Chapter Seventeen
Just the Two of Us…

-.-

Sherlock is standing in the middle of polluted London City, opposite the entrance to a dimly lit alleyway which twists between the old warehouse and neighbouring flats. This particular back street should hold no significance to him. But it does. He still doesn't remember how it happened, how it ended so badly, what... was said. In a trance, he takes hesitant steps forwards, his heart beating wildly as he nears the place where… where John…

He stops and closes his eyes. John Watson. I will remember him. I have to.

Gulping, uneasy, he readies himself. Now or never… And he enters the alley.

The warehouse, where he first heard about the danger threatening Mrs Hudson, is to his right. He recalls that fateful evening – nearly two months ago now – and shudders visibly, his fists clenched. The assassin has ended up with an eight year sentence. It isn't enough. He deserves torture. A slow, painful death. The law has been too soft. Sherlock glances around at the flats – and crumples to the ground as a searing memory pierces through him like an arrow.

Voices. His. John's. Clear as the night sky above them. Breathless. Running. "We need to corner him… Let's split up." "Sherlock… He's armed…" "And…? We've dealt with worse." Skidding. Corners. Stopping. John looks up at him. "Sherlock…" He sounds so… so… sincere…

He gasps and opens his eyes. The tarmac is underneath him. He can almost feel John Watson dying in his arms, his warm blood trickling onto the hard ground. "Hah… No…" His head feels on fire; this is the last memory and it's all coming back now… too fast, too fast…

"Argh…" He clutches his head, pulling at his hair, on all fours, tears of pain threatening to spill down his cheeks. "No…" He wants it to stop. He's scared. Petrified. "No…" But he's paralysed, can't move, can't think…

He gazes down, confused. "John…?" "I have a bad feeling about this…" "For God's –" "I'm serious! We could get killed. It's a bad idea." "If you're trying to back out –" "No. But... I think... I need to tell you now." "Tell me what?" And John gives him a long stare, swallowing nervously. "I… I care. A lot. About… You."

"Argh!" The world is spinning. Through a haze of pain, Sherlock remembers and it hurts so badly. "Argh! N-No… Make it… stop…"

"I… I know that already…" "But it's more than that! I need you to know –" "We're in the middle of a case!" "I… I love you." Silence. Sherlock stares, startled. "Ex-Excuse me?"

"J-John… N-No…" He wails. The emotions are suffocating him and he can't resurface from this sea of grief. "Don't… No… Stop…" It's too late. Something in his mind gives, the deleted section bursts open – for it was only ever locked – and the memory tumbles out, in a torrent of emotion.

"JOHN!"

"I've always loved you." Sherlock is lost for words. Finally, he averts his gaze. Mumbles. "I think…um… maybe I feel the same way about you?" And John smiles. Nervously leans in, on tiptoes, eyes closed, mouth slightly parted… But Sherlock stops him. Stops John Watson from the one thing that he should have let happen. "No." He needs more time. "We can't... talk about this here. Not… Not now. Later." And John's disappointed face is heartbreaking. Later. Later. Later.

Later…

It's too late for anything now.

"Right, then…" An embarrassed pause. "What now?" "You run around the back of the warehouse. Get the assassin over to where we are now." "What, I'm bait?" John sounds a little disconcerted. "Precisely." "Okay, we don't have long…" Sherlock pauses a moment. Not sure what else to say. Not after John's confession. "Good luck…" And his flatmate's rather irritated response. "Cheers." And then he runs off... in the opposite direction…

"NO!" Sherlock screams, weeping, pounding his fists on the concrete. "N-NO!" This can't be happening. He… used John as bait, after all that?

A gunshot.

John shouts, flails, falls…

He knows now. He is a wreck. He is a complete wreck. And he is a murderer. He sent John to his death. I killed him. "John! Oh, God, what have I done?" I killed the only one I loved. He said it too fast… I didn't know what to do… So I used him as bait. Bait. He sobs and sobs, tears falling thick and fast.

"Don't… worry…" John murmurs. He smiles at Sherlock with one final effort. And the look he gives conveys nothing but genuine untainted love. Sherlock bends over and kisses his friend's cheek lightly, hardly able to comprehend the whispered fragments. "What… I said… b-before…" Time freezes. They share a look. "I… I m-meant every word."

Sherlock's world has gone. It died in front of him that night. The last words claw his soul.

I never said it out loud. That I loved you. But I did. In my head. And I meant every one of those thoughts too.

Now he is nothing.

Only one more chapter to go. And I'm not completely sure what's going to happen in it.. Any suggestions would be helpful. Be warned that the story might not end well though, as it is supposed to be a tragedy...