[John]

Don't turn around. Don't turn around. Don't turn around.

I repeated the mantra to myself as I forced my legs to move towards the door, away from Sherlock and the confusion that surrounded me whenever I now thought about him. My brain knew that this was the only option to keep him safe, but the thought didn't stop my heart from breaking when I walked away.

My entire being desperately wanted to return to his side and continue where we'd left off three years ago, but I was so conflicted that I could barely think straight. For one, he'd left me. No explanation, no warning, then he'd made me watch him die. Forced me to watch as he slammed hard against the pavement, blood pouring from his head. It was an image that had been burned permanently into my retinas. How could he not realise that? Had he really just expected to waltz back into my life, all forgiven, and just carried on as normal?

Secondly, it didn't really look like he would ever be able to look me in the eye again. At the time, I had never regretted my actions against Mrs Hudson, Donovan, even Mycroft, but looking back now I could see why it frightened Sherlock. Three years ago I would have been repulsed by such a display from any criminal, and now I was standing here, walking away from the man I had called my friend, and still not fully regretting my actions. I was sad, and shocked, and very much in denial, but I wasn't really thinking enough about it to hate myself for what I'd done. I knew that if I really did accept my actions, there wouldn't be anything left of me. John Watson could never have lived with the guilt, so I wasn't even going to attempt to.

I got into the waiting car, still lost in my thoughts, though not enough to miss the fact that every CCTV camera was watching me. I smiled sadly at them, no doubt Mycroft would know of my and Sherlock's conversation soon enough. I tried not to picture his disapproving stare as the car sped away. No doubt that would only have led me on to think about Sherlock's broken gaze as I'd used my last winning piece on him. He couldn't forgive me for what I'd done, so how could he sit there and tell me to return with him? If I did get better (which I severely doubted) I would only then proceed to get worse after accepting my unforgivable actions. That was the only proper way to describe them, the only word that gave them justice. How would anyone I'd known be able to look at me again without hate in their gaze, let alone Sherlock? No, this was a much better way of handling things. By running away.

I had never thought of myself as the deserter type, but there really wasn't another way to do it. The cowardly act made my blood boil with anger and self-loathing, but it kept Sherlock safe from my wrath, and that was the important thing. It didn't improve my mood, though.

When I arrived back at my office (every criminal mastermind needs one) I began to rant to myself, which was probably the reason everyone stayed out of my way. I knew talking to myself wasn't going to help my sanity, but I was trying to block out any logic at that moment. That's probably why I didn't think before I threw the paperweight on my desk at the wall. It left a large dent, which caught my interest. I stopped my monologue of hate, and stepped closer. I realised that the action had felt good, and a small fraction of my anger had dissipated along with it. Before I could fully comprehend what I was doing, I had returned to my desk and taken hold of a mug, still filled with coffee (I no longer had the will to drink tea, it had reminded me too much of Him) and let go of it, sending it whizzing towards the far end of the office and shattering against the door. I began to giggle, but then the giggles turned into giddy laughter, which finally turned into a bout of crazy giggle-laughs that vibrated through my body. Suddenly I was rushing around and throwing anything I could at the walls, rejoicing in the sound it made as it smashed or cracked, and feeling the anger drain away to be replaced with adrenaline.

A small voice in the back of my head was telling me to stop, that this wasn't what Sherlock would have wanted me to do, but I drowned it out with more crashes as my objects found themselves flung through the air at great speeds. My John-voice, as I'd then dubbed it, was still screaming for me to stop, but he had no control, not like I did. More items went sailing through the air, and I began to growl under my breath as the anger came back at full force. It was too overpowering, and no matter how many things I broke, it was always there, waiting for me to lose control. I screamed in hatred, shoving my desk onto the floor with a loud crash, and sending paper flying everywhere. I kicked at it, so much anger and hatred and despair pouring out in the action.

How-dare-he-do-this-to-me-how-could-he-just-leave- me-that-bastard-god-I-would-kill-him-if-he-was-her e-now...

As I screamed and ranted, still kicking at the overturned desk, I caught sight of myself in the mirror on the opposite wall.

The cracks from where I'd destroyed object after object in my unquenchable fury did nothing to disguise my reflection. The reflection of a madman, a monster, a man so changed by grief and anger that I no longer recognised him.

His eyes blazed with fury, and his hands shook from barely restrained destructive tendencies, but I could see something underneath that saddened me to no end. Just a shadow in his confidence, but there nonetheless. A small frightened child, so unsure of the world around it, and with no one left to turn to. Broken, damaged, terrified. His eyes pleaded with me, and I couldn't take it any longer.

I sank to the ground, tears streaming down my face as I lost all control of my emotions. This anger had only made an appearance as a substitute for the despair and depression I'd felt knowing that Sherlock and I would never be companions again. How could he? My lack of control regarding Mrs Hudson had cost me dearly. I didn't deserve Sherlock's help or even his pity. I was evil. I no longer deserved to live.

Sitting there, on the floor of the office I had just destroyed, I made a decision. It was one I felt was the right thing to do, but I needed to prepare first. Just a few things, but then I'd be ready.

Ready to say goodbye.

Hmm, as you've probably already realised, this story can go one of two ways. It can have a happy ending, or it can have a tearful, heart-wrenching ending. My question is which you would rather see, although I must warn you that I've already decided on the ending, and unless I get a lot of reviews requesting one way or another it will probably stay as the ending I've decided on! But I'd like to see what people look for in an amazingly well thought-out end to a story they've awaited an exciting ending to from the first chapter (I hope...) Please tell me, I'm really interested! Thank you! Oh, by the way, if any of you guys have a Tumblr account, add me! My username is dangerousbliss, and I'll always follow back!