A Photo Of John

Chapter 18

After that scare at the morgue, John and Sherlock took a cab home, both worn out. They entered the flat, with John practically collapsing on the couch. He hadn't feared his life that much since Moriarty had a bomb strapped to him. Sherlock entered the kitchen, then stepping out with a bottle of whiskey. It looked dusty and frankly disgusting.

Sherlock fell onto the couch, next to John. He brought the aged whiskey to his lips and took a big gulp. He silently handed the drink over to John, who threw him a surprised glance and did the same.

" Sherlock...I didn't know you..."

" I don't."

" Then why-"

" Why do you drink?"

John pondered his question a moment.

"To relax, forget."

" Exactly."

They sat in silence for a moment.

John grabbed it and took a swig.

" You know you're quite attractive."

Sherlock looked at John first surprised then melancholy. He grabbed the bottle and had a big gulp.

" I have no clue why."

John grinned then pinned him down to the sofa, ending up on top of him.

" I can't believe even the worlds only consulting detective can't figure it out."

" I can't believe the worlds only consulting blogger can't figure out why he means so much to me."

John's eyes grew downcast.

" Sometimes I just think you'd be better without me."

Sherlock grew furious.

" Stop that!"

John also became angry.

" Stop what?! Telling the truth? You know it's true!"

" The only thing I know to be true on this subject is that you are completely mistaken."

" I would say the same about you."

" How could you possibly know how I feel about you?"

" How could I possibly know you aren't lying?"

Sherlock spit the word out with fury.

" TRUST."

John lifted himself off of him.

" I...I'm sorry Sherlock."

Sherlock's eyes softened as he pulled John to his chest, rubbing circles in his hair.

" I'm sorry. I hate when you don't see your own self worth. The event with Molly was quite draining."

" I agree. Why must everything be so hard? It's like I'm battling the odds just to be with you."

Sherlock pulled John closer to his chest.

" We're not battling any odds now, what would you like to do?"

John leaned towards Sherlock's face and brushed a stray hand through his hair.

Sherlock grinned and pulled John into a kiss.

He was so warm and radiant, a white light in his depth of darkness.

Sherlock pulled him closer, but close didn't seem close enough.

Their lips parted and John looked into Sherlock's eyes. He didn't see what everyone else saw.

He saw galaxies. He saw mysterious dimensions. He saw beautiful puffs of green smoke. He saw life. Death.

Or maybe he was just a bit tipsy.

He pulled them together again and got a gentle reminder.

A reminder of what he was fighting for.

They separated.

" Sherlock, when did you realize you loved me?"

Sherlock thought for a moment.

" When I removed glass from you're foot. You?"

John looked up and smiled.

" I have absolutely no idea."

" John. I can't let them hurt you again."

" They use me as your weakness. They will. Maybe next time they'll pull the trigger."

Sherlock's eyes hardened.

" No. I would never let that happen. I simply cannot continue without you."

John laid back into Sherlock's chest while he combed through John's sandy blonde hair with his fingers.

What he didn't realize was that Sherlock was completely serious.

If John was to die... he would have no point to keep living.

That's why he got so furious when John poked at his own self worth.

He was worth the great genius's life.

And so much more.

...

Molly was on her cab ride home, staring out the window, tears streaming down her face.

How could she do something so horrid, so disgusting, so...evil?

Her guilt was immense.

She loved Sherlock, and he would never love her back. He made it perfectly clear.

How could he love her? After what she had done...

But it hurt now, because now she knew what she was losing.

She saw the horror in his eyes when she held John at gunpoint.

Emotion was plastered all over his face.

She wished he could look at her like that.

But he never would.

After years of stolen glances and childish hearts drawn next to his name, it all came to this.

He told her she was too good.

He must have been lying.

Because she is nothing. She is the pathetic woman who has this pathetic crush on this brilliant man. Who has been used like tissues and treated like absolute dirt. Her fantastic grades in school led to absolutely nothing. She is extremely lonely and only has a cat to keep her company.

Every man she thought loved her, used her.

She hastily paid the cabbie money and ran up her apartment steps.

She took the entire bag of cat food and dumped it into Toby's bowl.

The dry cat food overflowed and covered a good portion of the kitchen floor.

She ran a hand through her hair and grabbed a piece of paper from her printer, grabbed a pen, and quickly jotted down a note. She left it on the table.

She walked into her room and pulled some sleeping medications from her shelf. She sat down on her bed. She thought she would cry, but she was strangely calm.

It would be clean. Easy. Simple

She would take a nap.

She put on her prettiest pajamas, and slid into bed.

She took her pills and drifted to sleep.

A sleep... from which she would never wake up.