Chapter 7

I laughed and smiled as Mary told me about her life. Where she grew up, why she chose this school, what she wanted to do after she graduated. I found it all very interesting, I honestly did, but there was something...amiss...about this entire situation. Something just didn't feel right to me and I couldn't shake the feeling off.

We were sitting in a small coffee shop just outside of campus. Our table was by the window so I could see every poor sap battling their way through the cold, London air. It was very cozy with strings of lights hanging across the ceiling, plush cushions on the seats, and the smell of chocolate and baked goods filling the entire shop. It made me sleepy, honestly, and I felt like I was living in a slight fog.

"But that's enough about me! tell me about you, John, the man behind the jumpers." Mary smiled, her red lipstick contrasting greatly with her pale complexion. She was beautiful, she was.

"Ah, well," I stammered. "There's not much to tell, really. Lately, Sherlock and-" I stopped abruptly.

Sherlock.

Sherlock.

OH MY FUCKING GOD, I FORGOT ABOUT SHERLOCK! "John?" Mary asked, leaning across the table, her face morphing into a look of confusion. "John, are you okay?"

"Um...ah, I-M-Mary, I really-" I stood abruptly and bumped the table, spilling some of her coffee onto the surface. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry! Mary, I really need to go. I'm sorry, I just remembered something I was supposed to do! I'm truly...ah...very sorry!" I spun around quickly after tossing a few bills on the table and made my way out of the shop. It was already dark so I was positive Sherlock wasn't still at the morgue and that just pissed me off.

Damn it, John, how could you just forget something like that? All because Mary actually talked to you today! Get a grip on yourself and stop thinking with your dick! Deriding himself wasn't going to change the situation but I felt like I deserved it. I felt like such a complete arse!

I forgot how far Sherlock and Greg's flat was from the coffee shop. It felt like hours before I arrived at their door and I was completely out of breath, I felt lightheaded and I was sure my face was as red as a tomato. Not that I cared, but air was a pleasant thing to have, especially if someone ran non-stop halfway across town.

I banged my fist on the door and leaned against the frame, attempting to catch my breath with deep intakes of air. I made a slight wheezing noise, which worried me a little bit but I pushed it to the back of my mind. I'm probably just out of shape.

I jolted when the door swung open quite fast and I looked up to see Greg glaring down at me from where I was crouching. Was he upset? Of course he was, I probably made Sherlock upset, and he was just caring for his friend.

"Greg, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" His voice was low and angry."Do you?"

"Greg, I-"

"I was sleeping, you fat arse! Sleeping! Why would you do this to me?"

I stared at Greg in confusion. He was upset because I woke him up? What the fuck? So he wasn't upset about Sherlock?

"Sorry, Greg, but...um...hah...where's Sherlock?" I stood up straight, feeling the air steadily return to me and the tiredness of running wear off.

"Sherlock? How the hell would I know where he is? I was sleeping, you git! I don't know where he is!"

"He's not at home?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have missed him when I was searching the-NO! NOW CAN I PLEASE GO BACK TO SLEEP!"

"Alright, fuck! Go to sleep!" I started to get irritated with Greg and waved my hand at him in dismissal. Greg smiled and clapped his hands together as if he were at church. Like this bitch ever went to church.

"Thank you, Saint John of the douches." I flipped Greg off and he closed the door in my face, laughing.

So Sherlock wasn't at home. Was he still at the morgue? Why would he still be at the morgue this late? I would think they'd kick him out by now, wouldn't they?

Where the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

Sherlock's P.O.V

The roads were dark but the street lights illuminated the sidewalk on which Sherlock was walking. It was cold out, but that was nothing new. This was London, after all. John hadn't shown up at the morgue and he was ushered out by Molly before he could even finish my experiments. How annoying.

The streets were busy so Sherlock almost missed it, but he saw it. John. He was sitting in a coffee shop, smiling and laughing with a blonde woman Sherlock had never seen before. He took one glace over her and snorted, rolling his eyes. John had terrible taste in women if this is what he liked.

He felt angry. That was new. Sherlock couldn't recall the last time he actually felt angry, instead of irritated or bored. John forgot about him because of a woman. How...utterly typical. And disappointing. Sherlock had thought John was different, but Sherlock, for once, had been wrong. And he didn't know how he should feel about it.

He shoved his hands further into the pockets of his peacoat and continued down the street. Forget John. He forget about you, so this is just one more thing you'll have to delete from your hard drive. But Sherlock didn't want to delete John. He couldn't. Even if John had already deleted him.

Sherlock turned a corner, heading towards a run down building he knew was full of dealers and users. He could find temporary deletion, he suspected.

He didn't see John run out of the shop and toward Sherlock's flat.