused, and why say anything if you were happy? Probably you're wondering why the sudden change of heart and the quick disappearance. Maybe I thought that it would be better to just cut it off quickly, I mean you're the one that left me at school and ignored me all of yesterday. Even though everyone knew we'd break up, I actually thought it might last until I saw how you overreact, and don't listen to me and what not. And Victoria is much better to me, even if she kissed me when we were dating. Truly amazing. Can you believe her and I have only just met, we have such a connection. Anyways, forget about me. Feelings disappear. Every relationship has troubles, it was only a matter of time. Sorry. Eventually you'll find someone though. Victoria's great, for me. Elevates my heart. Never blows me off. I think we should stay away from each other, I don't know if you were in love with me, but… Love is a tricky thing. One never forgets the feeling of a first love, I know if she was ever taken away from me I'd probably jump off a bridge. Victoria completes me the way you never did, I'm sorry. Especially sorry I brought you into this whole thing to begin with. You know. Our 'thing' was just you pitying me for being suicidal and I being so desperate to not be lonely. Understand that I enjoyed your company, you are truly exceptional.

John (p.s. I'm texting from Derek's phone which is why you don't recognize the number. Sorry this dragged on for a while, I needed the message to clearly get across)

Sherlock let the phone slip out of his hand where is softly landed on the carpet. He didn't- couldn't understand. He thought that John was… he didn't even know now. He wasn't sure who John was anymore, or what he ever was before.

Sherlock opened his drawer and pulled out the small bottle he took from John all those months ago. Sherlock wonders what would have happened if he didn't go to John that night. His heart wouldn't be broken right now. He wouldn't spend every aching moment awake thinking about him. Sherlock slowly clutched the bottle and draped a blanket over himself, curling up into a ball.

Twenty minutes later Sherlock's mum calls up for dinner. Ten minutes after that someone raps on his door.

Mycroft turns the handle and pushes open the door once he realizes he's not going to get a response.

"Oh Sherlock," Mycroft sat down on the edge of the bed, lifting the covers off of his baby brother's face. Noticing the bottle he widens his eyes and opens Sherlock's hand so that the bottle slips out and onto the bed covers. Mycroft picks it up and pockets it. "Tell me what happened," his voice was surprisingly soft.

Sherlock didn't move, but with his hoarse voice grunted "phone," half muffed by a pillow wet with tears.

Mycroft glanced around the room, then the side table and finally over the edge to the floor. He bent over, swept up the phone and unlocked it. The text popped up, having been the last application opened. Mycroft scrolled to the top of the message and read it silently. He rested a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and read it again.

"Sentiment, I see brother, is clouding your skills and reasoning." Mycroft said half softly, half stoic. "I assume you failed to recognize the simplest of codes."

Sherlock sat up and rubbed his eyes. "This isn't a joke Mycroft. What the hell are you talking about."

"Not a joke, brother mine. The first letter of each sentence. The fact that you failed to see this proves that while sentiment has its perks, caring is not always an advantage. I'll be waiting in the car downstairs, have to make a call first."

Sherlock wiped the blurriness from his eyes, the text still a bit fuzzy. When all cleared and Sherlock could read it, his heart pounded, his brain making a decision to jump up and run full speed down the stairs without even understanding what it meant.

HELP ME AT CAFÉ SEVEN I LOVE YOU.

I Love you.