"Why did Greg come up here, what was he hoping to find?" Sherlock wondered. John sighed, picking at a loose thread in Sherlock's blanket and picking his words carefully.
"He um...he's been on your case ever since I came over for dinner." Greg admitted.
"What does that mean, on my case? Has he been spying?" Sherlock wondered.
"I don't know, but I guess he was worried for my safety and called the police when I came over and they didn't believe him because he had no evidence, and then when I came back alive with you on my arm, I guess he thought that was more suspicious than if I hadn't come back at all." John admitted. Sherlock sighed, nodding as if he had seen this coming. But why would Greg befriend him if he was suspicious of him? Why would he pretend that they were lifelong friends when in reality his ultimate goal was to send Sherlock to prison?
"That's rather rude." Sherlock decided. John just laughed, nodding his head in agreement, but his smile faded as he watched Sherlock, as if about to drop the ultimate bomb.
"He went to Victor's house as well. To talk with the parents, to see what they knew." John added. Sherlock felt as if someone had driven a stake through his chest; knocking all of the wind out of his lungs and making him stumble back to steady himself on the wall.
"To...Victor's...he went to Victor's?" Sherlock asked with as much voice as he could manage. John looked at him in confusion; obviously he didn't know what was so bad about that.
"Well, ya, I mean, that's not a bad thing, is it?" John wondered.
"How dare he! He doesn't know Victor, he doesn't care about him, how dare he desecrate the ground Victor used to walk on! His parents never knew me, they never knew of the attraction between me and their son and Greg's making me out to be a psychopathic murderer!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking around in the shadowy corners of the room to see if Victor was listening. Unfortunately none of his friends from beyond the freezer were present, and it was only Sherlock and John. John just looked down at the ground in shame, clearing his throat awkwardly.
"Attraction?" he clarified.
"Yes, attraction, we were in love, you know that John." Sherlock snapped.
"You're not still in love with him though?" John muttered. Sherlock groaned, this was obviously twenty questions now. Twenty questions that Sherlock really didn't want to answer.
"He's dead John, how could I love someone who's dead?" Sherlock asked. John nodded, suddenly looking a lot more sure of himself.
"We'll get through this Sherlock, together, like we always do." John assured.
"It's not the police that worry me, it's Greg. That thieving, sneaky little cockroach I want him dead!" Sherlock exclaimed. John sighed, not really sure of what to do to counteract Sherlock's anger.
"We'll deal with Greg later, alright? We need to decide what we're doing if the police show up. I mean, they're bound to show up eventually." John pointed out.
"They won't handle me as much of a threat, they won't be so cautious. I'm a teenager, what do they expect? They'll send two or four, it depends if they think you'll be a target as well." Sherlock pointed out.
"I am, I'm an accomplice." John insisted.
"If Greg is turning me in, he'll leave that out." Sherlock decided.
"He said I belong in a mental hospital, that you're warping my mind." John pointed out. Sherlock nodded, beginning to pace across the hardwood floor.
"No, if he thinks that I'm bad for you, he'll only want to get rid of me and heal you himself. Remove the disease, then the patient is cured. He won't mention you to the police, maybe as a victim, but not having anything to do with my crimes." Sherlock decided.
"But I don't want to leave you Sherlock; I want to always be with you, no matter where you are. Prison with you is preferable to freedom without you." John insisted. Sherlock just smiled, gazing to where John sat on the bed, his loyalty, his honestly, just adding onto the list of things Sherlock adored about his boyfriend.
"You'll stay with me forever, no matter where I am. Don't worry." Sherlock assured. John nodded, maybe thinking that was some sort of metaphor, but he didn't seem too worried. That was a good thing.
"So what do you want me to do? Just pretend I was the victim this whole time?" John asked.
"Yes, because you have been." Sherlock agreed.
"I'm not a victim Sherlock, you're not hurting me, you're not forcing me to do anything I don't want to do, I've been with you this whole time Sherlock, by my own consent." John insisted.
"You've changed so much since you first met me John. You are nothing like the bumbling idiot that stumbled onto my porch that afternoon. You have given up so much, you have changed." Sherlock assured. John nodded enthusiastically, as if that was the point he was trying to make.
"For better or for worse?" John asked. Sherlock just smiled, closing his eyes slightly and trying to imagine John's throat cut, thrashing and bleeding out on the bed, his golden hair mixed with the scarlet hues of his own blood. The ultimate sacrifice.
"For better, of course." Sherlock assured, opening his eyes and seeing John sitting on the bed, alive and well. But not for long.
"So you're basically going to say that you were making me help you, and love you, that I was no more than a dog on your leash?" John asked. Sherlock smiled proudly, happy to see that John was finally catching on.
"You've given up so much John, so much for me." Sherlock assured.
"I'm not done." John insisted. "If you go to prison, I'll break you out, somehow, I'll get you back."
"No, we're both not done sacrificing for each other, don't worry. I will go to prison to ensure that, in Greg's words, I don't warp your mind anymore. And you, you will follow me, in my head. You will never leave my side." Sherlock decided, looking into the shadowy corner once more and seeing Victor leaning there, a smile on his face as he noticed Sherlock watching him. In the other corner, near the curtained window, stood Mycroft, staring at Sherlock determinedly, as if telling him that now was the time. Sherlock took a deep breath, but he knew that eventually this would have to be done, before the police showed up and spoiled everything.
"I like you warping my mind Sherlock." John assured. Sherlock nodded, walking closer to him until he could place a hand on one of John's warm cheeks, letting John lean into his touch, the warmth of life, soon to be extinguished.
"I don't want to taint you more than I already have. I like you as you, not conforming to the standards you think I have set." Sherlock whispered. John looked up into his eyes, as if confused at what Sherlock was talking about.
"I thought we decided I changed for the better?" John muttered.
"As have I." Sherlock agreed. "We've changed, and we've sacrificed, and we've coped with the secluded company of the other."
"I love your company." John assured.
"What if you were never able to leave my side John? Forever? What if you became attached to me, and could never let me go?" Sherlock whispered.
"Haven't I done that already?" John asked. Sherlock let his fingers run over John's hairline, trying to always imagine the life that radiated through his skin, the love, the warmth and the feelings the dead simply could not provide. But as long as John was alive, he could leave, he could betray Sherlock like his father had and he could leave him with nothing. Every moment they were together Sherlock gave a little piece of himself to John, little by little, piece by piece, John owned more and more of Sherlock's soul, and what he chose to do with it was entirely up to him. Later on, John might just chose to smash it.
"Stop stalling brother dear, we've done this once before." Mycroft assured from his corner. Sherlock could feel him walking closer, but he knew that if he turned around he wouldn't be able to see him. He was in the light, and the dead couldn't show themselves in the light.
"John, how much are you willing to sacrifice to be with me through anything?" Sherlock asked gently.
"Everything I've ever had." John assured. Sherlock smiled, adoring the obedience of John Watson. The obedience that would be ensured. Sherlock let his hand slide from John's face as he walked around the other side of the bed and slowly eased himself onto the mattress, letting his head fall back into the pillows and stare at John's face on the ceiling once more. That beautiful portrait could never do the real thing justice. It could never share the pure beauty John Watson possessed.
"Don't be scared Sherlock. If he truly loves you, he will be willing." Victor assured. John inched farther up the bed and lay down next to Sherlock so that he could take one of his hands, letting his head fall onto Sherlock's chest and laughing slightly as he noticed the mural on the ceiling.
"Is that me?" John asked.
"Who else might it be?" Sherlock whispered, clutching to one of John's hands while his other hand started to slide off of the bed, under the mattress, were he knew the knife was waiting, anxious to take another life.
"I like it." John decided.
"I made it the first night alone, because I was scared, I couldn't stand the thought of being so alone in this house, so I brought you here. To watch over me, to protect me even when you weren't here." Sherlock murmured.
"I'll always protect me; you don't have to paint my face on your ceiling to prove that." John assured. Sherlock felt the handle of the knife under the mattress and wrapped his fingers around it, taking a deep breath and letting the metallic chill of the metal absorb into his body, flowing through his flesh and soaking into John's hand, interlocked with his own.
"Mycroft always said that every living person will leave me." Sherlock muttered. "That no matter how much they loved me in the present, they will abandon me in the future. Like my father did, like Victor might have. He said that you were going to leave me as well." John rolled his head so that he could look at Sherlock, the smile fading off of his face.
"Why would I ever leave you when you're all that I've ever wanted?" John asked.
"Mycroft said that in order to truly be together, that we have to give up everything. You said you would. Mycroft said that the dead can keep promises the living can't. In fact, he still says that." Sherlock whispered.
"What do you mean? I thought we burned his body." John pointed out. "I thought whatever was haunting you was gone now."
"You're missing the point John, I need your oath. I need to make sure you'll never leave me." Sherlock whispered, pulling the knife out from underneath his mattress where John still couldn't see it.
"I promise you." John whispered. Sherlock closed his eyes and squeezed John's hand in his own.
"It's not the kind of oath." He insisted. With that Sherlock rolled over on top of John, pinning his arms to his side and holding the knife against his throat. He had thought that John would fight, would try to run and hide and save his own life. Instead he was quite still, staring up into Sherlock's eyes as if he were still uncertain that Sherlock would be able to cut down. Sherlock stared back, into those beautiful hazel eyes, trying to appreciate them while the light still shined.
"Well Sherlock, what are you waiting for?" Mycroft asked, materializing next to the bed and placing his hand on Sherlock's shoulder lightly, just as he did in the freezer. The very hand that had driven Sherlock to murder.
"John, this is the only way we can ever be together, the dead, they talk to me, they're always in my head, they can never leave no matter what." Sherlock whispered, his eyes alight with madness.
"You think that just because I'm alive I will pick someone over you?" John whispered.
"Yes, of course he will." Mycroft agreed.
"Yes, of course you will." Sherlock repeated, his hands shaking as he pressing the knife deeper into John's throat, a fine line of blood traveling across the blade and soaking into the blankets.
"I would never leave you Sherlock. I would never want to." John assured. He was lying, saying anything he could to save his own neck. Literally.
"Sherlock you know that's a lie. The moment he decides you're not entertaining enough he will leave you behind." Victor insisted, appearing at the other side of the bed.
"You're saying I have to do this?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes of course. You have no other options." Mycroft agreed. John looked confused for a moment, well, about as confused as you could be when a knife was pressing into your windpipe.
"Who are you talking to?" he muttered.
"They're here John, they're here." Sherlock whispered, leaning down so close the he could feel the terrified breaths escaping John's lips. "They've never left."
"Sherlock, they're not real! They're in your head, you're going mad." John insisted.
"We're both mad, we're all mad John. It's the only way to have a little bit of fun in this world." Sherlock pointed out. John started to struggle against Sherlock's weight, he knew he could get past him; it was the matter of whether or not he should.
"The moment I kill you John, you join them in my head, we can all live together in peace." Sherlock whispered, kissing John ever so softly. "Don't you want to be in peace?"
"Sherlock if you kill me we can't ever be together." John insisted, managing to worm one of his hands out from under Sherlock's.
"YES WE CAN!" Sherlock exclaimed, rising up and gesturing to the corners where Mycroft and Victor stood. "Can't you see them?" John took this opportunity to grab the hand holding the knife and push it away. The blade slipped from Sherlock grasp and flew to the floor with a metallic clang. Sherlock growled in frustration, but there were other means of death. Much more intimate ways to take a life.
"John don't you see what you're doing, you're denying us our future, our forever!" Sherlock insisted, holding John down once more and kissing his forehead repeatedly, cherishing the way John's warm skin felt under his lips.
"Just because I love you doesn't mean I'm going to submit to this insanity." John insisted. "Something happened to you the night we burned your brother, something broke."
"I saw the light John. I saw them." Sherlock whispered, shaking in anticipation. "If I can't slit your throat then maybe I'll just have to break your neck."
"Do it Sherlock, you know that he deserves it." Mycroft whispered.
"I never denied you the right to take my life. I never struggled; I knew that it was necessary." Victor insisted. "Maybe he's not the one, maybe he doesn't care as much as I do."
"Shut up Victor, you and I both know that he's the one." Sherlock snapped, wrapping his hands around John's neck as if feeling just how to break it. "I've never done this before. It should be very interesting, feeling your beautiful bones snap beneath my fingers."
"Sherlock, no!" John screamed, pulling all of his body weight to the side and managing to send Sherlock flying off of him, falling off of the bed and onto the floor. Unfortunately the knife was already lying on the hardwood, and when Sherlock went down the knife went plunging into his upper leg, making him scream in agony, in pain. As he dug the knife out of his quad John took the opportunity to run from the bedroom, starting down the hall and down the stairs.
"John no!" Sherlock screamed, trying to drag himself to his feet using the bedpost, pain paralyzing his legs, blood gushing onto the floor, his own blood, not the blood of his love.
"JOHN COME BACK HERE!" he shrieked, falling over himself near the door, clawing at the plush carpet, trying to pull himself into the hallway, feeling so weak and helpless, knowing that if he didn't get John in his grasp that they would never be together. If John ran out those doors he was never coming back.
"WE NEED TO BE TOGETHER FOREVER! WE NEED TO LOVE EACH OTHER LIKE WE WERE MEANT TO!" Sherlock screamed, feeling as though the same blade was slicing his heart in half.
"What are you doing Sherlock, get up!" Mycroft insisted.
"Get after him, he's leaving!" Victor agreed, sounding a little bit less urgent. He didn't care what happened to John; he wanted Sherlock all to himself.
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" Sherlock hissed, gasping in pain as his wound dragged against the floor. "JOHN WE WERE SUPPOSED TO DIE FOR EACH OTHER! We were supposed to grow old..." Sherlock whispered, staring at the floor in defeat, knowing there was no way John was going to come back. Knowing that John wasn't willing to make the final sacrifice. He clenched his fists in agony, pounding the floor on which he lay, screaming in defeat, tears leaking out of his eyes.
"You weak child! How dare you let him escape, how dare you just lie there? I raised you to be strong, to be tougher than this. It's a little scratch, get him!" Mycroft yelled, appearing at the door and gesturing madly. "You were so worried about him leaving you, you should've just killed him, you made sure he could run! Trying to be dramatic, trying to be clever, you always were such a disappointment."
"Sherlock I thought you said you loved him. I thought you were willing to fight for your love." Victor agreed.
"Stop, stop, I do, I love him." Sherlock whispered, unable to move another inch. This was where his love story came to an end. This was where the only light in his life went out.
"But he doesn't love you." Mycroft pointed out with a sigh, as if he were really anticipating the I told you so.
"Not enough to die for you." Victor agreed.
"He never loved me enough." Sherlock whispered, grasping the carpet and managing with much pain to roll onto his back, staring at the painting of John on the ceiling, so far away, over the bed he should've died on. "He could never make the final sacrifice." Sherlock agreed, letting his head sink farther and farther into the carpet in front of the door. John Watson, his John Watson, who he loved with all of his very soul. He hadn't been enough. He had left him. Mycroft had been right the whole time.