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Their eyes met once again. Only this time, it was about to be the last. The two friends—best friends—had went through hell together. What started with a flat was now ending in something much bigger. But Sherlock had promised. Promised to protect John, promised to protect Mary. In his eyes, he had merely done what he had to. On the other hand, he couldn't bear to let his friend go. The man who meant everything to him. John taught him a whole new side of humanity, loyalty in ways he had never previously understood, but most important of all, John had taught the consulting detective how to love. The engine of the plane rummaged in the background. It was noon and the sun still shone, but to the two men, it all seemed gray nevertheless. Like with Sherlock's departure, the world would lose all its colour. For good. It was now time for Sherlock to board. He had stalled long enough, searching for the right words. He hated that in this very moment, it seemed like his mind slowed down and raced at the same time. So many thoughts appeared, but so little coherent ones. None he could reasonably put together to create something meaningful. Because that's what John was deserving of; something meaningful. However, Sherlock's mind let him down.
“John?”
John’s heart was aching at the thought he might not see his best friend again. No, not might not, will not. And that left a mark deep in his soul, despite the dark haired man not even being out of sight yet. Sherlock’s eyes darted around, before returning to John’s. He couldn't bear the though, either.
“There’s a chance we might never see each other again.”
The words left Sherlock's mouth. They were almost ironically optimistic. A huge contrast to Sherlock's usual view on life. Silently, John nodded. He knew very well, in fact, it had plagued him day and night. And now there was nothing he could do about it. He observed his friend, realizing everything he was about to lose. The man he had moved in with, accompanied through life and death, his best friend.
Sherlock was rarely insecure, or at least he never seemed like it. But in this very moment, he hesitated. He felt something, an emotion he usually drowned out. But he needed to face it head on, or he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. If not now, then when? He had been a coward one too many times, but he wouldn't screw it up. Not now. Not after everything.
“I love you.”
The words left his mouth, as if they were in a hurry, getting chased by the struggle to let them leave. Sherlock exhaled a shaky breath. It was even harder than he imagined it would be, but he had said it. And that was all that mattered. A small smile tugged at John’s lips.
“I love you too.”
John nodded, more to himself than to Sherlock. His look was soft and filled with sincerity.
“Of course I love you, you’re my best friend.”
Maintaining his composure (on the exterior, that is), Sherlock nodded as well.
“I’m… glad.”
Once again, the detective seemed to hesitate. It wouldn't have been accurate to say his heart broke, it shattered into pieces, no—it bled out, there and then. The irony was ridiculous. Sherlock was usually the one to misunderstand. But now, he had tried to be direct. Say things exactly as they are. And it didn't work.
“I’m glad I got to be your best friend, John Watson.”
The words got choked out, basically. Sherlock's voice was hoarse. He had been punched in the stomach and all the air had left his body. But he couldn't do this to John. So instead, the man smiled. John extended his hand, keeping his eyes on Sherlock. They shook hands one last time, before Sherlock turned to leave, to never look back again.