The Lonely Mountain

by Emeraldbuttercup

John Watson is crumbling. With Sherlock dead, John's grief is overwhelming him. There is but one escape, but it is a dark and dangerous road. John takes an unexpected journey into the recesses of his mind. But will he be able to make it there and back again, or will he loose his mind in the process? Post-Reichenbach Falls.

He could see it when the closed his eyes.

At first it would appear as no more than an outline in the haze his mind. If John focused too hard it would simply disappear, evaporating like dew in the morning sun. It didn't like to be caught; it was an untamed place that came and went on its own will, dancing throughout his mind teasingly. Yet sometimes if the moment was right, John could see it so vividly that he would half convince himself he was really there. London would fade away, the dreary hues of grays giving up to the rich emeralds and carefree azul. He could feel the breeze against his cheek, the sun bathing his face in its warmth. This land was charged in such a way that made John's heart skip a beat. It was like electricity coursing down his spine, the tingling feeling expanding throughout his entire body. It was intoxicating. He would become drunk on this feeling- the warmth and the beauty that was so unlike the very real nightmare his life had turned into.

But when John retreated to the abyss of his mind, he would find it there waiting for him calmly. It was at the eye of the storm, the sole haven of peace his tormented mind had left to give. He would see it looming above him, its snow-covered peak just visible above the swirling clouds.

His mountain.

Whenever John had to retreat, to hide from the world, he found himself in the valley, the mountain silhouetted in the horizon. It was slowly becoming his anchor. When John was there he was alone and free, the crushing burdens of his daily life dissolving. He was free from his pitying friends, from worried co-workers, and from Sher-

No. Not here. That path only led to hurt. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't remember-

This fantastical land was his and his alone.

His Lonely Mountain called to him, its deep lull like a balm on his damaged mind.

The wondrous place glowed softly between the cracks of his breaking mind, beckoning him home.

John knew he was loosing his mind, of course.

He just never imagined it would feel this good.

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