Disclaimer: Still don't own. And I'm trying a new writing style for this, to try and get into Sherlock's shattered psyche, as someone on Tumblr put it. It's very erratic, and I apologize if it's hard to read, given that it's kind of a big chunk of text. Basically, a long internal monologue of Sherlock's spattered with memories. I apologize if this is OOC. Please, no flames, I've had a fear of them ever since I escaped from Hell. Read, review, and enjoy.
Thoughts
Memories
Speech in the present time
Too late. I'm too late. I came back too late, and everything's changed. Looking up from an experiment and he's there. I thought he would wait. I thought that I had all the time in the world to come back. Afghanistan or Iraq? See, I assumed that John didn't have a life beyond me. Selfish, utterly selfish of me. Eat. He needs to eat. He hasn't eaten in days. I cared for John. I still do care for John. I don't believe I will ever stop caring for John. John is everything I am not. Strange, this man. Shooting a person for one he just met. Caring, kind, considerate. How peculiar those traits are. John put up with much from me. Experiments, drugging, everything, things most people couldn't stand. Jumping off a roof. Sounds easy, if one thinks about it. But John. What would John think? How would he react? I jumped off a roof for him. I died for John. Of course, not literally, but I might as well have. Two years without John to rein me in if I got too nasty with others. Have I really survived two years without John? Dark, cold motel rooms. Shivering because there aren't adequate blankets. Probably getting some sort of disease. I failed without John. I know that I failed. Shaking hands finally lighting the cigarette, each lungful of smoke a relief but so, SO painful. If I think about it, I could almost say that I broke without John. Well, almost did. I imagine that others in my situation would have broken, shattered. But I managed to put John's voice in my head. I suppose that it gave me… strength? Yes, strength. Some terrorist or another, interrogating, questioning, torturing. Pain that burns like fire. The type of pain that makes a weaker man beg for death, if only to escape the torture inflicted upon him. I was arrogant. Completely and stupidly arrogant, to think that he would wait for me. That he wouldn't have moved on, simply because I hadn't moved on. Of course he moved on! He thought I was dead! I'm smart, I should have known. Why didn't I realize? Mary Morstan. Liar and disillusioned. John seems happy. That's all that matters, isn't it? Mary is exceptional, I'll grant you that. She helped me save his life. NO! John in the bonfire, John burning, John cannot die, it is improbable for John to die. Once again, I was almost too late. I almost got him killed. He almost died. And now he's married. Married. Two years of isolation, and I've finally learned to care. I learned too late, as usual. Because he's gone. So Moriarty's won. Because… Because why? I've lost the favor of several people in the past. What makes John so special? What makes him… No. No, it's impossible. John. John's nearly been killed. How many times has that happened before? Several. Whose fault is it always? I walked out of the wedding early, I took an awfully long time on the speech. Teaching him how to dance so he can impress Mary. Working so hard on the speech he forgot to sleep. Praising him to the high heavens. No, I don't fall in love. This is impossible. This will ruin everything!
"Oh God, what have I done?"
