Author's Note: Feels. I plan on naming my chapters so... Yeah. If you have a better title idea, tell me.
"Sherlock we need to talk."
"I'm composing, John. Not now."
John didn't move and I could feel his eyes on me. I sighed, rolling my eyes, and turned to face him.
"What?" I asked.
He came over to me and took my violin, placing it in my chair. I watched him as he came back over and took my wrist, leading me to the sofa. I looked him over with narrowed eyes and bit my lip. He sat down and pulled me with him.
"John…?" Something was wrong, obviously, but I couldn't figure out what.
The milk? Or the burned spot on the carpet? Maybe the blue shower water? The head in the fridge again?
No. He's not angry. He's sad. Upset.
Birthday? No, I would never forget that.
"What is it?"
He took a deep breath that shook as it passed his lips as he played with my sleeve. He wouldn't look me in the eye. "I… I have to go," he said in almost a whisper.
"Go? Go where?"
He didn't answer. Then it hit me. My heart started pounding and my throat closed up. He hadn't even said it and it hurt worse than I had ever imagined.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"Afghanistan," he croaked.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I felt sick. We had only just met a few months ago. We just got this new flat together. He just told me that he loved me.
Maybe this is what I get for pushing him away. It's not like I don't care for him. I do. Maybe a bit too much than is good for me. And I think he knew that. At least I hope he did. But I don't think he understood. I don't either.
I don't know what "love" is supposed to feel like, but I think maybe a part of me is in love with him. Just going by what others say. "Hearts racing every time you hear his name," "butterflies whenever he touches you," and "everything he does makes you melt."
Actually, when one puts it that way, it sounds rather disgusting. And highly unpleasant.
But it didn't matter. Whether I love him or not, he's my best friend, the best thing that has ever happened to me, and he was being taken away from me.
"C-Can't you tell them you don't want to go?" I asked weakly.
"It doesn't work like that, Sherl."
When are you leaving me? How long do I have to change your mind? To change my mind? How long are you still mine for?
"I leave in a month." He shook his head and wiped his eyes. "I'm so sorry…"
"John…" I put my hand on his cheek and he looked up at me, his lip quivering. My throat felt even tighter than before and my eyes started to water, blurring my vision. "You said you wouldn't ever leave me," I whispered as I blinked hard, letting a tear roll down my face.
He smiled sadly and wiped it away with his finger. "It's gonna be alright. I'll be okay."
I pulled him into a tight hug, never wanting to let go. I felt his hands slowly move around my waist and press against my back.
"I don't want you to go, John. I am lost without you." My voice was muffled against his shoulder along with my deep, choking sobs. The kind I would have been embarrassed of at any other time.
"I'll write. As often as I can."
I pulled away and touched his cheek again. He already felt far away.
"Will you come back to me?"
He nodded slowly, giving me a small smile. "Yes."
He hesitated slightly. Maybe because he knew he could never do such a thing with as much confidence as he would like. Or as I would. We both knew it was a silly thing to say, but I suppose I felt that if I heard him say it, I would know that he had something to live for. And perhaps he would, too.