Late night violin playing. The rattle of beakers, random mutterings, and the creak of the floorboards as he paced. It used to be hard to sleep with all the ruckus of Sherlock's nonstop work. Now it was almost impossible to catch a wink without it.
I stared down at my watch. A full hour of tossing and turning had passed. I let out a sigh and pulled myself out of bed. Maybe a little bit of telly would do me some good.
I trudged into the living room and plopped down in my usual chair. Never the sofa – that was his place. I picked up the remote sitting on the arm to turn the damn thing on, but found myself clenching it in anger instead. I smashed it against my leg, and then threw it across the room. The piece of plastic holding the batteries in split off, and the actual batteries flew in two different directions.
"You bastard!" I yelled, standing up and kicking the sofa. My hands transformed into fists. He wasn't there to hear it, but I didn't care. "You motherfucking bastard! Why the hell did you do it?" I punched the arm. "You left me, goddamnit! You weren't a fraud! So why the hell did you leave me? You bastard, you son of a bitch, YOU BASTARD!"
I took the pillow lying there, threw it at the window, and then collapsed onto the ground. Trying to choke back the tears was futile. It wasn't a sob-fest, but a few did sneak out and drip onto the floor as I curled into the fetal position. The silence in the flat surrounded me again, save for the sound of me trying to catch my breath.
"You knew it would do this to me," I whispered, inching closer to the sofa, and then closed my eyes. A few more tears snuck out from them. "You knew."
