"The Science of Abduction; or The One Where Sherlock Is Weak"
A/N: This is kind of an experiment. I'm not sure if I like it. Your feedback is legitimately invaluable. (Your constructive feedback is, at least.)
Warnings: slash, murder, and drug use.
One Year Ago: Sherlock Makes a Fateful Choice
This isn't the first time my best wasn't enough.
This isn't the first time someone has died because of it.
I think this is the first time I've cared.
I can't look away from John, motionless, no life in his eyes.
He's not dead. No, it's far worse than that. He's in shock, denial, something. My phone goes off.
It has only one cryptic message: She is only the beginning. –M
Only a moment has passed since I made the decision that resulted in Sarah's early death. Another moment passes as I look at her. Apart from the red line of coagulating blood running down the side of her face, she could simply be sleeping. I look back to John. He cannot look away from her and I steer him out of the room.
On the way back to our flat, John refuses to speak a word, make a sound. At some point, I stare at his chest until I receive confirmation that he is even breathing.
It's not until I join him on the sofa that he breaks the silence.
"You should have chosen her."
"No."
My response, blunt and even-toned as ever is not what he wants to hear, but he clearly cannot conceive any argument. A sob escapes him.
I rethink my choice. Had I chosen Sarah, she would have lived and John would have died. I would have done my best, but I could not have gotten both of them in time. John and Sarah are- or in Sarah's case, were- medical professionals. They helped the sick and injured. John helped to catch criminals. So did Sarah, once. My list of pros and cons continues in my mind until I reach the fact that John pays a portion of my rent. Another sob escapes him.
John is a good man. Sarah was a good woman, but she wasn't as good as him. I'm not certain why, but I know I made the right choice. The only problem is that now I have a grieving flatmate and I do not know how to deal with him.
"I'm sorry," I tell him, and it's not a lie. I don't know how to deal with others' emotions. I understand, but I'm incapable of tolerating it. I need to make him better.
"You're not sorry," he argues.
Academically, I know that he will want to be sad. I know that it's natural, necessary… But I cannot tolerate it. "I am," I assure my grieving flatmate. "If I could have saved her, I would."
"You could have!" John explodes. "But you didn't! All you had to do was let them kill me."
"That wasn't an option."
My chest throbs for a moment with some non-physical discomfort.
Interesting.
Instead of arguing, he buries his face in his hands as the grief spills over completely. I sit for a moment, trying to think of something- anything- to do. I decide to try the foreign approach: wrap an arm round his shoulders and give it a squeeze. Instead of sobbing on into his hands, John turns into me, seeking some kind of hug, I think.
I send my other arm round him so that I am hugging him, and my face heats up. There is some not entirely unpleasant feeling wafting through my torso.
Very interesting.
After about an hour, John's grief dissipates and I realize he's asleep. I find some way to get more comfortable. I don't want to wake him as he will only experience more grief and I do not think I will be able to sit through it another time. So I hold John Watson as he sleeps, and I soon drift off myself.
One question rings through my mind before I slip into slumber: if Sarah is only the beginning, what- or who?- will be the middle and end?
