“The scars of your love
Remind me of us,
They keep me thinking that we almost had it all…”
--‘Rolling In The Deep’ by Adele
Blunt nails dragged over his skin, leaving pale red tracks in their wake. Teeth marked his body with possession. Tongue laved the wounds, thus sealing the ownership. Long nimble fingers squeezed, pushed and pulled, extracting tired moaning. The hot hardness moved inside him, reminding him of the fullness. Hissed words told him not to forget.
Not to forget whom he belonged to.
Whom he loved.
Whom he cared for.
Whom he could die for.
And who would devour him if he tried to leave.
Then a hard push, warm semen filled John’s inside. Soft lips latched onto his mouth. Murmured three magic words to signal the end of the spell. Then all that remained were limp limbs, blank minds, quick breaths and emptiness.
“Don’t leave me, John.”
The same request. Or reminder, maybe.
The same answer.
But for how long?
It all started after Moriarty. After the fall. After coming back. After watching Mary in her wedding dress. After taking and shooting bullets. After Moriarty’s video. After Mary’s sudden disappearance. After John moving back to Baker Street. After knowing that the feelings were mutual. After the love confession. After that first night together. And finally after receiving a text from an unknown number.
‘You don’t have what he needs. He will leave. You will fall again.’ It read.
After that, everything spiraled down.
Mycroft stopped John on his way to Tesco. He was not welcomed at Baker Street anymore. Sherlock didn’t want anybody near John who may pose a threat. John never complained. He just reassured him with his body, with his touch, with his words.
John refused to get in the car. Sherlock would go ballistic if he knew. And he always knew. But Mycroft said please. John couldn’t refuse anymore.
“It’s getting out of hand, John. He is getting out of hand.”
“No, he’s not. Everything is under control.”
“We both know that’s not true. You practically have to beg before going outside alone these days.”
“He’s just worried about my safety, that’s all.”
“He waits for you outside your clinic. You had to cut your working hours short for him.”
“He’s scared, Mycroft! Don’t you see? He’s scared of losing me. He needs me.”
“And what do you need?”
“He hardly ever lets Mrs. Hudson in your flat.”
“You know very well that Sherlock prefers his privacy.”
“You’ve already received three texts and it’s not even been thirty minutes.”
“Fuck off, Mycroft. I’m not going to sit around and listen to this bullshit.”
“He’s my brother, John, and he needs medical attention.”
“He needs me.”
“He’s obsessed with you.”
“Better than being obsessed with Moriarty.”
John’s only answer was the slamming of the car door.
He hadn’t replied to any of Sherlock’s now five texts. There would be hell to pay.
That night, after returning from Tesco, Sherlock locked himself and John in their bedroom. No amount of pleading, of reassurance made him unlock the door.
“You were with Mycroft, weren’t you?” The words were pressed into John’s neck, followed by sharp bites.
“Y-yes. He just-“
“Just what, John? Just wanted to take you away, didn’t he? Maybe he found Mary. Maybe she offered him intel in exchange of you. Oh! Or, maybe he wants you for himself. Yes, yes he wants you for himself.”
“What? No, no, Sherlock. That’s ridiculous!”
“Is it? I don’t think so. I was never good for anything. He always wanted to rub it in my face. His success, his intelligence. Now he wants to snatch away the best thing I’ve ever had. Because he is losing! Don’t you see John? He doesn’t have you and he is losing. Mary doesn’t have what you need, John. No, she doesn’t. No she doesn’t. She doesn’t. She doesn’t. She do-“
“No, she doesn’t. Nobody does. Nobody. You are everything I need, everything I want, Sherlock. Everything.”
“Then why do you want to leave? Why? Tell me?”
“But I don’t! I never want to leave you. I never did.”
“Yes, you did. You chose her. Over me. You chose Mary over me. You left me. And I died.”
“No no no, that’s- that’s not true- ah, not- I didn’t let you go- oh God- I’m here, I’m here, look at me, Sherlock looo- aaahh, Sherlock not so hard, no, please, slow down, Sher- ahh, aaah-“
“No I won’t, I won’t slow down. You won’t forget me if every muscle of your body remembers me. You won’t leave if you can’t get up from this bed. You won’t let her take you away from me if I can give you everything.”
“Sher—lock, you’re-you’re hurting…ahh, God, mmmmh, I won’t le- leave, I won’t- aaaaah, oh, oh God, oh God, Jeez, ah.…I won’t leave, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.”
“I won’t let you, I won’t let you, John- John- Jooohnnnn - Johh, aaaaaahhh, Joohn, John, John……John..John John John John John…..”
“Sh, sh, sh, it’s- it’s okay….I’m here..with- with you..here..”
“I love you….Don’t leave, John. I love you.”
“I- I love you more. I love you too. I won’t. Never.”
Lestrade called the next day, again. A murder case. Sherlock turned it down, again. For the fifth time this month. John’s hand trembled when he put the kettle on the stove.
“The criminals will think you’re losing your groove, Sherlock.” He tried casual banter. Because casual was safe. Casual was good. For now.
Sherlock didn’t answer, instead he snaked his arms around John, buried and rubbed his nose in his nape and nipped the soft skin. John shuddered. He felt claustrophobic.
“Mmmm. I don’t need them anymore. I have you. Mine. Miiiiiiiine.”
Mycroft’s words rang through John’s head. He stopped breathing for a moment.
Sherlock’s hand played with his fly. John tried to push him away gently.
“But don’t you want to solve mysteries anymore?”
“Nooo..I want you. I just want you. John….my John. Mine. My John.” Fingers started to fondle John’s cock through the opened zip.
“Bu-but I miss that. I miss watching you unraveling the truth. You look magnificent when you do that.” John turned with great effort to face him. Mainly to stop the fondling.
“Yes, Sherlock. I do. I miss us.”
“But we are here. We are together. Isn’t that what you wanted? A family? Together? John, isn’t that what you wanted?”
I wanted you. I want you to be you. Please give me my Sherlock back. Please come back. “Yes, yes this is what I wanted. You are everything I ever wanted.”
The aroma of Darjeeling tea filled the stagnant air.
“Will you leave me if I can’t impress you anymore?”
John shook his head. Voice choking up. He shook his head again. To assure. To dissipate. To answer. To escape.
“Tell Lestrade we are going to the crime scene. I’ll solve the case and you won’t leave me anymore”
It was a wonder that the cup in John’s hand didn’t break.
Sherlock couldn’t solve the case.
Sherlock didn’t solve the case.
He didn’t even look at the clues properly.
After Sherlock entered the room to examine the body, Lestrade took John aside.
“How is he?”
“Fine, he’s fine.”
“He took the case, didn’t he?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t Greg, I don’t know what you mean, what anybody means. I just know that I want him to be like before. And he’s here, solving a case again. And- and everything will go back to normal, he will back now, everything will be fine and- and- I just-“
A soft squeeze on his shoulder brought John back to the reality. Greg’s eyes offered him kindness and……pity. John wanted to scream.
The next moment he was being dragged out of the building.
Sherlock’s grip around his wrist was tight enough to cut his blood flow. John could pull away if he wanted to. But ‘want’ was a funny emotion. Instead John just pleaded, “Let go, Sherlock. You’re hurting me.”
“What’s wrong? What happened? Where are we going? Sherlock, people- people are watching. Sherlock please.”
“I won’t let go. I won’t let go. That’s what you want, isn’t it? You just want me to let you go. To leave. You’re ashamed to be with me. I can’t solve cases, I can’t impress you. I am useless for you and now you will leave. You will leave. But I won’t let you, John. No, never. Don’t even think about it. He is not taking you away. Not again. Not ever.”
The alley they were standing in was dank and dirty. Sherlock’s arms had trapped John to the moss covered wall. The face above his looked red, hot. Sherlock looked livid. He looked………insane.
John hugged him with all his might.
They shook together. Shuddered together. Cried together.
It began to rain.
After that day, things got worse.
Lestrade became a forbidden topic. Sherlock refused to even receive his calls. Refused to talk to John about what happened that day. But John had a fair idea about what went wrong. He knew he should make Sherlock talk, make him see reasons. But that bullet scar on Sherlock’s chest didn’t let John. He just kissed Sherlock’s forehead and assured him of his love.
Sarah called from the clinic to let him know that she couldn’t give him anymore leave but hated to let him go too. John mumbled his apologies and requested a few more days. Sarah’s voice sounded strained. Sherlock hovered close during the entire conversation, looking at John like a hawk.
John began to spend more and more time in the shower. His only escape.
Sherlock started to accompany John to Tesco. He deduced the other customers. Sometimes the clerks. They had fun. John laughed, really laughed after a long long time. Sherlock gave him that secret smile which was only meant for John. John’s chest felt tight and easy at the same time. He felt free. Sherlock’s fingers didn’t feel like a snare around his own.
Until the day, that young woman at the cash counter gave him a sultry smile and greeted him with a ‘hi’.
Sherlock took John without preparing him after returning home. John didn’t protest, didn’t try to stop him, didn’t even utter a word. He just lay there, clutching whatever purchase his hands could find. And when Sherlock emptied himself inside him, two warm tear drops slid down John’s cheeks.
Later, when Mycroft called John about admitting Sherlock to a medical facility, John didn’t shut him off like before. He closed his eyes and said, “I’ll think about it.”
When he got back in their drawing room, Sherlock was tapping on his laptop, oblivious of the scheme his brother was concocting. His face broke into an unblemished, innocent smile when he saw John and extended his hand towards him. Like a child. Sherlock was like a child. And it was John’s responsibility to catch him when he was falling down.
John hugged him and buried his face into the hollow of Sherlock’s neck. His body convulsed from suppressed emotions.
Don’t break us apart. Come back.
Sherlock took a case. Not from Lestrade. The client contacted him through his website and they once again went on an adventure. It was a case of murder-suicide. A Jealous rejected lover killed the woman before shooting himself. It was simple, judging by Sherlock’s standard. But in between keeping an eye on John and concentrating on the case, Sherlock took longer to solve it.
He fumbled, shook his head, repeated things, rechecked places, struggled with his concentration. While deducing he stopped and frantically searched for John. He looked scared until his eyes could find the person he was looking for. John observed it all. Something broke further within him.
But then Sherlock made snarky comments about John’s incompetence for not being able to keep up with him and John’s chest relaxed a bit. Sherlock insulted the local police department and snapped at John for hovering too close. John felt inexplicably happy. When the taxi stopped in front of 221B and Sherlock got out and went in without dragging John along, John felt ecstatic. He paid the taxi and took a deep breath before entering. A smile lingered on his lips.
They made love that night. John took turn to top.
Two days later when Mycroft called again John told him to fuck off.
A week passed. Three clients visited. Two got rejected immediately. One was told to come back in a few weeks. Sherlock still refused to see or talk to Lestrade. John once got caught laughing at Lestrade’s joke over phone. Sherlock didn’t say anything. He just dug up John’s Bond movie collection and offered to watch them together. During a comic scene, when John was laughing his head off, Sherlock murmured into his ear, “you don’t need him. You can laugh with me. You have me.” His voice was soft, unlike the vice like grip he had on John’s forearm.
John didn’t feel like laughing anymore, but kept watching as the bullets flew everywhere and love ruined the victims.
John started his clinic duty after much pleading and reassuring. He knew that Sherlock followed him on his way to the clinic and was always there when his shift ended. He didn’t protest. He just kept loving him.
One rainy evening, he got out of his clinic after his shift and saw Sherlock standing on the opposite side, soaking in the rain.
“Jesus, Sherlock! Have you gone completely crazy? Why are you standing here? It’s pouring down!”
“Waiting f-for you, of-of c-course.” His teeth chattered due to the cold.
“But why? Couldn’t you find a shade or anything? You’ll catch your death like this!” John frantically tried to stop a cab.
“I’ll be ev-evrything you n-need. You won- you won’t have t-to choose any-anyone elssse.”
That bullet hole in Sherlock’s chest flashed in front of John’s eyes. He clenched them shut. His back towards Sherlock.
Later, when John tried to force feed Sherlock some hot soup, he wiped the corner of Sherlock’s mouth with his thumb and said, “I don’t want anyone else, Sherlock. I don’t need anyone except you.”
“But you chose her.” Sherlock brushed his fingers all over John’s face. Tracing every line, every crease.
“Because you weren’t there, you left me!”
“And you didn’t wait. You let me go.”
John wanted to scream. Wanted to shake Sherlock and say that he waited for him. Waited for two bloody years. But then he remembered the night he came back to Sherlock, after Mary.
Are you real, John? Have you really come back to me?
His every frustrated objection died within his head. He put the soup bowl down and pressed Sherlock’s still damp head against his chest, carding his fingers through those thick curls. Tangling himself more and more. Without escape.
Sarah asked John out for a night out at the pub. Complained that he was no fun anymore. John’s heart pounded in his ears. He longed for some company other than his........his Sherlock. But his life was too fucked up at the moment to indulge himself. So, he declined the offer saying that he liked to keep his fun within the four walls of his bedroom. Sarah laughed at that, oblivious to the little tremor in her colleague’s voice. She tilted her head, laughed, flipped her hair, punched John playfully on the bicep, winked at him and said her goodbye.
Sherlock watched everything standing on the opposite pavement, slightly hidden from direct view. But John knew.
Sherlock tied John’s hands to the headboard before fucking him that night. It wasn’t consensual. It wasn’t romantic.
John realized that the man wasn’t Sherlock either.
The man marked his skin with his poisonous teeth. Bit his lips to draw blood. Scratched his body with his nails to imprint his presence. Entered him despite the agonized protests. Didn’t pull out even after he came. They remained connected.
But John knew that everything was lost.
“You want her, don’t you? You want her. Want to touch her like this. Want to make love to her. You’ve always wanted her. You’ll choose her. Just like you did before. You’ll leave me once you have her. You will let me go. Throw me into the darkness again. Then he will take me away from you forever. He will cage me. He owes me a fall. Am I not enough, John? Do I not deserve to be loved? Am I not worth keeping? Why can’t you LOVE ME? MINE. ONLY MINE. YOU’RE ONLY MIIIIIIIINE. WHY CAN’T YOU CHOOSE ME? WHY DO I HAVE TO BEAR THE CROSS EVERYTIME? WHY DO I HAVE TO LOSE YOU TIME AND AGAIN? WHY? WHY? TELL ME, DAMMIIT, TELL ME WHY? TELL ME......” There were tears running down his face, pooling onto his chin, mixed with saliva.
John didn’t even whisper. He kept watching the wall where there was a framed photograph of a Consulting Detective and his Blogger.
His tied wrist bled a little.
Sherlock mumbled gibberish in a trance.
They stayed connected.
Next morning , when Sherlock untied him, John took his phone and texted Mycroft.
Sherlock sat still in front of the hearth. They didn’t talk. Didn’t even look at each other.
When Mycroft came with his men, Sherlock screamed. Screamed for John. Screamed not to be left alone. Screamed for John to come back. To take him back. Not to let them take him away.
Then his voice died down. Sedative.
John sat in their bedroom, on their bed, wrapped in their bed sheet. Alone. Like a broken toy. Thrown away after many years of use.
Mycroft promised him any day visitation. Promised him to share the treatment process with him.
John just stared at the wall. At the photograph. All he could hear was a scream.
Jooooooohn, Jooooooohn, no John, don’t let me go, don’t leave me. Don’t let Him take you away from me. I’m sorry. I’ll be good for you. Come back, please come back! I’ll- I’ll do anything for you. Jooooooooohn! Mine. Mine only. John, nooooooo. Don’t let me go, Jooooohn.....
John let Sherlock go, again.
Sherlock woke up in an unknown room. He looked for John immediately. Everywhere. The room was shadowed. Dark.
A shuffle came from the darkest corner.
The sound took a shape.
The shape of a man.
In a straightjacket.
With dark hair.
Brown manic eyes.
“No no no!”
/“It’s raining, it’s pouring”/
“No, please no. No!”
/“Sherlock is boring”/
“You’re not real. Not real.”
/“I’m laughing, I’m crying”/
“No no no no no. John? Joooooohn?”
/“Sherlock is dying”/
“Joooooooooohn? Noooooo, you’re not real. GO AWAY! I won’t let you. Won’t won’t won’t. John? Jooooooooooohn? Jooooohn? Get me outta here! Let me goooo! Joooohn? Come back, come back. Don’t let me go. Jooooooooohn!”
“Whose gonna save Johnny boy now, Sherlock?”
“No, you can’t hurt him. I won’t let you, no no, I won’t. Jooooohn? JOOOOOOOOHN?”
“I owe you a fall. You will always fall. Again and again and again.”
“NO NO NO NOOOOOO, NOOOOOOOOOO. JOHN, WHERE’RE YOU? JOOOOOOOOOHN!”
/“It’s raining, it’s pouring
Sherlock is boooooooooring...............”/