Habits of the Heart

IX

John's body stiffened, bones locked together in surprise and fear, but he didn't pull away. He didn't want it to end.

Sherlock felt John lose the once at ease feel he had before, so he pulled away. John was able to see the hurt that glazed over his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I guess I was wrong." He muttered bitterly, a voice so sharp and cold it physically stung John. Sherlock was up and out the door in just mere seconds after the words had left his mouth.

"Sherlock..."

---

To: Sherlock

Did you cancel the tutoring? I'm waiting for you..

Can we please talk? -JW

John sighed, pocketing his phone and heading back indoors. It was stupid, so stupid of him to wait for Sherlock. Of course he wasn't going to come. John was always stupid in his eyes.  

His knuckles were bright red, collecting blood. John stared at it for a moment before he realized that he had punched the wooden door frame.

"What the Hell was that?" A shout came from inside, followed by Harry's head poking through the opened door. "Jesus John! What are you doing?"

"Just.. Waiting..?" He mumbled, confusion laced through his voice. He uncurled his fist and recurled it, feeling the pain sting sharply I'm his hand.

"For Christ sake!" She grabbed his uninjured arm and tugged him inside with ease, pushing him down onto the couch. "What happened?"

"Nothing hap-" A door closing caught John's attention. With Harry standing right in front of him, that would mean someone else was here.

"What was that?" He asked, looking up at Harry. The confusion that was once in his eyes turned cold, like steel.

"It's no one! Don't worry about it!" She quickly jumped up in front of him, blocking his view from her door.

"Who's in your room Harry?" He asked calmly and quietly, but with a voice so dreadful you could see the goosebumps on her skin.

"A friend of mine! That's all!" She said quickly, biting her lip.

"Then you won't mind if I go meet this 'friend'." He stood up, pushing Harry out of the way softly and heading to her room. Her hands wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back, but he was stronger than her.

The door was opened, but not a soul was seen in the room. He looked around, desperate to find the person in the room.

"Who's in here?" He growled out, stepping in even more.

"It's just me sir." A voice called out, definitely female. A slender girl stepped out from the closet, staring at John.

John visably relaxed, flashing as smile at the beautiful girl. "Do you have a name?"

"Adler. Irene Adler."

---

John never got a reply from Sherlock. He was ready to confront him in school but he wasn't there either. Countless missed calls and texts remained unanswered. John couldn't help but feel... Worried?

Then his phone buzzed, spooking him. He answered it quickly, not bothering to look at the caller information.

"Hello?" He asked, a little too quickly.

"Hello John. It's Mycroft, Sherlock's older brother. Please step out of the school and meet me in front of the library." Click.

John attempted to swallow the fist-sized fear in his throat as he began making his way towards the exit.

---

Mycroft leaned against his umbrella as he watched John hurry towards him.

"Where is he?" John asked immediately, barely even stopping to catch his breath.

"That's what I planned on asking you. He never came home after his... 'Date'."

"He just.. It's complicated." John murmured, chewing his lip. "Do you know where he could be? I've tried calling and texting bu-"

"I know. He left his phone behind in the mailbox. Doesn't like being tracked."

"But he has to be somewhere right?" John tried his best to not allow the panic consume him. How could Mycroft, his own brother, not even seem like he cares?

"Yes yes.. Somewhere." He murmured, looking away.

"What? What is it?"

"It's not in my place to tell."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, John Watson. Get back to class and I'll see to it that Sherlock continues the tutoring tomorrow." And with that, he turned around and began walking off, leaving John alone and confused.

---

Sherlock did show up for tutoring, but he seemed.. Different. Though they were seated outside, he refused to take off his jacket. He was spacey, unable to concentrate.

"Sherlock.. I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"You misspelled anathema."

"What does that even mean?" He growled angrily. He didn't want to be working. He wanted to talk things through with Sherlock. He didn't want Sherlock to leave.

"Me."