Author's note -

Thanks for the kind reviews and the condolences. I am still reeling a bit from the shock of losing my friend. But, the kindness shown in the reviews has prompted me to post the next episode of my project. Let me know what you think. I know it's not near the quality of what I've read by others here.

The Ultimatum

It's only been about a week since I wrote the entry on Christmas. But so much has happened and I really do need to write about it to try and make sense of it all.

As I mentioned in my Christmas journal entry, I got tickets for Sarah and I to go see Romeo and Juliet a few days after Sherlock and I had gone to the symphony. Sarah and I greatly enjoyed the show and went out for a late dinner afterward.

As we were finishing up Sarah asked me to move in with her!

I was so happy! I really do love her and we have such great fun together. We started discussing it seriously when all of a sudden she said, "Just one condition, though, you have to stop working with Sherlock."

"What?"

"If you're going to live with me, you can't keep working with Sherlock."

"I don't understand."

"John, if we're going to build a future together, I can't always be worrying about your safety."

I can't remember all the particulars of the conversation now, but that's how it started. It gradually built into quite a row, although we kept the volume low, as we were in public, and neither of us are the type to make scenes. By the end, it came down to this: I told her that if she really cared for me, she wouldn't force me to make that kind of choice. Her reply was, that if I really cared for HER, there wouldn't be a choice to make.

It became clear to us by then that we were at an impasse. We stared bleakly at each other across the table, then started planning our break-up. It's a bit of a tricky thing to break up with one's boss. We agreed that I would transfer to another surgery. She said she could make it happen quickly, and that I could take some leave time until the details were sorted out.

We finished up and left the restaurant. I hailed a cab for her. Before she got in, she kissed me on the cheek and said, "Goodbye John. I'm sure you and Sherlock will be very happy together...until one or both of you are killed." She then started to cry, got in the cab, and was gone.

I stood there, numb from shock for several moments. A few hours before, I was having a great time with my steady girlfriend of almost a year, going out, comfortable, happy, we were even going to move in together. What happened?

I pulled myself together and got a cab home. Well, I stopped on the way and picked up a bottle of scotch. The numbness was ebbing and I was starting to feel. I wasn't quite ready to feel anything yet.

I'm not much of a drinker, so I don't generally keep liquor at the flat aside from a few beers. Sherlock is almost a complete teetotaler, says he doesn't like the way alcohol clouds his brain, so I knew if I wanted to drink that I would need to stop and buy something.

When I got home, Sherlock was out. I sat at the kitchen table, which was clear for once, and started pouring.

I was nursing my third scotch and soda when Sherlock came home and found me.

"What's this?" he asked, clearly surprised.

"Sarah and I broke up."

"Oh...What happened?"

I wasn't in any mood to tell the whole truth of the matter, his ego didn't need to know I'd chosen him over Sarah. But I was still sober enough to know he would probably see through a lie.

"We...came to the conclusion that our relationship had no future."

He gave me one of his searching stares, waiting for me to say more or to maybe convey more information non-verbally. I kept my mouth resolutely shut and stared back. For the first time ever, he was the first to look away.

"So what's this for, then?" he asked, gesturing towards the bottle.

"Because it HURTS, Sherlock! Sometimes rational decisions come with an emotional cost!" Anger started to bubble inside of me.

"Oh...I'm sorry."

"Oh don't pretend sympathy, Sherlock. I know you don't care. In fact, you never liked her so you're probably chuffed about it," I snapped at him.

His face went white. "Unfair, John. Unfair! You think that I take pleasure in your pain?" He paused for a moment, then said in a bit of a strangled voice, "One of the things I love you for is that you always assume the best about me... rather than the worst...like everyone else." He then spun around, went to his room and slammed the door shut.

Oh dear God in heaven, I prayed with my head on the table, not this, not now. I tossed back the rest of the drink I had poured, then closed the bottle.

Three scotches in succession is fairly heavy drinking for me, so I rather unsteadily made my way to bed. I fell asleep almost immediately, but woke up several hours later with a headache and unable to go back to sleep. I laid there, fretting about both Sarah and Sherlock, my job, my future, well, pretty much everything. I couldn't even begin to make sense out of what had happened to me. As dawn was breaking, I finally fell asleep again.

Sherlock and I orbited each other in uneasy silence for a few days. I knew that I ought to apologize, but I was still angry. I was working through the grief of losing Sarah, and with her, the option of a "normal" life (at least for the time being). I had chosen an extraordinary (some would say bizarre) life instead, but every choice comes with a loss, and this one stung. I was blaming Sherlock for it, even though I had chosen him.

I spent my days out, coming home late in the evening. Each night I could hear Sherlock's violin through the windows as I came to the front door, but by the time I reached the flat he would be in his room again. This was very unusual behavior for him, as previously when we would have disagreements he always pouted and sulked quite visibly in the sitting room. Either this time he was very angry, or very hurt, or maybe both. Whatever it was, I wasn't prepared to deal with it.

After a few days of this Sarah called me with my new employment information. I was thankful as the last few days alone with my worries were really starting to wear on me. I wrote the new location and my new schedule on the dry erase board in the kitchen for Sherlock. As I was doing that, I decided that it was time, or past time, to apologize.

After a few hours, in the mid-afternoon, he came in. He looked at me quizzically as he took off his coat.

"Sherlock, could you come here a minute, please?"

He hesitated a moment, but came over and sat down.

" I need to apologize to you. I was unfair, and unkind. I was hurting, and angry, and I took it out on you...I hope you will forgive me."

"Certainly John, of course." He waved his hand dismissively.

He continued, "I'm sorry as well if I've caused you pain. I can't tell you what it means to me, that you would choose me over Sarah."

"What? You KNEW?"

"Of course I knew. If you had broken up for any other reason, you would have told me straight out what it was, not the vague "no future" rubbish answer you tried. Plus, it was the only explanation for why you were so angry with me."

I sighed my usual sigh of resignation. I still haven't adjusted to not having any private thoughts or feelings.

Sherlock chuckled. "Here, I have something that might cheer you up."

He dashed into his room and came back with his violin.

"Let me play you something new...well, new for me...that I've been practicing. It's actually a piece better played by a full orchestra, but you'll get the idea."

He then played a piece that I found deeply moving. It's impossible to adequately describe any music in words, but it was a piece that was beautiful, sad, and uplifting all at once. By the end I had a large lump in my throat. Somehow it seemed to capture loss and heartache while honoring hope and love.

Unable to speak at first, I just looked at him.

"I thought you would like it. I've been working hard on it for you." He looked very pleased with himself.

"What was that?"

"One of Elgar's Enigma Variations called 'Nimrod' Elgar said that each Variation was inspired by one of his friends or lovers. This one reminds me of you: heroic, but with warmth and sweetness, and a little tragic."

"It was beautiful."

"Thank you, you're my favorite audience, you're so uncritical! And now I have something even better." He was looking at his phone.

"What's that?"

"Lestrade wants to see us down at Scotland Yard. He seems impatient, which is promising. Will you come?"

"Always."

That was 5 days ago and life has settled back down. The case Lestrade called about turned out to be a bit of a dud. Sherlock told him the culprit after reading the case notes. I'm at the new clinic and getting along there just fine. I still miss Sarah terribly and of course I have moments when I question the choice I made.

Sherlock has been playing his violin every night, finishing with Elgar's "Nimrod". I'm not sure if he's playing for himself, or if he thinks it cheers me up. I do find it moving that he went to the effort, apparently while I was angry with him, to find some way of reaching out to me. He really has changed a great deal since we started living together. I researched the piece a little bit, and found that it's often used on Remembrance Day and on other occasions to memorialize fallen British soldiers. Maybe that's another reason why it reminded Sherlock of me. No matter what the reason, it's an honor to be associated with such a beautiful piece.