Let The Shadows Win

It Might Be Time To Say Goodbye

"Rosie why don't you go upstairs, maybe bring your dolls down? I'm sure that Mr. Sherlock would love to play a while with us." John suggested, shooing his daughter upstairs so as to get a little bit of privacy. He knew that he needed to discuss this sort of tragedy with Sherlock; however he did not want Rosie to overhear. He didn't want her panicking, really that was the last thing he needed, for such a crisis was better handled if everyone kept very calm and collective. Unfortunately both of those emotions were completely unknown to Rosie, especially if there was even something of a chance that she would not survive.
"Yes alright." Rosie agreed quietly, looking quite carefree as she raced up the steps to her bedroom, obviously thrilled that she got to spend a whole day with her father once more. When finally Rosie had disappeared John took a step back from Sherlock, just in case he really was concealing some sort of weapon, and frowned in his most disproving sort of way.
"What on earth did you slash the tires for?" John hissed, to which Sherlock merely shrugged.
"What makes you think I did it?" Sherlock wondered, slanting his eyebrows as if he was offended by such an accusation.
"Slashing tires and phone cords really is the work of a madman, and since there's only one psychopath in this house..."
"There is most certainly two." Sherlock whispered, cutting John off before he could even finish his little scold. John blinked, and for a moment, a very odd moment at that, he tried to figure out why on earth Sherlock might be trying to classify Rosie as a psychopath. Then again, John realized with a start that such a psychopath might be alluding to him.
"I'm not mad." John said defensively, all the while remembering everything he had gotten up to with Sherlock in this house, and realized all together that he was lying. To say that he was not mad would be like saying Sherlock was a responsible adult, both being lies that were only apparent if you looked closely, and focused hard. Sherlock merely grinned at him, tapping his fingers against the counter and looking past john and to the door that led out to the garage, only just able to glance at it through the limited range the kitchen doorway allowed.
"I did it for us, of course. I realized that the outside world might try to taint our love, and I realized of course that such a crime needed to be prevented. I couldn't let you get taken by them; I couldn't let you leave me anymore." Sherlock said simply.
"We'll starve in here, don't you realize that? We have no way of getting to the store, and no way of getting help. I'll have to walk to town, and that's miles." John growled.
"You're not going anywhere." Sherlock said sharply. "We have food...we'll be fine."
"We have food now, sure! But that's the thing about food, Sherlock, it runs out! We'll live another two weeks maybe, until starvation settles in." John growled.
"I'll have it handled." Sherlock promised.
"And what, in your expert opinion, is handling it?" John wondered, taking a daring step forward to which Sherlock countered with stepping close as well. He stared John down almost lethally, as if daring him to take another step, as if daring him to come any closer.
"Does it matter what I do? We will survive, John. One way or another we will survive." Sherlock promised. With that, and a twinkle in his eye, Sherlock grabbed both of John's hands with a very dominating, possessive sort of grip. John knew that it wouldn't be smart to fight him off, or push him away, and so he let Sherlock pull him into his chest, and he shivered to let that man's lips press themselves against the top of his head. It was a beautiful moment, or at least it should have been, yet John was trembling, he was so terribly afraid of the man who stood over him that he could hardly think to move. He felt just utterly hopeless, lost in a world he thought he could control, and plagued by a man who he had dedicated himself to for the rest of his life. He knew that somehow he had to fix this, and he knew that there really was only one solution to the problem. Sherlock had to die, it was the only way, and it was a pitiful reality. He loved this man, and he knew that Sherlock loved him back, however together they were destructive, and alone they were worse. There was only one option if they wanted to ever calm the waters which they boiled around them, there was only one way for the both of them to be truly happy. Sherlock, who craved a life with John or a death with Victor, and John who wanted nothing but his tortured lover to finally have a peaceful end and a smile on his face. It would work, it would have to work, to ensure the survival of all those who did not want to die.