A Long Walk Home

A/n: This is written for Lets Write Sherlock challenge 15, under the category Jealousy. It is loosely touched on, but from my own experience, Jealousy can also be associated with loss and sadness. I wanted to write about something that hasn't really been thought about much- Sherlock's walk home after walking out of the Wedding Reception early. So yeah, I hope you guys like it xxx

Disclaimer: I do not own these wonderful characters. They belong to Moffat and Gatiss and the amazing Sir Arthur Conon Doyle.

The loud thumping music beat seemed to fade away as gradually as the scorching orange tinted sky turned to ink, until finally I was left with a soft silence, broken only by the quiet thrum of car engines as they passed me on the road.

With the sky black and cloudless, the earlier spring heat that had touched the wedding started to give way to a sharp chill that made my breath rise in clouds of mist into the air. I kept my hands plunged deep into my pockets and walked as swiftly as I could manage with my mind in turmoil- such as it was.

I was completely alone.

I'd spent most of my life, both as a child and adult, alone. A solitary being, kept separated from the rest of humanity by my heightened intelligence, my social awkwardness and incapacity to understand the humans of my own age. Somewhere under all my composure, I understood that I hadn't always been so alien to everyone. It had been the cruelty of childhood bullies that had done that to me.

But tonight, the night of John Watson's wedding, I for the first time whilst being alone, felt lonely.

I felt John's absence so strongly, that it almost felt like pain. Like a shard of ice was stuck in my chest. It was unlike any pain I'd ever felt before, and it wasn't going away. I felt as if his absence was a dark hole, swallowing the surroundings, the pavement, dull without his footsteps, the light, faded without his face to light up. The more I walked, the bigger the hole got.

All I could do was plough on, walk down the street until I reached home.

I guess it wasn't our home anymore. Just mine.

I didn't understand at first why it was so bad tonight. John had not always been permanently there. He had occasionally gone to work, to Sarah's, had meetings and went shopping, and then of course I had jumped and spent two full years away from him. None of those times had I so keenly felt his absence.

Why was tonight so very different? So difficult? So painful?

Why was it that I felt lonely?

And then I finally realised.

Each of those times, I reminded myself, I had been absolutely certain that John would come back. That no matter how long it lasted, I would have John there at the end of it.
That certainty had acted as a buoy, floating me through the times I'd spent alone, reminding me of what I had- John Watson. My doctor, my blogger, my best friend.

But right now, walking alone down the dark, dimly lit street, I was suddenly plunged into terrifying realisation.

I had no certainty. No way of ever proving that he would ever come back to me. Because he had Mary.

I had lost him.

My John was gone, the days of coming home and finding him in his favourite chair, with his familiar smell and his ridiculous neatness were gone now. All gone.

He wasn't going to come back. He wouldn't come back home, he wouldn't walk back up those steps tonight and smile at me as he walked through the door, his favourite jumper on. Not now, not ever. Never again.

Never had I felt as lost and alone as when this realisation struck me.

There was no hope, no real reason why he would ever do it again, because he had Mary now. For the first time, his presence was not guaranteed.

My steps faltered, and I found suddenly that I needed to stop. My lungs felt like they were collapsing as the pain in my chest grew worse.

I didn't know what to do, where to go from here. It felt like my world had suddenly been stripped away. The complete and total agony of loss and pointlessness threatened to consume me, and I'd never been so terrified. Not even at that time in the pool with the bomb.

And the very notion that I was terrified scared me. I was never scared, not me. I could usually separate myself from emotion to allow me to take charge of situations.

But here I was, gasping against a cold stone wall on the edge of the street, feeling as though my life was spinning out of control with the thought of losing John Watson.

With the knowing that I had already lost him.

Right now, he was probably holding Mary in his arms, dancing slowly and laughing with her. That's what he had been doing when I'd left, and that was how I'd recognised my cue to leave. My uses had been finally exhausted and there was no one left in that crowded room who'd wanted me to be there, not even Janine, who'd promised me a dance, but had finally found the type of man she'd wanted.

Oh John.

His name kept tumbling around inside my head.

John.

John.

It was a strange feeling, realising that my friend was gone; I couldn't help but feel a strong surge of resentment towards the woman he'd chosen. Was it jealousy? Probably.

Mary would get to share in the adventures of John Watson now. She would probably wake up every morning and see him there, would get handed perfectly made tea…

Who was going to make my tea now? No one ever made it as perfectly as John had.

Oh god I was going to miss that.

The hollow feeling inside me intensified. My resentment towards Mary also seemed to grow with every painful breath I took.

With a deep breath, I dragged myself out of my mind, and forced myself to continue walking. By this time, the traffic had started to thin a little, and the road looked dark and strangely eerie without the constant flow of cars. The city, however, was aglow with bright lights, the eye-catching blue and red underground sign like a beacon ahead of me. I tugged my coat closer around me and continued, my head raised in an attempt to look confident in a street bustling with people.

In reality, I still couldn't breathe. My mind was so muddled, that I couldn't even deduce anything.

I had to admit to myself now that I missed him already. Without that complete certainty in my mind, every minute spent getting further away from him was hard. I knew that there was nothing I could do about it.

I liked Mary; I'd convinced myself time and again that she was the one person in the world that made John truly happy, and I wanted John to be happy.

I had, at one point, thought that that person had been me, but of course, that had been stupid assumptions. I'd never been, not really. Had John ever been truly happy with me?

Perhaps the idea had been born from my desperation to be seen as…well… human.

Because John had always seen me as human. Not a 'freak' or a 'machine' or an 'alien', but as human as he was.

He'd saved me.

And yet, and yet just a few weeks ago, when broached about the best man speech (now that had gone strangely- everyone had started crying)he'd said that I was his best friend.

Did he mean that?

What use were words when he was now happily married and living with Mary- the start of a new era, and the end of ours.

And Mary was pregnant; as I'd said, they wouldn't need me around anymore.

He would never need me around anymore.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of walking (impossible of course) the familiar door of 221B stood in front of me, the knocker pulled slightly to the side, as it always did.

As I stood, fumbling for the key in my trouser pocket, another heart pang reminded me that John wouldn't need a key anymore.

I blinked.

Stop it.

My cold hand finally closed around the small, rough- edged, metal key and with slightly shaking hands, I moved to unlock it.

The hallway was dark and silent, the stairway leading into shadows. In a small burst of nostalgia, I found myself thinking back to the times we'd spent in the hallway. The memories seemed to linger like ghosts, clinging to the walls and imbedded into the floor. They all seemed so long ago now.

I closed my eyes briefly. I appeared to have accepted the fact that my night spent alone would be a restless one.

Tomorrow, I thought as I steadily climbed the stairs, I would wake up to a silent, empty, flat- cold with the absence of John's presence.

I'd need to start making my own tea, and only buy half as much food, and work on cases alone and remember to clean up occasionally…

When I got into the flat, it was cluttered with deep shadows, with only the faint yellow street light outside illuminating the room. I hadn't walked far into it before my eyes became drawn to John's favourite chair.

It looked so sad, so small without John sitting in it. He had used it so much, that the fabric had started to mould to his shape, and the old Union Jack pillow had started to look faded, and older than usual. I didn't like seeing it there, empty and sad looking, and yet I couldn't bring myself to look away. I stared at it, taking in every detail, remembering how John used to sit with his ankles crossed and his elbow propped against the arm. I wondered if he would sit in it again.

I teetered a little on the spot, thinking quickly, trying to internally scream some sense into myself, before my heart won. I moved slowly over to the chair, how faded and desolate it looked. I touched the top of it gently, felt the red fabric against my fingers.

John.

I miss you.

The seconds I spent standing there moved into minutes. I couldn't bring myself to move.

The chair was going to have to be moved soon. I couldn't stand to see it in here, not without John being in it.

Enough. Enough now.

With enormous effort, I moved away from the chair, and headed swiftly and silently to the sanctuary of my room, closing the door, and bracing myself for a long, lonely sleepless night.

A/n: Let me know what you think! A review or two would be amazing! xxx