Hi! This is my first fanfic ever so please be nice:)

"You can't just run off Sherlock. Look what happened this time! If I hadn't followed you, you would be dead right now." John was angry, he was furious, he was-

-he was tired. This was the 3rd time this had happened in as many weeks, he couldn't bear seeing Sherlock getting hurt and he seemed to not care at all for his own well being.

"Well then it's a good job you got here on time, isn't it. The girl is safe and the perpetrator in cuffs. I don't see why you're so angry." No, of course. All knowing Sherlock Holmes would choose to be oblivious at just the wrong time.

They had been hunting down a kidnapper that had taken a little girl from the park and Sherlock had decided that as soon as he figured out where she was, he would go running off to find her. On his own. Without John, and that was why they were in this predicament.

"Sherlock, you got shot. In the arm yes, but a little further left and it would have hit something major and you would be dead." As John was once again trying to explain why it was bad for Sherlock to get shot, the man himself had flagged down a cab and was holding the door open for John in a rare display of manners.

"Come along John, there's no point staying here. Lestrade has it covered and you look as if you're going to collapse at any moment." It was true, running after Sherlock after a busy day at work was enough to make his limbs feel like lead weights and he begrudgingly caught the door and got in the cab after Sherlock.

"221B Baker Street."

John sat staring out of the window and once again found himself contemplating why, after everything that had happened to him, he was still running after Sherlock, his crazy flatmate. Because that's all he was, a flatmate and John could not resent that more. Having a crush on the great Sherlock Holmes was one thing, but actually maybe sort of falling in love with him was something else entirely. It had been almost a year since he had moved into Baker Street and over time his feelings had grown into something that could no longer be controlled. Luckily for him, Sherlock hadn't found out yet, hopefully never would, but it was getting harder and harder for John to keep it to himself, what with the way he flew into a blind rage when the detective put himself in danger. In fact even now he could feel it rising to the surface, an white hot ball of rage sitting in his chest, begging for an outlet. Tonight had changed something though, he had finally realized that things were never going to change between them, Sherlock would never see him as more than furniture, something to be used and cast away. His thoughts were straying down dark roads and for once John didn't stop them.

He will never see you.

He will never care.

If you keep going like this you will be alone. Forever.

There is only one thing you can do.

Self-preservation-the only thing left to you when you're in too deep for anything more than your sanity to be salvaged.

Loving Sherlock Holmes was never a good idea, and it was only now that he was allowing himself to see the only possibility open to him, the one he had never even dared to consider before. He had to leave. John Watson would have to leave 221B Baker Street and Sherlock Holmes.

Any feedback is appreciated:)