John. June 30th
I looked at my mobile sitting on the table, wanting it to ring. I'm not sure why though because it'd be about him.
I begun to think maybe I needed to solve something because I'm starting to feel like, ah, well like he used to feel. I was getting antsy but a case won't fix me. I'm crazy to think it would do anything other than make me hurt more.
He'd pace around the house begging me to find him a case in the papers while he fidgeted away on his phone. Check the papers John! I need something! I need a case John! Find me a case!
I miss it.
It still hurts to think about him. It's only been 2 weeks though. That's normal. I can't even bring myself to say his name. But I can't stop thinking about him even though it feels like a punch to the gut with each memory. I can still feel him around me. I'm not even on Baker Street and I can still feel him around. I wanted it to go away but if it went away then I might forget what he feels like and would never be able to remember.
I didn't go to the funeral, I moved out of 221B that day instead and into Harry's spare bedroom. She's stopped drinking, for now-she swears. I couldn't be in London anymore.
"Maybe…you should…"
"Get a job?" I finished her sentence.
"I was going to say a hobby, maybe writing more? Write something about Sherlock, prove that Moriarty was the fake one."
I just looked at her.
"Ok." Harry tucked her fringe behind her right ear. "I'm just trying to help you mourn." She shut her laptop.
"I've mourned."
"You haven't!" She snapped.
"Bloody hell." I muttered.
"Sorry, I'm just worried about you."
"Don't be."
"You're falling to pieces. I can see it. It's like you've been through war all over again."
No, it was like I was home from the war all over again.
I stood up from her sofa, moving towards the stairs. I had enough telly for the day and enough of her judgment.
"You love him John."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, "Even you think we were-ah-ah-a couple. Everyone, always-" I cut myself off.
"I never said that, John." She shook her head.
I walked up the stairs to my room.
I shut the door behind me and clicked through the contacts on my phone.
There's no one I could call. Everyone wants to talk about him but I can't, not anymore. Harry is enough and she's just too much.
I went into the closet. Hidden behind my own clothes was his long black coat. The one he always wore. The one he wore with the collar flipped up to his cheekbones, with his legs pulled to his chest, watching the crap telly I thought I turned him on to saying; …he's not the boy's father, look at the turn ups on his genes, amongst other deductions he made of these people on screen.
That's the night I got a bomb strapped to my chest because of him. He did save me but it was his fault.
This was the one he wore that day he decided to be selfish and give up. There's still blood on it. It's dark, almost brown, not very red. It almost blends but I can see it. Molly gave it to me afterwards she said it was for safekeeping. Safekeeping of what? He's gone. He always said she was terrible at making conversation.
We really could have fixed this. I know him, he can fix anything and I can help him.
Could. He could have fixed it. I would have helped.
I pulled it on and lie down in my bed, moving my finger on the red stitching. "Come back." I whispered. "Please."
With the coat pulled around me it feels like he's here and like he's hugging me like I-no, I'm not going there. But I smell him and feel him and feel like something is here to keep my feet on this earth. It makes me feel like I'm not alone. He made me feel that I was not alone. The coat's all that's left.
I replayed the phone call in my head everyday, wondering if there's something that I missed because I always miss things with him.
I'm sorry. I'm a fake. This is my note.
There was a knock on my door and in one motion I got the coat off and tossed it on the floor on the other side of the bed. "What is it?" I shouted.
"Do you want some tea?" Harry poked her head in.
"No." I lie back down, facing away from her.
"Sorry, about earlier." Earlier? How long had I been in bed?
"Yeah…what time is it?"
"5."
4 hours. I have zero concept of time anymore.
She stood in the doorway for a second like she wanted to have a conversation but then shut it and walked away. I reached my hand out for the coat and had a flash back to me standing on the street, looking up at him on top of St. Barts. I reached out for him but I couldn't grab him. I couldn't save him.
I recoiled my hand and took a sharp breath, the memory hurt more than I thought it would. I relive the phone call every day but to relive the images, that's another story.
To see him jump and just keep falling and falling until I'm there in front of him and my hands are covered in his blood. His piercing blue eyes are hollow and dead. The blood is soaking his unruly hair. I just couldn't think of that.
I got up and went to the bathroom down the hall to heave.
Sherlock. Meanwhile.
"It's utterly repulsive." Mycroft shifted his weight from his left leg to his right leg. Clearly uncomfortable in the hotel room I had him book for me. "You can stay at my home, there's plenty of space."
"It's a fine hotel, not 221B, but it will do. I won't impose on you." I placed the skull nightstand.
"Here's the file on Moran." Mycroft held out the thick beige file. His fingers have still had grease on them from his lunch. There goes his diet again.
"Where is he?"
"He's like a ghost, as bad as Moriarty."
I waved my hand and then gripped the file. Clearly I have to do these things on my own. Moran is now the most dangerous man in England since he has taken over, it Moriarty's web. No wonder my brother cant do this simple task.
"John isn't getting on very well."
"John will be fine, he's fully capable to deal with death."
"He hasn't left his sister's house since he moved in. He didn't even attend the funeral."
"So?"
"That's what normal people do to mourn, Sherlock."
I shrugged then went look at the file in my hand. Even after you kill the queen bee the others still thrive. There were others doing the dirty work for Moriarty just as the worker bees did for the queen. I needed to get rid of the entire hive.
After Moriarty died 18 days previous things began to unravel in his little organisation. Moran made the power grab a couple of days ago. He's fairly clever, not like Moriarty but smart enough. Smarter than most of the thugs. Former soldier, served in Afghanistan, and was dishonourably discharged. He's an expert marksman. I think maybe he and John would get on if Moran weren't on the wrong side of things. John would say that this is a crazy thought because people supposedly can't bond over things like shooting other people. Which is odd to me because the skill level of both of them is magnificent, you would think bonding could be done over this topic.
"Please do let me know where you're going to be off to my dear brother."
He was the one that was sent to shoot John.
"I have to be going now, I'll see you?" He was running late for a meeting.
"Yes, yes, good bye Mycroft." I sat on the chair in front of the desk in the corner of the room.
"You really should tell John."
"For what reason?"
"He can help you get to Moran."
"I need to do this on my own. They could be watching John, making sure I'm dead. If I'm not dead they could kill John right away."
"I tend to forget you have a heart."
"We all have hearts Mycroft, we wouldn't be alive without them."
"The metaphorical one."
"You mean I'm capable of caring?"
"You're very capable, you even love him." He said the word love as if it was a foreign concept to me.
"Love is merely a chemical reaction"
"Have you ever thought maybe it would be ok to let that happen? I have at times, there's not much wrong with companionship if you can find the right person. John would be good for you, he understands the Holmes' way of things."
"Mummy would be proud if one of her boys settled down, wouldn't she?" I said with a laugh.
"I'm going." Mycroft checked his watch.
"Why are you having John followed?" I asked before he could move.
"For the same reasons you're not letting him on the case I assume, for your sake."
I rolled my eyes. "I thought caring was not an advantage."
"It's not but John is very useful in pressing medical matters, I might ask him to come work for me if you're not using him."
"He'll turn you down, you've tried that before."
"That was to help me watch you."
"Yes…why don't you get going now Mycroft? I have to look over this file with out distraction. Plus you're going to be very late for that meeting."
He said something else but I ignored him and he finally left.
I'm not sure what's wrong with me because I'm having trouble concentrating no matter what I do. This has never happened to me before. I have noticed it happens after I talk about John to someone else. But why would his name bring up such a horrible block? He's quite the conductor of brilliance so he normally does expand my mind rather than close it. I could just be missing him. I've never really missed anyone before. This is odd and new. It needs to stop though so I can end all this as fast as possible and go back to my life because dying has been a lot more difficult than I had perceived.
