A/N: This is a two part piece, written for the Shernanigans Party on Tumblr. Collaboration with CKerased/bbcsherlockftw. Her half of the story, called Addlement, can be found s/8143371/1/ (Tack that on after the dot com in the URL). Not required to be read together, but highly recommended. ^_^
We've done this before. I'll encourage Henry to remember that night as best he can, and so far, each time, he's a little more. Sure, he's gotten worse, but that happens. It's to get worse before it gets better, right?
So when his eyes are closed and he tells me he's running, and looking panicked where he sat in the chair, I don't worry for my own safety. Honestly, it's never even crossed my mind. I'm concerned for Henry's well-being, yes, but what psychiatrist wouldn't be when it came to a patient?
Then he pulls out the gun from his chair and stands, brandishing it. A sliver of panic fills my mind, but I push it away. Henry is a nice guy. He'd never shoot anyone unless they were threatening him. I fight to keep myself calm, telling myself that as long as I do, I can calm Henry down, and everything will be all right.
"Henry?" I ask softly. He doesn't seem to hear me. "Henry?" I try again, louder. Still no response, just more panic, only now he was starting to thrash about in his chair; his breathing shallow, as though he'd run a marathon. And maybe, in his mind, he is. He's stopped telling me what's going on behind his eyes, so there's no way for me to really know, now is there?
The gun moves slowly to point at me, taking careful aim. Oh God. I swallow, finding myself suddenly extremely religious. God, please let me live.
"Henry!" I cry, trying to stay calm. He still doesn't hear me, and for a moment, I'm watching in fear as he points the gun at himself. "No!" I yell before I can stop myself, but there's still no response from him. The gun is pointed back at me, and his finger is squeezing the trigger. Oh God, I think, trying to pull a prayer into my mind. Hail Mary, full of Grace… There's a bang and I scream, curling into the corner.
It's then that Henry starts out of his flashback suddenly, and his eyes widen at what he's nearly done. I can't speak for shock, but my mind is racing. I curl up further, adrenaline coursing through my veins, telling me to run, but I'm paralyzed with fear.
"Oh…Oh..my..God..Oh my God..I am…I am so sorry, I am so sorry," he stammers, looking between me and the gun, and a squeak escapes me, following the high-pitched sobs that had been coming from me for about a minute, now. Thank God. Thank whatever higher power it is that saved me. Henry runs out, but I still can't move for several minutes, trying to calm myself down. I fish out my phone, and dial the detective's…what had Dr. Franklin called him? Mr. Holmes' live-in P.A.