Thank you so much for your response 3 I am overwhelmed and grateful.
Sherlock thought of leaving John a note. He will keep it with him always and never let me out of his mind.
He thought of leaving him a mail. He'll do the same with it.
He thought about calling him for one last time. I'll get tongue tied. I don't know what to say to him.
He thought about meeting him for the last time. God I won't be able to look into those eyes and say that I'm going away forever.
He decided to leave without any communication. He thought it would be less painful for both of them.
"Have you told John that you are leaving?" Mycroft asked over the phone.
"No, and I would prefer that you won't tell him either." Sherlock replied curtly.
"He will find out. It will break his heart. Yet again." Mycroft's voice soft and teasing.
Sherlock took a deep breath before replying, "I'm making way for it to be mended." His voice melancholy.
Mycroft sighed. His brother was going the wrong way again. But all he could do was to wait for John to take some steps. He felt frustrated.
Sherlock refrained from telling Mrs Hudson. She would most definitely tell John. It's best to tell her by a note. It will save him from the hugs and tears as well.
John was facing difficulties of his own.
I want to, need to, have to stop Sherlock.
Why? Most importantly how? If I confront him he will definitely avoid it. Why this sudden decision? What triggered it? It has been two weeks since I left. What then? Why?
"He is very showy when the emotions are not real."
That is true, you were showy, you did things out of character when you pretended to love me. you never struck me as a person who would ever show love like that, with flirting and all that. That gave you away. So what are you like when your feelings are real?
"He is very good with camouflaging. But have you noticed when he does it most? When his feelings are real"
John's heart skipped a bit as a small realization struck him. Is that why you are silent Sherlock? Because you are not showy when you really feel? Is this your camouflage? I've seen you doing this before, showing that you are nonchalant about something when you really aren't. Is this the same thing? How would I know for sure? Oh Sherlock why won't you talk? Mycroft is not a person to play Sherlock's games. This is not part of a plan. He is really going. "destructive." this time maybe self-destructive. He must be going into great danger, pushing his limit. Mycroft doesn't want him to go. He couldn't stop him. So he wants me to. Why Sherlock? Why do you keep throwing these riddles at me? you know I'm not you. I can't solve them. It's what you do best. God wasn't I confused enough that you had to go ahead and do this? Okay, I need to visit him. I won't take it emotionally. I'll most definitely not ask him questions about me or his feelings. I need to focus, find out what triggered this. That will lead me to other answers eventually. No games this time Holmes. Not anymore.
John resolved to go and meet Sherlock the very next evening. But fate had other plans.
Sherlock was staying out mostly. He needed to do things before leaving. He had to set up a discreet fund to provide for his homeless network. Entrust some of them to look after John and Mrs Hudson. He had to meet Lestrade.
"John knows?" Lestrade asked looking down at his coffee, looking sad and frustrated.
"Obviously." Sherlock lied, he didn't want Lestrade to talk to John about this.
"What happened between you two?"
"Nothing."
"Look, if you don't want to tell me it's fine. Don't have to lie. He is staying away from Baker Street for more than two weeks now, doesn't appear at crime scenes with you not that you do these days either, there must be something wrong!"
Sherlock avoided looking at him.
"It'll be difficult without you." Lestrade said with a sigh.
"You'll do just fine." Sherlock said with a kind smile. If John can move on so can the yard.
John was having a very, very restless day. He couldn't concentrate, he thanked god for there was no crucial surgery that day. He kept thinking about how he will make Sherlock talk.
Sherlock we need to talk. Nope, won't work
Sherlock I've heard you are going away. No.
Why are you going away? Oh! Sounds pathetic, pleading.
Why this sudden decision? Oh why would he tell me?
John was getting increasingly frustrated with his thought process. As the time came close he settled on something he thought was less pleading, less aggressive and slightly nonchalant.
I don't have any right to ask you this, but I need to know the reason behind your recent decision.
John kept repeating it in his mind as he took a cab to his former address.
Sherlock had other reasons to stay out also. He dreaded facing Mrs Hudson and he feared deeply that John might get the news and turn up for a confrontation. He rather walked about London, taking in the views, air, smell, details for maybe the last time. As evening approached he mentally groaned as he set foot on his well-known path to home.
Just a block away from home Sherlock's feet slowed down. He walked slowly, hands in coat pocket eyes taking in every minute details of this well-known path, most importantly the view of the house which was his home for so long. He didn't know when he will be able to visit again. A home which gave him John Watson. A very mother like Mrs Hudson. A home where he had spent the most incredible time of his life. A home which could have housed a new beginning and a lifetime of happiness if he hadn't broken John's heart. Sherlock's mind filled with visions of what could have been. He could wake up with John in his arms, he would coax Sherlock to eat every day of his life, he would be with him for the rest of the life, John would sooth him, John would cure him, John would make him a better man. John would give him a family. A home for a lifetime.
These warm visions were suddenly interrupted by a striking yellow jacket. Before Sherlock knew him a young man in his 20's was standing before him, a knife in his hand. He had gotten out of the dark alley Sherlock was passing then. Sherlock was startled a bit then his mind began deducing.
21, orphan, homeless, hasn't eaten for a day or two, hasn't robbed before, nervous, giddy, extremely vulnerable, dangerous like a cornered animal, may strike out of fear, hasn't been in custody till date, but not first crime, have to divert his attention first. Have to put hand in coat pocket as if taking out wallet, never break eye contact, his eyes will follow my hand, using that distraction grab and twist wrist holding knife, make knife fall, a blow behind the ear and he'll be out for some time, convenient for the police to arrive.
Merely half of a second passed in this thought process.
"T-take out what you have." Said the assailant, voice hesitant. "Now!" he demanded.
"Okay, okay." Sherlock said calmly, hands up in the air, eyes fixed on the man in front. One hand slowly reaching the breast pocket of the long coat. Sherlock's attention wavered suddenly. A cab stopped before 221B and from that came out John. He was paying the cabbie. Sherlock got caught in the view for a bit too long, in a situation where his attention was the only thing standing between him and getting stabbed. It was a matter of a few seconds. But Sherlock's deductions were right, the robber was a first timer and he was scared. He struck out of fear. Before he knew it the knife was in the right side of his lower abdomen. Sherlock was so shocked that he couldn't even scream. His eyes widened and he bent forward with pain. He gasped for air. The robber looked at him horrified, as if not believing what he had done and ran. Sherlock slowly dragged himself backwards until his back touched the alley wall. Then he slid down the wall and slumped on the ground. Still gasping he tried to pull himself together. Pressing his lips together he tried to yank the knife out. With immense willpower and strength he successfully pulled it out with a muffled scream through gritted teeth, he flung the knife to the ground which made a metallic sound. He had to blink several times and take several deep breaths to bring back his mental equilibrium. The pain was immense, piercing and it was not long before he felt both his jacket and long coat getting drenched in blood.
Okay, lower abdomen stab. What are my chances? Excessive blood loss due to punctured large blood vessels, it could have nicked any vital organs, but right now the blood flow is fatal. Have to stop that.
With immense effort and a loud moan he took off his scarf and pressed it on the wound.
"Jesus."He moaned again.
Now to call. He fumbled to take out the phone from his pocket and finally took it out. He called John.
By the time the cab had reached 221B John had remembered the question for the hundredth time. It seemed like the moment he saw Sherlock he will say those exact words without thinking. He didn't want to allow himself to think standing in front of that person. He knew he'll slip if he did that. He couldn't slip today. Not today. Mrs Hudson was not home.
Did he tell her? Or did he avoid her too? It would have been easier if she was here, she's quite a persuasive woman and among the few that git listens to.
As he climbed up the stairs some of his resolution gave way to worry. God please give me strength. As he stepped in he found Sherlock was out.
Great! Just great. I don't expect myself to hold on to this resolution for god knows how long until he comes back. Come on Sherlock, be home. I need to talk to you.
At that very moment John got a call. He received it without thinking.
"Sherlock where are you?" urgency in John's voice.
"John…the alley…" Sherlock gasped, tried very hard not to sound injured.
John felt as if the room was spinning for a moment. Then without another word he ran. The stairs creaked as if a thunder storm passed on them, the door frame shook with the slamming. John ran, as if his life depended on it, Sherlock's did. In a matter of few moments he reached Sherlock, sliding down on his knees beside him. The first thing he did was checking Sherlock's wound. He moved Sherlock's bloody hand from his waist and them removed a very soaked scarf and discovered the hollow. Sherlock hadn't called the emergency. He just needed John by his side. This was by far the most impractical and emotional thing he did in his life, he thought. But he didn't regret it. If this was his end then he was glad it was in his beloved's arms.
"Oh my god!" John shut his eyes for a moment looking at the wound. Then he held Sherlock with both his hands, placed the scarf back and called ambulance. Then he took Sherlock completely in his arms, rested his head on his own chest. By the time Sherlock was lying in a pool of blood.
John held his chin and turned his face towards him.
"Hey, hey Sherlock? Look at me? stay with me. please? Look… the ambulance will be here anytime now. Please look at me."
By the time Sherlock had lost all the vitality with the blood. He wanted John to be there and he was there. He was in his arms. He didn't care for the rest. The rest of the world could just dissolve into oblivion. He tried very hard to keep his eyes open, to keep looking up at John, to pull a heavy and blood drenched hand to stroke John's face. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult, the world was spinning, the sharp pain on the right side flaring up. All he wanted was to drift into a deep sleep that was slowly trying to engulf him. It was just because John's words that he was trying to stay up. He couldn't let John down. Never.
"Everything will be okay Sherlock! Do you hear me? Everything will be okay!" John was screaming now. Panic making his stomach turn, he could hardly think of anything except I shouldn't have left him. Again and again and again.
Sherlock faintly heard the ambulance, faintly felt being lifted, faintly heard John scream "IV NOW!" and "I'm a doctor!" before everything went dark.
One last time when he got his sense back for a few moments before going completely blank again he saw a bright light and people with masks on. Doctors. He could recognize no one at first. Then he saw two familiar bright brown anxious eyes looking down on him. John. They kept their eyes locked for a moment. The last thoughts on their minds were
Don't save me John. I don't deserve it.
Don't leave me Sherlock. I don't deserve it.