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They Always Leave In the End

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Sherlock sat folded up in the corner of his bed, arms crossed and head bowed. “Why.”

“You’ve known about this for ages, Sherlock, and I told you why.”

Scoffing, Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. Idiot. “I know what you think your reasoning is, but why do you really want to leave me.”

It was the only possible reason for John’s need to join the war—that he wasn’t good enough, or was too much for John.  He understood, really. Everyone always ended up leaving him in the end.

Leave you…?” John’s voice trailed off in confusion. “You—you think I’m leaving you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and fixed john with his don’t-be-an-idiot” stare. “Of course, why else would you choose to get yourself killed?”

“I—“ John rushed forward, grasping Sherlock by the shoulders and shook him slightly. “You are so bloody stupid for such a genius—I’m not leaving you, you git. Ever.”

“Then what do you call this? You may never come back, I won’t see you again…” Sherlock closed his eyes, before steeling his expression. Sentiment, always getting in the way. There was no use showing John how deep this was cutting him. It wouldn’t change anything.

He opened his eyes, noting the worried look John wore. “Just go.”


“You heard me, you want to go off to this war so badly? Fine, you have my blessing. Now go.” He waved his hand in finality of the conversation and pushed past John to get off the bed and sit at his desk. His studies mocked him.

John sighed, standing for a moment. Sherlock wished he would just leave.

“I love you, Sherlock. I hope someday you will understand that.”

Sherlock heard the door open and shut, signaling John’s departure and he closed his eyes, feeling a single tear fall down his cheek.