Hey guys! Sorry it took so long to update my story. I had finals week right after Thanksgiving. Hopefully I will be able to update this more often now. Thank you all for the support. Each review is much appreciated.
Chapter Two
Sherlock was outside for the first time in days. He looked at the people around him in silent disgust. Everyone just seemed so normal; so happy. He didn't want to see anyone happy. He knew it was selfish of him to feel this way, but he didn't care. John was dead. Sherlock knew his life was fine before John, and he kept telling himself that it would be fine without him. Yet, he knew that he felt like a part of himself was missing.
While walking, Sherlock began thinking through a list of possible suspects in his mind. Sherlock already ruled out the obvious: Moriarty. Though Moriarty loved to make Sherlock squirm he knew that if it was, in fact, Moriarty he would have heard from him by now. He wished it had been Moriarty. Then John would probably be alive somewhere. Safe.
Sherlock narrowed it down to just a few cases where he felt that the person he had brought to justice would feel vengeful towards him. He would have to start there. He considered the possibility that it was someone he did not know, but he would have to do more investigating to figure that out. He knew John didn't make enemies. Sure, not everyone liked John, but he had never met someone completely opposed to him.
Sherlock started to wonder whether or not he should try to contact Lestrade about this case. Lestrade had useful information involving his last cases, yet at the same time Lestrade was one of the last people Sherlock wanted to see. He knew not why, but he desperately wanted to avoid anyone that he had ever felt slightly close to. He would never admit it out loud, but he had grown to respect Lestrade sometimes. Sometimes. He could still be quite the idiot, but Sherlock also thought that the police would be a little worse for wear without him.
He wished he could send John to Lestrade. No, he thought, I can't keep thinking like this. I need to just focus of the work. Only the work. I will go to Lestrade, because it will benefit me and it is only logical. Sherlock knew that he must stick close with logic now, for he felt that it was one of the only things he had left and he already felt it slipping from his grasp. This is why he hated emotions; they always interfered with everything.
He hailed a taxi, got inside, and told the driver his destination: the police station. He looked out the window as he was driven, completely in silence. He couldn't help but think of the first case that he worked on with John which involved a murderous taxi cab driver. He knew from that case that John was the perfect complement to him in many ways, and he was impressed with John's ability to perceive danger. The driver had tried to make a conversation, but Sherlock made a point of quickly ending the driver's hopes of having an enjoyable car ride.
When he reached his destination he gave the driver the necessary money and stepped out of the taxi. He pretended not to hear the taxi driver say good riddance as he drove away. Sherlock stood for a moment, staring at the police station, before going inside.