Chapter Text
***That very same night***
Sherlock got up from the bed, gently so as not to wake dear John up. He stood at the edge of the bed and stayed like that for awhile, admiring John's quiet, sleeping form. He didn't want to leave John. He didn't want any of this to happen in the first place. He didn't want to lose John and most of all he didn't want to say goodbye. He disliked goodbyes. Sherlock stood there, naked and quiet. He observed John and he could hear the little heaving of John's breaths. His chest slowly rising and finally falling. John looked peaceful. His strained face that he has been wearing for the past few weeks was gone. Finally, finally he looked a little more like himself.
"My John," thought Sherlock.
Sherlock quietly, grabbed his bathrobe and looked outside the window of his room that he went into a few hours ago. The air was cool and breezy, Sherlock tightened the rope around his waist, feeling himself going a little bit warm. Sherlock's curly folds tumbled down lazily and it came up to a point where some of his little curls were about to poke his eyes. His hair was growing longer. Sherlock swiped away those little curly hairs and took a long inhale of fresh air and he then turned his head, again to John's sleeping form. The air smelt of them. Sherlock closed his eyes as if he were trying to save this memory. A few long seconds later, he opened his eyes, he looked around the room and caught sight of his abandoned violin.
Abandoned, because it has been such a long time since he's touched it and he thought that no one would touch it since, well, since John didn't play the Violin at all. Sherlock walked towards his beautiful violin unhesitatingly and as he picked it up, he realized that the violin was not as dirty as he had expected. It still looked as if it were well taken care of. He then realized that John has been taking care of it. Sherlock's face fell at that thought. That's all that John has been doing while he was gone. John would probably read through all of his notes that he had written in his notebook while Sherlock was gone. Sherlock couldn't imagine John's pain or what he has gone through. Perhaps nobody can. Sherlock missed Bakerstreet and Mrs Hudson and he finally felt completed with John and Bakerstreet and even Mrs Hudson, although, he felt rather sad not being able to see her.
Sherlock took the violin with him and proceeded to their living room which was filled with messy papers everywhere and books scattered messily across the room. But there, he looked at his comfy sofa and it was neat. His coat was hanged on the back of the sofa and Sherlock felt sad even more due to the fact of what John had done. And there he sat, on his comfy sofa, back home, where he belonged with John. He touched and traced that little beautiful instrument, his fingers aching to play the violin and his ears eager to listen to those beautiful notes erupting from the violin. The little instrument whispered in his ear wanting Sherlock to play it. Sherlock can no longer take it and brought the violin to his cheek. He began to close his eyes and play, a rather soft and warm note. As he played, all his memories with John played in his mind and so, he played, following every memory. To Sherlock, every memory was like a musical note. This particular one however, was a mixture of low and soft. It reminded Sherlock so much of the challenges they would always face. But although there were bad times, they still were good memories. After a fight, wild things would occur between them. This, thought Sherlock, was their song. Yes, it was.
In the other room, John slept peacefully. He could here those musical notes echoing through the room. But, instead of waking up, John snuggled deeper under the blanket. The next thing he knows, he was in a deep sleep.
Once Sherlock has finished playing, he smiled a little. Sherlock remembered those moments whereby John would get so frustrated to find out that some of his jumpers were missing and well, one day John found out where it all went. With Sherlock, of course. Surprisingly, when that happened, John was not cross with him. However, the next thing he knew, he was on the bed with John by his side. Sherlock stepped out from his reverie. He quickly took his music sheet and quickly began to scrawl down the music notes from 'their song' trying his best to remember the exact notes he had played. As soon as Sherlock was done writing the music sheet, he recalled something of real importance to him that Mycroft had mentioned and finally he remembered. Sherlock needed to get rid of those drugs right away. But first, he needs to know what is in that very small syringe. At this thought, Sherlock felt a great pain rising at his chest. John has tried to abuse his body a number of times with the use of drugs.
Sherlock quickly abandoned the music sheet and his violin and placed them next to John's laptop and quickly made his way into John's room. He looked at the time where it showed that it was 4:00AM in the morning. He didn't have much time left. Sherlock needed to leave soon. Hastily, Sherlock went to look for the drugs wherever he can in John's room, and then, it struck him hard. Sherlock remembered a little box that he has given to John and that there was a very high chance that he would keep it in that lovely old musical box that belonged to Sherlock when he was absolutely young. Sherlock gave John his little old childhood musical box because he wanted John to know that some part of him belonged with John. They would be far away, but at least there was always something for John to remember him by and Sherlock thought that by giving him his musical box was a wonderful idea.
Sherlock's deductions were right. John did keep those unpleasant drugs in the music box. He took everything with him and went into his laboratory to dispose of those foul drugs but took an extra one with him to do a little bit of research in what was stored in those drugs. Afterwards, Sherlock quickly made his way back to their room where John was quietly snoring away. Sherlock laid back down by John's side and while he did, he pulled John towards him, gently. He laid there, his face buried in John's unkempt hair, inhaling him. And he stayed like that, unmoving for a very long time, savouring the moment and locking it in his memory and heart. Sherlock's crystalline eyes, slowly fluttered open and his eyes showed nothing else but sadness.
"You deserve better than me, John. You deserve someone else better than me. You've got people who love you, who care for you. Who'll miss you when you're gone, John. You don't deserve any of this. You deserve so much better. You need someone who will love and care for you. Who will make you happy. I'm just endangering you, John. I'm not good enough. I'm not good enough for you and I apologize for doing so. I'm sorry for leaving you when you needed me most. I'm sorry John." Sherlock's voice cracked so many times while he said those words.
It took him all his might to say that. sherlock was reluctant to leave John. He didn't want to. But he had to, whatever it takes to make sure John was safe. A tear rolled down those perfectly formed cheekbones, but this time, it was not fake crocodile tears but real and true emotional tears. He watched John in real slumber but as he slept, there was a slight frown in his brow. Sherlock sat there, his heart full of sorrow and reluctance. Slowly, very slowly, Sherlock got dressed into his previous clothes and made sure that everything was perfectly 'back to normal' as before and John would wake up the next day thinking that it was all a dream. He made sure that the bed looked as if Sherlock was never there. He made sure everything was settled and he made his way to John. This may be the very last time he'll ever be with John intimately. But, he would always be there, watching John. Admiring him from a far. He looked at the man he was so utterly in love with and kissed him lightly on the lips and on his brow. Then, he went up to John's ear and whispered oh, so softly onto John's ear.
"I love you, John. Forever and always. Never forget that. Never hurt yourself because of me, John. Please, promise me. Promise me that my little lion-hearted soldier. Never harm yourself. I'll always be watching you from high above or even below. Find love. Be happy. I love you, John. I love you very much." Sherlock kissed John intimately on his mouth and kissed John's forehead. Afterwards, he left his lover with an aching and sad heart.
In Sherlock's little head, he repeated this words continuously, " It's for the best. He needs someone more than me."
Sherlock quietly looked outside the window, it was still dark and the whole neighbourhood was still asleep. Sherlock went out of Bakerstreet as quickly as possible, hoping that he wouldn't be found. He then took out his mobile phone and started sending Mycroft a message.
It's done. I've disposed of the drugs. I'll be doing a little test in one of them. He'll wake up the next day feeling as though he dreamt of me. Mycroft, make sure he finds someone. Get him out of the house and get the place sorted. And my brother, take good care of him. - SH
Sherlock pocketed his mobile back into his pocket. The cool air making his skin cold. He pulled up the collars of his coat and walk down the pavement, memories flooding through him those good and bad ones that he went through with John.
"Memories," Sherlock thought. "Beautiful and good ones."
Back at Bakerstreet, Sherlock left a few careless evidence of his presence in 221B. The drug that John was about to put into his veins was at the foot of the bed where it rolled and was lying there, waiting to be found. Sherlock's music sheet was left on top of John's laptop where it lay, undisturbed and waiting for it's notes to be played and to be found by John.
***At Mycroft's beautiful Mansion***
*****TO BE CONTINUED******