[Sherlock]

Well, last night had gone down as well as I could have hoped considering the relationship I had with my brother.

I had always tried wherever possible to avoid asking Mycroft for anything, but I really didn't have a choice. I required a change of clothes and somewhere to stay the night, both of which would be easy for a man of his economic position to provide, but I was loathe to ask him considering our argument just a few hours previously. I forced myself to call him since that was his preferred method, and though I'd never admit it to his face, I was rather relieved when he actually picked up the phone. I couldn't say I'd have done the same thing in his position.

The hardest part of the phone call had been when I'd apologised, since it wasn't something I normally did, but felt that if I wanted help from my brother that an apology was necessary. No matter the foul taste it left in my mouth when my brain finally realised I was saying sorry to Mycroft.

Surprisingly, he accepted the offered truce graciously, and was more than happy to comply with my wishes. I did not tell him about the message from John, but I was fairly certain he already knew. I really needed to get a phone that he couldn't bug beforehand. Then, just to make it all worse, my brother said something I hated him for. He really couldn't just leave things be, and had a habit of adding something to the end of a conversation before escaping so as not to feel my wrath.

The exact words he used were, "You know, brother, he really did make you a better man, in the end. I wish you all the best in your quest to return him to the way he was previously, and know that I will provide anything you might need to do so effectively. Goodbye." It was rather annoying to say the least, especially since he hung up on me as soon as he'd said goodbye, so I couldn't chastise him for ruining my evening. I was half tempted to not accept his help after all, but I realised my pride would just have to deal since I really needed what he was so helpfully offering me. The sneaky bastard.

Now, as I waited in the dining room of the Lansborough Hotel at ten to eleven, I felt suddenly quite nervous to see John again. He had chosen the spot well, as there were many people in the room that would be potential witnesses were anything to go wrong. I was far too hot in my new black dinner jacket, but at least I blended in to those around me. The room my brother had paid for was in that hotel, so I did not have to worry about transport and the possibility of being late, though I did not appreciate that the room was most likely one of the most expensive suites in London. My brother had obviously meant it as an apology for what he had said during our conversation, so I decided not to thank him for his generosity.

I was startled out of my thoughts by a small cough coming from in front of me, and I glanced up to see that John had arrived. He looked completely calm and unaffected by the people around him, who were throwing him some interested looks. It was no doubt the air of sophistication and wealth that he had brought with him, which I had never expected to see coming from the man who had always worn jumpers, even in summer, and who could barely pay the rent for Baker Street. I could not see his eyes under the dark sunglasses that he seemed to permanently be wearing nowadays, but his mouth was set in a hard line. It did not seem as though this would be a pleasant chat, then.

"You're early," he remarked, as he sat down opposite me. I shrugged, as I suddenly realised I had no idea what to say to him. To the man I had been happy to call my best friend, who's loyalty never failed to amaze me, who never doubted me when everyone else did.

"Lovely day today," he said, and suddenly I couldn't stand it any more.

"I've no patience for small talk, John. Please, if you would be so kind as to tell me why I'm here?" I couldn't stop the bitter edge that had strained my voice as I'd talked, no doubt the nerves had finally got to me. Not that I was nervous, no, not at all. Never.

John watched me for a few moments (or at least, I think he did, I couldn't quite tell behind those annoying glasses) before letting out a very unhappy sigh which did not sound in the least bit positive to me. Frankly, it worried me.

"Sherlock, I need you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you." I leaned in, anxiously waiting to hear what he had to tell me that was so important. "I'm not the same person I was before all this. The people I surround myself with, they're dangerous. Hell, I'm* dangerous." That madness seemed to come back to him again quite suddenly as he continued, and he removed his glasses so I could see his dark gaze. "It's not that I don't like you, per se, it's just that I need a bit of space so that I can focus on my work at the moment." That annoying smirk was back on his face, and I felt deflated as I realised what he was trying to tell me.

"You want me to leave." I said sadly, and he nodded in agreement.

"Yes, I'd rather not hear from you again. It's all for the best, Sherly." I flinched when he used that name for me. I had to admit that he really sounded like Moriarty in that moment. It was not a good comparison.

I decided to make my move, to see if I could bring the real John out again. "Please, John. We both know you don't want this. This game you're playing, it doesn't lead anywhere good. We all change with bad news, but this is insane! You can't just sit there and tell me to leave! The John Watson I knew would not be doing something like this, and I know he's still in you, somewhere. So no, I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay and help you through this, because I know that I can. You will get better, I'll make sure of it. Just help me out here, and don't ask me to leave, because you know I won't." I had rushed a bit at the end, but I was certain I'd got my message across. I expected to see acceptance, or even humour in his expression, but I did not expect the anger I saw there.

"Don't you understand, you great idiot? I'm trying to save your arse here! I. Am. Dangerous. Are you too stupid to see that?! Being around me will get you killed! There's something wrong with me, and it means I could just snap and kill you with the slightest push of my temper. I can't control it, and so many people have died at my hand because of it. You would never be safe around me." His voice had gradually gotten louder as he'd become angrier, until he'd been practically screaming at me. We were both shocked by his outburst, and he looked away as I tried so very hard to process what he'd just said.

"I can't lose you again..." He suddenly whispered, and it broke my heart.

"John..." I started, but I couldn't find anything to say, so I left the word dangling between us. We were silent for a few minutes, and though I continued to watch him desperately, he didn't return my gaze. I decided that I needed to say something, anything, or there was a possibility I would lose him forever.

"I can help you, John. Let me help you." I pleaded with him, but he still didn't look up. I sighed and put my head in my hands. "This is all my fault..." I groaned, and this seemed to awaken him a bit from his thoughts. He leaned across the table, and I removed my hands from my face to watch him as he spoke.

"It's not your fault, Sherlock." I didn't believe him, but it was nice to see him like this again. "None of us could have predicted this, not you, not me, and certainly not anyone else. It's rather unfortunate, I'll give you that, but no one is specifically to blame for the situation." He held my gaze, and I could see small hints of my John in his eyes, which only fuelled my hope that all could be reversed.

"However, I can't go with you." I began to question him on this statement, but he cut me off with a small hand gesture.

"I didn't lie when I said I was dangerous, I mean just look at what happened to anyone who got too close to me..." I heard the tremor in his voice as he said that, and part of me longed to lean into him and tell him everything would be alright. But I couldn't. What he'd done to Mrs Hudson, Donovan, and nearly Mycroft was rather difficult to comprehend, and I couldn't lie to him. It wasn't okay, what he'd done. He recognised that from my silence at his statement, and sat back in his chair, nodding to himself.

"You can't forgive me for that, so how am I supposed to? You see now why I can't go back. I'd be reminded of my actions everywhere." He got up to leave, and I couldn't stop him. I couldn't do anything but watch him gather his things, and turn to give me one last look before he left.

"Don't come looking for me. I don't want you to." Then, he turned and walked away, leaving me confused and depressed and altogether unsure what this meant for our future.

Ooh what do you guys think about that? Do you think Sherlock will be able to forgive him? That they'll ever have a life together again? I'd love to hear what you think is going to happen! It's so sad to write about John and Sherlock like this because they both seem so broken and lost, and not at all how they were for the first two series! Please review to tell me how you think my writing is, and whether you think the characters would really act like this in this particular situation! Oh, and I'm super excited because I've finally got to 50 followers! Thank you all, I'm so happy!