VACANT
It's hard to say the exact place this came from. It's probably the combination of depression with my love of the mind palace. I too have one, and it is a very empty place right now – sadly. Enjoy. Much love, day
A ragged breath escapes his lips as he swings his legs over the couch that he lay curled up on for hours, now days it seems. He doesn't feel much of anything as he moves about the space of his flat in Baker Street. There isn't anyone there. Mrs. Hudson having taken her trip with the girls a few weeks ago and isn't coming back for another week or so. John having gone off on his honey moon three days ago. He had waited until he thought it was safe for him to be alone.
That was the problem though wasn't it? It was never truly an okay time. Sherlock had finally just told him to go. Oh, no he yelled and shouted at him for treating him like a child. Sherlock hated it. He hated all of it. All of them.
That was the lie that kept him stable enough to not go to that place where he would start wandering about searching for sustenance. Whether it was legal or not, he usually didn't care so much. It was his life, he could do what he wanted to do with it.
However, this night, during this moment in time there was something off within the man. He did feel things. They weren't particularly good things. No, they never were. He felt empty. He had nothing to focus on. His mind a blank canvas of emptiness.
He had ventured through the palace that he had created long ago but there was nothing there to keep him occupied long enough to not have to find something else out there in the real world. He would spend time in his head if it was all that it took. He couldn't, it wasn't enough. Not today. Not ever.
It was a storage space filled with details of anything important and at times things that weren't. He deleted some of it, and held on to the things that he couldn't bear to part with. Little facts and memories that made him just made it clear that he did have human bits.
They were under lock and key towards the back of the palace. All behind their doors in a locked steel door. That too, covered in chains and lock after lock. Only he knowing how to break it down and roam freely around it. He rarely allowed himself to do it. Only when it was important.
It wasn't, currently. He stood up from his spot on the couch and walked over to the coat rack, taking his scarf and coat off of it. He slipped his arms through it only to walk down the hall to his room and toe on the shoes (no socks) and trudge on back in the haze that he was in. He opened the door and left 221B behind.
It was vacant, empty just like the man that once inhabited it.
A door opened and the sleepy looking brown eyes of Molly Hooper greeted him slowly. She didn't say much. She never did on these late visits. She opened the door a bit more and stepped back. He noticed she too was still in her pajamas. Under his large coat, he was in his silk pajamas and plain cotton t-shirt.
He shut the door as he stepped in. Looping his scar from around his neck and placing it on the table by the door. He looked to the petite pathologist who yawned and wiped her eye. A calmness was present on her face as she looked at him. It didn't take much wondering on his part as to what she thought of on most days but during this little times when he would come to her - willingly he looked at her with eyes that held much more than usual.
Her arms wound themselves around his waist, slipping through the dark coat for the flesh of him. He stands there as he always did in a bit of a daze, seemingly lost for a little while. He doesn't push her away.
What would be the point here? He had been the one to come all this way. Her address becoming a bit of a symphony to befall his lips during the darker times when he finds himself wanting to find somewhere safer to be. Somewhere where he can find a small flick of solace. Molly Hooper had become that slowly.
He takes in a deep breath.
His arms around wound around her waist as they lay on the bed still fully clothed. Her soft breathing as she sleeps a quiet song on its own as he holds onto her. Not particularly for warmth or contact. He knows she's there. She's always there. Always has been.
She's something different. It's not a bad thing, he has told himself several times before. It's not a lie. A quiet truth that keeps him anchored here for hours and hours. Molly sleeps and Sherlock stays there with his limbs draped around her like a sheet. Concealing her from the cold while she breathes something more back into him.
His mind is a vacant place, but it's bearable.
It's an early morning for Molly, she shifts slowly in Sherlock Holmes grasp as she pushes the curls out of his eyes. His own eyes closed for mere moments. She wonders if he sleeps at all. She doesn't ever ask. He needs her, and she's there.
His lips press against hers softly and she doesn't question it. A silent thank youfor keeping him away from the murkiness that came in the night.He pulls back and she sees the flicker in his eyes. A small smile surfaces on her own lips as if to say, "Well, you needed me." There really isn't anything left to say. She tucks her head in his neck and breathes him in. He won't be staying much longer but she accepts that just as ease as she does anything else.
He presses another kiss against her forehead before leaving. He's going to come back whenever it happens again and there isn't something to quell it. He says he doesn't need anyone but this signifies that he doesn't exactly believe that to be the truth. Sometimes he needs her. She understands and that's why every time she'll open the door and let him in again.
Always.