221B Drabbles

by tsukinoblossom

My attempt at writing short stories in the 221-B format 221 words, last word starting with B . I'm really enjoying writing and I think these will encourage me to to do it more often and present an interesting challenge. Note: These stories are not sequential, or even necessarily in the same universe. Unless otherwise specified, each drabble is a unique, complete entity.

11. Broken

"Damn it, Sherlock. I can't do this right now." John rubs his eyes, looking utterly deflated. He doesn't even look angry. Anger, Sherlock could understand. He could fight back. This just looks like disappointment. He hasn't seen that look on John's face in a very long time. John's eyes, usually windows filled with warmth and openness, are like doors right now. Doors slammed shut in Sherlock's face.

He can't even remember what started the argument. Has he already deleted it? He's never been able to delete anything when it comes to John. So why, then, can't he recall anything other than the crying, the rage, and now this, the cold detachment that's worse than anything else. At least when John's yelling, Sherlock can respond. He has no idea how to handle this sort of thing once it goes past a certain point. I'm the sociopath here, he thinks. I'm the one who's supposed to shut down emotionally. This isn't right.

"I'm going out. Don't wait up, I'm not sure when I'll be back." John closes the door and Sherlock can hear his slow, heavy footfalls as he heads down the stairs. He just drops where he is, landing abruptly on the floor. What's the point, he finds himself wondering bitterly, of having a heart? All they're good for is getting broken.