Title: Barrier of His Lies
Author: G.G. Halcyon
Fandom: Sherlock
Pairing: John Watson/Molly Hooper
Warning: Suggested adult situations, PTSD, depression
Publish: May 2015
CHAPTER ONE
I
John's POV
It isn't a date really, the more I think about it as I lay here on her bed, both of us naked. Her head is nestled against my chest and she's hugging me way too tightly but I'm afraid to move because I really don't want to wake her. So I just remain as still as possible, staring up at the ceiling shrouded with complete darkness.
Martha's breathing is slow and steady, and I can feel her heart beating against my own. She's one beautiful woman and I feel lucky to even have her, but something is missing. In the month we've been dating, a majority of our time has been spent here in this bed...
Damn Sherlock for making me think about this right now, especially with his wry comments about my 'evening thirsts' with Martha being a habit. Of course it would be a habit...we were after all going out. She is my girlfriend after all, right? And I can't think of any other relationship that was any different.
Martha keeps a pretty busy schedule herself and I do as well. What is wrong with the fact that, yes, we do in fact spend a considerable amount of time together in bed? Then again... how many relationships and women have I had these past several months where this was exactly what it was really made of?
No, no... Martha and I do not spend a significant amount of time just shagging... Really... I mean, the other day or a few days ago I took her to the movies or some concert of a band I don't really care much about. That made her happy; we had beers, we had a laugh... then we went to her apartment...
Well, what if this—this thing I have with Martha at its current state—is exactly what I need? Maybe this type of relationship is crucial for me. Do I really want to be in such a serious relationship at this stage of my life? Working with Sherlock and still dealing with my own psychological issues (I am still seeing my therapist) aren't really conducive for any true serious relationship. Hell, it would only cause more trouble and headache for me... So, is it wrong for me to settle with Martha... for now? Does that make me a total prick?
She shifts against me, hands disengage from me and I feel her turn over to her side, her back facing me. I slowly inch myself in increments off to the side of the bed until I am standing beside it.
I'm surprise that she isn't stirring a bit, and I get up unnoticed.
I'm glad.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and I use its light to guide my way down the hall way where I'm sure I'll find my clothes scattered about.
I walk over my discarded blue button-up shirt, and jeans. A little before that, not too far from the entrance to the living room I see my boxers, and I put them on before grabbing the rest of my clothes in sight and walking to the restroom.
The lights are almost blinding the moment I turn them on and I blink a few times. My reflection greets me and for a moment I can't help but just stare.
I like to think that I look like I've always been and that nothing has changed. I like to think that I look happy and at ease; normal to the outside world... but I'd be lying.
There's this immense feeling of unrest and dread that has been creeping up inside me, welling up and winding, that I struggle to find a way to release it.
I haven't had a restful sleep these past several days—maybe weeks even—and it's slowly taking its toll on me.
These past days every time I close my eyes to sleep, the nightmares begin. I hear the screams and I hear the gunshot, and I feel the heat of the sun burning my flesh as if it was real. But that's not what makes the dreams so unbearable orunsettling. The sight of my comrade coming towards me to warn me of impending enemies... of being in the wrong place at the wrong time... warning me to run... and the sight of him being gunned down in front of me...
His scream pierces through the sound of battle and reaches my ear as enemy bullets fire through him, piercing through his flesh and bursting out from him. First through his arms, then his legs, then through his stomach... I see every seeping out as he falls forward not too far from me... I'm so close and I can't move... all of it happening so fast...
It feels like eternity as I watch my friend slaughtered before me... but as soon as I watch him die, so did others around me as gunshots exchange.
I'm firing at the enemy behind my cover. I have to keep firing, I have to keep fighting, I can't look at the bodies. He died for a cause, he didn't die for nothing...
"John, we have to get out of here!"
Shot after shot after shot after shot...
"John! Get the fuck out of here!"
Someone grabs me, and I feel like I'm being dragged. I want to keep fighting to kill whoever it was that killed my comrade who was like a brother to me.
As we turn around I feel the shot. The pain is excruciating and spreads through me, right at my leg, and I falter, by someone is hanging onto me, carrying my weight and pushing us forward towards safety.
Another shot...I feel it this time, so close to my shoulder and I hear my voice go hoarse with my scream. And darkness engulfs me...
None of it is real—they were just memories—my nightmares, my dreams. I'm back to where I began, staring at my reflection, and my knuckles are white from holding the side of the bathroom counter.
I have to let it go, I have to get out of here.
The cold water is refreshing against my face and brings me back to reality. It's been 5 years already since I came back from the war, since I've decided to move on with my life and let the past be the past.
The screams, the gun shots...the blood, seeing his stomach blown up and...
Nausea kicks in and I'm vomiting in the toilet, gripping the seat as I kneel down before it. It keeps coming up and I throw up until there's only bile left, and then...nothing.
I sit back against the wall and close my eyes. My heart is beating quickly against my chest, my eyes watered, my throat burning.
Sooner or later these memories will fade, and just like before I'll be able to handle them and push them to the recesses of my memories so that they won't haunt me again. Sooner or later I can handle all this again and be the normal me, and-
THUD. THUD. THUD.
I hear the rapping at the door.
Martha's voice comes throw the bathroom door as she bangs on it.
"John?"
THUD. THUD. THUD.
"Are you okay in there?"
The handle rattles as she tries to open it.
I'm so happy that I closed and locked the bathroom door out of habit.
"John?"
"Stomach's been acting up," I lie.
"You think it's something you ate?"
"Not sure. But I'll be out soon."
I get up from the floor and put on the rest of my clothes. I flush the toilet, go to the sink and splash cold water on my face, and rinse my mouth.
I need to get out of here.
I step out and I'm not surprise I see Martha in her purple night shirt in front of me. Her face is unreadable, and I'm uncertain if the look on her face is of sincere concern or irritation that once again I'm not going to stay the night with her. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest and she's looking right into my eyes, trying to read me. For a moment I wonder if she can tell I'm lying.
"What do you think it could be?"
"Maybe something I ate."
I hope she heard me vomiting and that she's noting my paleness and my rough voice. I'm certain she believes my lie.
"Yeah," she starts, and I feel her touch my cheek with the back of her hand, "It didn't sound so good in there; doesn't seem like you have a fever."
She looks down at my clothing.
"You know you don't have to head home because you're sick."
"I think it's for the best," I explain this, giving her what I hope looks like a sad and disappointed look. "The last thing I want is to get you sick too; or throwing up all over the place." I add a wry laugh for added effect, and I get her to smile faintly at me.
She then nods her head in agreement.
Knowing Martha, the last thing she wants to do is deal with a sick boyfriend; god knows I'm not even sure if Martha has a nursing bone in her body... she never fancied me as being one, and I'm actually thankful for this.
"You need to get some rest and take care of yourself, John."
We head to the living room where I grab my jacket and put on my shoes.
We're in front of her door now and she's about to let me out.
She hugs me and kisses me on my left cheek.
"I hope you feel better."
TBC.