Habits of the Heart

XI

Sherlock went missing for a few days. Mycroft had contacted John, asking him if he possibly knew where Sherlock was. After receiving a 'no', he sighed and hung up. John sent a few texts and called a couple times, but quickly stopped, remembering last time.

It was after about five days, he showed up again. Knocking at John's door, John was greeted with a frighteningly skinny, pale Sherlock. His eyes bloodshot and hands shaky.

John immediately rushed out, wrapping his arms around the lanky boy and tugging him inside with such ease it caused him to tremble. Sherlock pinched the edge of John's shirt, reminding him he was still there.

John rested Sherlock on his bed, stroking his curls from his face and looking at him in worry.

"Where were you?" John whispered.

"Not important." Sherlock's voice sounded like gravel.

"Jesus Sherlock! Look at you! What happened?" He shouted but gradually softened after feeling Sherlock flinch.

Sherlock sighed heavily, moving his arms slowly and wrapping them around John. He pathetically attempted to pull John closer. John complied.

They laid there together. Sherlock, who seemed half his normal size, was cradled in the nook of John's arm. They were silent.

"I love you, you know." John murmured, placing his lips to the top of Sherlock's skull. Sherlock simply hummed in agreement, attempting to move closer to John, though physically impossible.

They were silent for a while. Time ticked by slowly, but both were content in spending their time tangled withing each other. It was Sherlock whom broke the silence.

"I owe people money."

"What for?"

"Reasons."

"Can't Mycroft help you?"

"He refuses to help me. Told me to get a job. That's why I began tutoring you."

"How much?"

"John no.."

"I said, How much?"

"Couple thousands."

John remained silent, feeling his heart drop to the bottom of his chest. He didn't move. He didn't pull away from Sherlock. He remained still, praying that a wave of sleep would wash over him.

---

We're over.
-SH

Just two words. Eight simple letters. A message that had enough power to crack John's heart into millions of pieces.

Sherlock wasn't in school. Mycroft never contacted him. He refused to answer his phone. John couldn't reach Sherlock.

He was trapped, drowning in his own pain. Drowning, struggling to reach the surface where he prayed that Sherlock stood, a hand outreached for him.

But he wasn't there. He wasn't in the halls of the school. He wasn't waiting in front of John's doors. He wasn't in John's arms.

When John got home, he sat down and attempted to do his homework. He grew furious, not because he didn't understand it, but because he could.

Before he knew it, a cold glass bottle touched his lips and he drank. Drank until the world twirled around him. Drank until the the sun outside of the window disappeared and the world went dark.

---

Mr.Reems held John back after class. He ran his fingers through what little wispy hair he had left.

"Have you seen Sherlock lately?"

"He stopped showing up to my tutoring.."

He nodded slowly, looking back down at his papers. "Well, I have some good news."

John looked at him expectantly.

"You brought your grades up just in time to be able to play the last game of the season." He commented, smiling up at John.

John smiled back, a real enough looking smile, but it wasn't real. His heart felt hollow.

---

To:Sherlock
I can play in the final game thanks to you. I really hope you come. It would be nice to see you in the crowd.
-JW

----

John did terribly in the game. He wasn't paying attention to the ball or the players, but rather the faces in the crowd. He hoped to see a familiar head of curly black hair.

He never did find it.

They lost. 0-7.

---

John spent his days locked in his room, drinking the hours away. He refused to go to anymore parties.

Empty bottles littered the floor. He had lost weight as well. Refusing to eat. Just drinking and remaining slumped against the wall.

He didn't sleep much. Unless you count the numerous times he drank so much he passed out.

Harry would come in every now and then. John could tell she was unhappy. How the tables had turned. Now he was the one hiding. Waiting for him to rot away.

---

"John! It's for you!" Harry called out after opening the door to the mysterious males that had rung the doorbell.

John heaved himself off the bed, making his way towards the door on shaky legs. When he arrived at the door, his brow furrowed.

These guys looked familiar.

"Hey John,ind going for a walk with us?" One asked, stepping out of the way for him.

John frowned but complied, stepping out and shutting the door behind him. Harry had scurried off to her room.

The door had barely shut before John felt a pinch behind his neck and the world go dark around him.

A/N- So I plan on ending this soon. I just really dislike incredibly long fics and I've been dragging this out for more than I planned.
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