Tears of a Broken Heart

Chapter 11

{Sherlock's POV}

That evening

"I'm so sorry, John..." I sat on the sofa, my knees pulled to my chest, my head resting on them uncomfortably. "I can't believe I let him get away..."

"It's not your fault, Sherlock," he paced the floor anxiously. "now if you'd kindly stop apologizing for things that aren't your fault?" he shot me a teasing smile, making my heart jump. "I'm going to try to get some sleep so I am alert and ready for the meeting tomorrow...which is where? I forgot to ask you. I'm sure you know, judging by the way he aimed the subject at you."

"The roof of Bart's," I shivered. Last time I had been up there, I had faked my death, causing John years of grief. I could tell he hadn't forgotten what he had been through, by the way his neck and jaw tensed at the mention.

"Yeah...that makes too much sense..." he turned and walked slowly to the bedroom.

I sat there, watching him leave, wondering why I had done such an awful thing to him, coming back into his life in the first place. He would have been fine. Sure he had helped me with my smoking, but other than that, I hadn't done much for him. I would still go out and drink, sometimes too much, and wouldn't go back to 221b until I was completely sober again. I had been the result of many worrisome late nights for him, keeping him worrying about my old drug and smoking habits, or wondering why I hadn't come home. I really hadn't done anything for him. Expect bring him pain, grief, and misery.

I stood and followed him into the bedroom, silently opening the door. John was standing over Avalon's old crib when I quietly padded in. His back was to me, but his shoulders were shaking in a soft, sad cry. The sight broke my heart. He reached up and flicked the mobile into a slow spin, then cried a bit harder. I strode over to him, silently standing behind him, looking down upon the top of his head.

He spun and wrapped his arms so tight around my waist, I struggled for breath at first. He sobbed into my soft, cotton t-shirt, his hands fisting the material hanging on my back. I returned his desperate hug, my left hand around his waist, my right holding his head to my chest. I leaned my head down on the top of his, gently resting my cheek in his ruffled hair.

"Sherlock, what did she ever do to him?" John sobbed. "Why did he have to take her?"

"I don't know, John. I don't know." He looked so broken, so helpless, clinging to me like...I was the last thing he had...at the realization, I held him tighter.

We stood there for I don't know how long, clinging to each other, praying everything would work out. He finally pushed away from me gently, standing up straight. I placed my hands tenderly to his cheeks, wiping the tear streaks from his face.

He looked into my eyes, normally I would have welcomed the grey twinkle of his eyes, but not this time. This time, they held so much sorrow, I could feel it boring into my soul, tugging my heart to the brink of tears. I looked away from his stare quickly, and pulled off my shirt and pants.

I slid under the covers, and motioned for John, who had changed at the same time I did, to join me. He climbed in after me, shifted over, and laid pressed up against my warm, taught skin. His hand came to rest on my chest, his head finding it's place on my shoulder. My arm wrapped around him, my hand pressed to his waist. My other hand gently and reassuringly ran it's fingers through John's soft, blonde/grey locks. His breathing changed, and he slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep. I angled my head to touch his, then slipped off after him.

***

{John's POV}

The next morning

We both dressed, ate, and gathered our things in complete, nervous, utterly terrified silence. We hailed a cab, climbed in, and instructed him to go to Bart's. The only thing that happened during that cab ride was Sherlock reaching over and taking my hand. Whether in fear or reassurance, I couldn't be sure.