"This phone call is... is my note. That is what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
Sherlock's eyes flashed open as he sat himself up in his bed, his breath rapidly trying to escape his mouth, his hands sweating, and his eyes wide. He had been having the same exact dream every night, since the... incident occurred. It was not something Sherlock, our hero here, was proud of, nor did he particularly enjoy thinking of. Yet, unfortunately, even his own reflection reminded him of that painfully dreadful morning where he had, involuntarily, lost everything. His entire world had slipped right out of his hands, leaving him with the most outrageously difficult, but his only, option. It was not a decision he was fond of, but he had no way out of this. He was trapped, like a tiger in a cage at a zoo. Kept locked up to entertain others whilst it meant embarrassing himself and destroying his dignity.
"Leave a note when?"
Sherlock pushed himself out of bed, leaving the brunette girl beside him to continue sleeping. He rubbed his temples, sweat still stuck on his forehead - his back sticky from the moisture that had rested in between the bed sheets and his peach colored skin. Sherlock quietly persevered himself into bathroom, closing the door gently behind him as he hurried to the sink, anxious to scrub the sleep off his face. As he bent over the sink, Sherlock nearly lost his balance, a slight gasp escaped his lips as he quickly grabbed onto the counter, keeping himself up and from falling to the cold tile. His eyes flickered up to the mirror. He was hesitant about taking in his reflection, but was captivated by what he saw. It was no surprise the events had taken such a toll on him, but he had not expected for things to be as drastic as they were. His once gorgeous, glistening, blue eyes were now full of exhaustment and lament. Dark circles formed a barricade around the glass balls, which stood out more now due to the weight loss in his face and all over his body, his face now more angular than before. The poor thing had ended up starving himself, some nights, due to the lack of appetite, and lack of desire for life. His motivation was gone, entirely. He was left with nothing but sorrow, pain, devastation and, what appeared to be, heartbreak.
"Goodbye, John."
Sherlock bit his lip as he stood himself up, the usual burning sensation stinging his eyes like it would whenever he would break out into a cry, or a sob. He did not dare look at himself, for fear he would see himself as a mess, a wreckage, and did not want to see just how broken and vulnerable he really was without him.
"No. Don't—"
Letting out a sigh, Sherlock quickly scrubbed the sorrow off his face with moist washcloth before hurrying out of the bathroom. As he went headed for the bed, wanting to go back to sleep, he raised an eyebrow as the sound of his phone vibrating against the kitchen table, faintly, filled the room. His eyes flickered to Molly, who was peacefully sleeping. He stared at her, for a moment, before turning away and headed to the kitchen. Making sure he closed the bedroom door behind him, Sherlock slowly followed the path leading into the kitchen. The house was not his, it belonged to a friend of Miss Molly Hooper's. Molly had helped him after the...incident. She knew about the entire thing, she had offered to take care of him. Molly promised to hide him, while everyone thought he was dead, to protect him. He had asked her, the night before his faked death, if she would help him with everything and she was very quick to accept. Molly had always fancied Sherlock, ever since the first day he walked into the morgue. He knew it right away by the way she would stare at him from across the room, how she would bring up any subject for a conversation. Sherlock was not the romantic type, not at the slightest bit. He adored Molly, in his own way, but he needed her as a friend more than anything. A relationship with Molly would risk the friendly bond the two shared, and he did not want to risk that; he did not want to ruin such an incredible friendship.
She had him stay at her friend's house, who was also in on it, who knew exactly how much Sherlock had meant to Molly throughout the years. Molly would tell her friend, quite often, about how in love with Sherlock she was. Convincing her to let them stay at her house was easier than the two had thought. The friend was gone for college, most of the time, so Sherlock was never bothered, and Molly was able to come check up on him. Sometimes Molly would stay the night while Sherlock was having one of his panic attacks, which started after his faked suicide. Recently they had been happening more and more, ever since he had to finally block John's texts from coming through. The man, his best friend, had not been taking this well either. John had sent Sherlock texts every day, not wanting to give up hope. They all consisted of John trying to convince Sherlock to come back, begging him to come back, telling him he could not possibly be dead. This made things even more difficult for Sherlock to deal with. whilst being away from him. Having to do this to his John and all of his loved ones was not an easy task. Even a consulting detective, with amazing powers of deduction, had some form of kryptonite.
Sherlock's eyes glanced at the phone, the screen was lit up and the name read "Mycroft Holmes". It was unusual for his brother to call him this early in the morning, or to call him at all, really. Mycroft, his brother, was also aware of the truth, and helped make sure his secret was safe. So if he called it had to be something incredibly important, since his brother prefered to text his news. Sherlock cleared his throat before pressing accept and held the phone to his ear, letting out a subtle "hello".
"It is John. I... It appears we have lost him. We have searched everywhere, Sherlock. He is not at the flat, he is not at Sarah's. None of the pubs. I do not know where else to look. Do you have any idea-"
"You are wrong. You have not checked everywhere, you fool! How could you look past this, it is staring you in the bloody face. Damn.. damn it! I will be there soon, let me handle this."
"Sherlock, I am afraid that is not a good idea.. You could jeopardize your life, hislife. We have no idea where Sebastian is, currently, located! This is a huge, ignoramus, risk. Do you understand me?" Mycroft scolded him, his voice stern and slightly breaking at the end of each sentence. Sherlock smirked, looking down at the floor and sighed before looking up again, a heavy breath escaping his lips.
"You obviously do not understand what love is, Mycroft. If you did you would realize, by now, that saving his life is more important than losing mine." He said sharply, a dry laugh leaving his mouth before he quickly hung up, holding the phone tightly in his slender hand, his knuckles turning white due to the tightness of his grip. Sherlock knew exactly where John was, and there was not any time to lose. Without looking away from his phone, Sherlock headed down the hallway, his fingers dancing across his phone's screen as he quickly unblocked John's number. Sherlock knew that if John was really where he thought he was, he would be receiving a message, or two, from him soon.
Sherlock glanced over at Molly, who was now sitting up staring wide eyed at him. Her eyes were wide with worry and she was compassionate enough to not say anything, knowing that nothing could possibly stop him from leaving. He dropped his phone onto the bed as he quickly pulled a pair of black slacks from the dresser, a pair of trousers he hadn't seen in a very long time. A small smile crept onto his face as he pulled them on, and then a white dress shirt followed that, his hands shaking, slightly, as he buttoned them up one by one. This was a routine he used to be extremely familiar with, but it had been so long since he dressed this way that… it was a bit of a refresher, for him. Once that was taken care of, he quickly slipped his feet into his shoes, anxiously trying to finish getting dressed.
As he laced his shoes up, Molly finally gathered the strength to say something, her eyes locked on him.
"You are leaving, aren't you..?" She asked, her voice shaking, sitting herself up straighter as she scooted closer to Sherlock, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I understand, Sherlock. I know why you have to go, but just know I can go with you if you need me to." Her sweet, sincere, voice sent a warm feeling throughout his body, making him feel loved.
"I am afraid you cannot come along, Molly. This is something I have to do by myself." Sherlock said softly, in response, as he stood up straight and reached into the closet, which was partly opened, and pulled out a black suit coat. He stared at it, for a moment, before sliding his arms into the sleeves, and tugged his jacket down a bit, making sure it was just right before turning around to face Molly. "Thank you, Molly." He said with a nod, staring at her for a moment before snatching his phone off the bed and quickly turning away, making his way out of the bedroom and to the front door.