The One Next Door

So You Had A Bad Day

    Sherlock didn't sleep. How could he possibly sleep, knowing that he used to sleep next to John every night? He used to feel safe, protected next to John, because he knew that John loved him, and would never do anything to harm him. John had been a shield from the outside world, but now he felt more like a knife, a knife being turned inside of Sherlock's heart. There was no way they could ever go back to what they had, to what Sherlock thought they had. For the whole night he sat cross legged on the bathroom floor, the engagement sitting innocently in front of him, the neat purple box closed, never to be opened by the hands that should open it. The ring was never going to be worn by John, never to be slid over his finger; Sherlock was never going to ask John to marry him. It was all over now. Sherlock had broken into his emergency supplies, old cigarettes and whatever remained of that vodka he had been drinking earlier. So John was going to be a father. He talked all about having a family with Sherlock, adopting a child, raising it together, when he knew that he had a child of his own on the way. How could he possibly have let Sherlock get his hopes up so much? How did he expect Sherlock to act when he found out, if John was ever going to tell him? Was John planning on having to lives, two marriages, two families? He'd make excuses, sneak out of his life with Sherlock to spend time with Mary, and vice versa? Were Sherlock and Mary ever going to know about each other? All of these questions swam through Sherlock's tortured mind as he held another cigarette to his trembling lips, lighting it and watching a puff of smoke emerge from the tip. John had broken him, with nothing more than one secret, which turned into another secret, which lead to more secrets, and they all came crashing down at once, right on top of Sherlock. But John said he still loved him, John said that he fully intended on making Sherlock his husband, who cares about Mary? John claimed that he didn't love her, but what type of selfish man would Sherlock be if he deprived a newborn baby and her mother from their father? What kind of man would he be if he took John as his husband and left Mary and her child to struggle on their own? Sherlock could suffer, he was used to suffer, he would burn quietly, smile, nod, and encourage John to do what was necessary, but inside his heart was on fire, and it called so quietly to John. It begged him to come back, to pretend that nothing had happened, to go back to how it used to be, so carefree, the only thing that seemed to matter was their love. And now love seemed impossible. Of course Sherlock still loved John, he loved him with every inch of his soul, every struggling heartbeat was for John, every breath he took was for John, but every cigarette and every drink of vodka, that was because of John. And he could never trust that man again. When the sun rose, Sherlock opened a window to air his flat out and changed his clothes, not bothering to shower even though this would be the second day in a row that he hadn't showered. The first night he slept on the rug because he was beyond happy, tonight he hadn't slept in the bathroom because he beyond depressed. Funny how one day could change your entire life. So Sherlock did up the buttons on his shirt, pulled his jacket over top, but he felt like he was just masking his sorrow. He looked presentable, he looked as if nothing had changed, but if you take away the mask, the clothing, the fake smile, you could see the pain, the outbursts of pain erupting whenever his thoughts strayed to the one next door. Sherlock sighed, lacing up his shoes, grabbing his coat, and walking down to Molly's flat, not even casting a look to John's door. It was too painful. He barley knocked once when the door opened. Molly looked, if possible, even worse than he did, because she hadn't even gotten dressed yet.
"Oh Sherlock!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck in sorrow. Sherlock patted her back awkwardly, but he couldn't break, not again. He would remain strong, he would pretend like the wound hadn't dug deep enough, when in reality he was already dead. Molly finally pulled away, ushering Sherlock into her apartment and giving him a cup of hot chocolate. There had been three mugs made, one was in her hands, one was in Sherlock's hands, and one was sitting lonely on the counter, still steaming.
"Did you sleep last night?" she asked.
"How could I?" Sherlock asked, setting his hot chocolate down without much interest.
"You'll get past this right? This is something...this is something you can overcome?" Molly asked.
"Not this time Molly." Sherlock admitted, looking down at his shoes. Molly started to cry again; obviously she wasn't as good at balling up her emotions as Sherlock was. He was a silent flame, she was a forest fire.
"No, but he loves you! He still loves you, and I know that you love him, you have to still love him, he was doing this for the better!" Molly insisted.
"He was keeping secrets, enormous secrets, who knows how many more he has? He told Mary that I was his friend, he told her that he was at his parents' house for Christmas, he's a liar Molly, and I can't trust him anymore." Sherlock insisted.
"That's not fair Sherlock; all of this just isn't fair. You two were perfect, you still are perfect! Tell me you love him, at least that." Molly begged.
"Of course...." Sherlock took a deep breath, blinking his eyes to prevent any potential tears from leaking out. "Of course I love him. But I can't be the reason that Mary's child doesn't have a father. I can't deprive her of a husband, I can't be that selfish. John is someone, I love, but if you love someone you have to let them go." Sherlock insisted. Molly didn't seem to know what to say. Of course she wanted John and Sherlock to be together, but she was also a good person, and she knew that without John, Mary's life would be a disaster.
"Maybe you can take the baby?" she suggested.
"That's kidnap, and that's illegal." Sherlock pointed out.
"No, I mean, don't deprive the baby of a father, adopt it from Mary, and raise it together. That way he gets a father, and Mary gets to start over." Molly suggested.
"I would love that." Sherlock admitted.
"You make it sound...you make it should like it couldn't happen." Molly insisted.
"Molly, this is one of those situations when no matter how tempting happiness is, it will never happen. We are stuck in a fairytale and it doesn't have a happy ending." Sherlock pointed out.
"It can." Molly insisted. Sherlock was silent. After a while, Molly stopped her crying and shuffled off to get dressed, not taking long to get ready since she simply tied her hair back in a ponytail, covering up her red, blotchy face with makeup and putting on water proof mascara, in case of emergency crying. Sherlock waited at the door. Every sound, Molly's muffled crying, Hell Spawn at the scratching post, even Sherlock's own shoes as he paced around the floor, sounded like John coming down the stairs. Sherlock expected to hear a knock and have to confront the man he loved, and pretend like the very sight of him wasn't ripping what was left of his heart right out of his chest. But John didn't come. Maybe he was asleep, maybe he was hiding, sulking, or maybe he just got up and left. Either way, Sherlock didn't mind. He didn't want to see him again, not when Sherlock himself looked like a complete wreck. He had never seen John cry, and maybe he never will.
"Are you ready to go?" Molly asked, pulling on her polka dot jacket and casting a nervous look to the door. Sherlock simply nodded. "Should we go get John?" she asked.
"He's not coming." Sherlock assured.
"How do you know that?" Molly asked in a sort of a squeak.
"I wouldn't." Sherlock admitted. Molly stifled another outburst and shuffled out the doorway. As expected, the hallway was empty, no John, no Dudley, not even Mrs. Turner getting her mail. They walked to the shop in silence, it felt like a funeral march more than anything, Sherlock had his hands in his pockets the whole way, his head down in mourning, wishing that it was a day earlier, when he had a skip in his step, when he had John's hand in his, when he was anticipating what engagement ring to buy. Now that ring still sat on the bathroom floor, its purpose gone. When they got to the coffee shop they were a little bit late, Jeanette had just finished pulling down the chairs, and Sarah was still wiping down the counter.
"Where's John?" Sarah asked, looking up and immediately noticing his absence. Molly shook her head wildly, and Sherlock just looked down in shame.
"He's sick, poor thing." Molly shrugged.
"Yes well, that happens." Sarah said suspiciously, looking around as if John was hiding in the bushes outside. Sherlock quietly hung his coat on the rack, going behind the counter and pulling on his apron with shaking fingers. Sara and Jeanette had a careless conversation, nothing important, while Sherlock stood by himself in the corner, staring at the booth in which John usually sat. Except it was empty, and it was likely that it would remain empty for a while.
"Hey, Sherlock are you alright?" Carl asked, done with his register polishing. Evidently, Carl was the only one to notice Sherlock's unusual behavior.
"Ya, fine." Sherlock lied. Carl didn't look convinced.
"I'm sure John will be fine, it's just a sickness." Carl assured.
"It's a disease that will never go away." Sherlock mumbled.
"Well, you just need the right medicine." Carl insisted. Sherlock smiled wishfully.
"If only it were that easy." He sighed.
"Alright mate, but if you need to talk to anyone, I'm always here." Carl assured. Sherlock was going to open his mouth and ask why he would ever go to Carl to talk. Why would he go to such a misfit when Molly, Sara, even Jeanette would listen as well? But then again, Carl wouldn't judge him. He knew Sherlock and his story, but he didn't know all of it, and he wasn't on the basis of making fun. Carl would listen and he would help, he had no emotional attachment to Sherlock and John's relationship.
"I'll keep that in mind, thanks Carl." Sherlock muttered.
"No problem." Carl assured, going back to his cash register. Jeanette soon flipped the sign, and once more Sherlock found himself overloaded with work and responsibilities, but his mind was somewhere else. He couldn't concentrate, he looked over to John's booth every chance he got, his heart longing to run back to the apartments and drag that man back where he belonged. But he told his heart to shut up, and continued making coffee.

"Hey, what is this, I asked for decaf, and no sugar!" growled a man who needed no sugar for obvious reasons. 

"We're sorry sir; we'll make that again for you." Molly assured.
"It's that bloody curly haired man, he's messing everyone's coffees up, they're just too polite to complain!" he insisted. Sherlock looked up with sadness, struggling to push on a lid to someone's large coffee.
"Shut it bowling ball." Sarah snapped, grabbing the coffee from Molly and pouring it down the sink.
"I won't be acknowledged like that!" the man insisted.
"Then don't be rude, and we won't be rude back." Sara insisted.
"This has nothing to do with you, princess; this is that man over there! Why would anyone hire such a screw up?" he snapped. Sherlock clenched his fists over the counter, trying to do anything he could to prevent himself from leaping over the counter and strangling that fat sack of a man where he stood.
"Don't you dare talk to our employees like that!" Molly insisted.
"Get out of here; you're not getting your coffee." Sarah decided, throwing him his refund from the cash register.
"I am too getting my coffee, but from a better employee, please." He snapped.
"Sir, we're going to have to get our manager." Molly pointed out. Sarah glared hatefully at the man, looking fully ready to knock in him the jaw.
"Give me my bloody coffee, I came for coffee and you're being disrespectful!" he insisted.
"Just GET OUT!" Sherlock screamed, taking a loud step forward and making the man jump back, even though there was a counter between them.
"I'm going to give you all a negative review on Yelp!" he cried, storming out of the coffee shop dramatically.
"We're going to give you a negative review to whatever dating site you're trying to use!" Sarah called back, but he was long gone.
"Was that screaming?" Jeanette asked, poking her head out of the door. Sherlock was still fuming, his hands clutched around the counter, ready to pull the entire thing from the ground. Meanwhile, Sarah went back to the costumers while Molly tried to comfort him.
"It's alright Sherlock, it's alright, don't listen to him, he's just a jerk who needs attention." Molly assured, patting Sherlock's arm gently.
"He's right, I'm a screw up, I'm not..." Sherlock felt tears start to run down his face. "I'm not worth anything anymore." he admitted.
"Sherlock, you are, you're fine, you're perfect." Molly assured.
"Sherlock dear, can I see you in my office?" Jeanette asked.
"And now I'm going to get fired." Sherlock managed, wiping away the tears that still clung to his eyelashes and walking over to Jeanette's small office. It was simple, just a computer, a lone desk, and some filing cabinets. Jeanette was standing in the middle of the room, looking more concerned than angry. Sherlock cleaned his throat, trying to stand up tall and not look destroyed. 

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" she asked. "Why'd you yell at a costumer?"
"I was provoked...ma'am." Sherlock admitted.
"You've been provoked a lot, it's part of the job, but why did you scream?" she asked.
"I'm having a bit of a rough day, it's...it's personal." Sherlock admitted.
"Where's John?" Jeanette asked, seeming to connect the dots. Sherlock took a deep breath, holding back his tears, the river of sadness that was just pressing to get out.
"He's....he's gone I imagine." Sherlock admitted. Jeanette covered her mouth in shock, looking close to tears herself.
"How can he be gone?" she asked.
"I can't talk about this, not now. It's still too...real." Sherlock admitted, looking the floor just to give his eyes something to do other than hold back tears.
"It'll be alright Sherlock, I'm sure he'll come back to his senses." Jeanette assured.
"That's not the problem." Sherlock admitted.
"I'm not going to ask right now. Would you like to take the rest of the day to yourself?" she asked.
"You mean leave early?" Sherlock asked.
"Only if you think you need it." Jeanette insisted. Sherlock nodded wildly, trying to look as grateful as possible.
"I'm sorry, I'm just, it's been a rough day." Sherlock admitted.
"I know, I'll mark you down as sick. Go make yourself some tea, have some ice cream, and listen to Adele. That's what helps me." she insisted. Sherlock forced a smile, nodding in thanks.
"Thank you." He decided.

"Anytime Sherlock." Jeanette assured. With that, Sherlock turned mournfully around and slouched off to the counter to put his apron away.