A/N: Disclaimer etc., see first chapter.

Chapter Three: Allies

„There is nothing like the razor sharp tongue of a good friend to cut through the lies we tell ourselves." (Laura Moncur)

He's pacing up and down my flat and I watch him from the couch, as always. He won't talk for at least a quarter; it's almost a ritual by now. Nothing changing, only the intervals. They are getting shorter.

Many people would tell me I was god damn crazy for letting him in and listen to him, after what happened in that night. That night when we were three and should have been two.

I can't explain it properly. I guess I knew from the beginning that we were not really matching, but I thought a little dating, kissing and even making out wouldn't be any harm.

It wasn't, actually. I wasn't even surprised when he said his name.

Seldom have I seen such a dynamic between two people like the one between him and Sherlock Holmes. It was so obvious, the way he avoided talking and being close to him, as if he feared to get burnt by a touch.

He didn't even need a touch to get burnt.

I hate to see him like that. See his eyes turn from angry, to desperate, to lovesick.

The reason I liked him from the beginning was his eyes. So gentle, open and loyal.

I suppose that's why Sherlock chose him as a flatmate. He looked into his eyes for just a second and realised this man would follow and admire him with the deepest loyalty.

He's a jerk, Sherlock.

He never thinks about the impact his actions have to the people around him. He doesn't matter.

I never liked him, but I started hating him just as John turned up, pacing in my flat, for the first time, desperate, lost and hurt.

He's ripping him apart and he doesn't even notice.

He would do it all the same even if he noticed.

I feel the anger crawl up to my lips. I know this feeling very well; I've had it a dozen times now. But I never told John the truth. I comforted him with lies. Told him that it would surely end one day, that Sherlock would realise his behaviour was immature.

That he might even realise he hurts him.

I don't believe it. But I tried to make him believe it, because I thought it would be kind.

But Sherlock Holmes isn't kind.

John Watson is.

He stopps pacing and looks at me.

"I confronted him", he says. "With my theory."

"How did he react?"

"He told me I was wrong."

"You don't believe him."

"No."

"I thought you didn't want to confront him."

"The guy last night hit him in the face."

Brilliant. Finally, good news.

"Why?" I ask, trying to keep the cheering out of my voice.

"He said they argued about the paying."

"You think he's lying?"

"Of course he is. He's just taking it further and further, to the ultimate."

"Moriarty", I say.

"Yes." And he continues pacing up and down.

Then let him go to him, I think. Let him go and finally face some consequences.

I don't say it, though I really have trouble to hold my tongue.

He stops again and looks at me, his eyes so disparate that I can almost feel his pain. And then, he asks the one question I feared all the time. That one, stupid question.

"Why can't I hinder him from going, Sarah?"

I hesitate. You cannot answer a question like that with a lie. Not to a friend.

"Because you are just his blogger", I say.

He stars at me, hurt and confused.

"He's not into you, John. He's into the evil. Some people get their kicks out of that."

"But why?" he asks.

"Because he is an idiot", I reply. "And you are an idiot for clinging onto him."

"I am an idiot?" he asks in disbelief.
"Yes, you are. He's ripping you apart, John, can't you see it? He hurts you with his actions and you still crawl back to him every single time and forgive him, though he doesn't even ask you for forgiveness. He keeps you around because it's easy and comfortable, there's no greater meaning to it."

Finally, the truth. The expression in his eyes tells me he didn't expect that. But I am sick of lying. I am sick of seeing him haunted by an egoist like Sherlock Holmes. He deserves better.

"You think I shall move out, then?"

"No, I don't think you should move out", I say slowly. "I think you should grab your stuff and run, before he's torn you apart."

He stars at me, unsure what to reply, but I think he understands. I think he understands that this is the only way he'll ever find absolution.

(Now we heard what Sarah has to say. Let's give Sergeant Sally Donovan a try, shall we?)