Author's Note: I realised that I haven't told you guys when this fic is set. It's after The Reichenbach Fall, for those who hadn't noticed. Also, something else I should really mention. I don't own any of the original characters. They belong to the BBC. I'm merely relishing in my fandom that is available thanks to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, my personal Gods. (I do realise that there are a lot of other people involved in the making and producing of Sherlock as well, but I can hardly remember my own phone number, so don't go around expecting I know all those names xD )
CHAPTER 3
The longer John sat in the cab, the more nervous he got. When he had agreed to come, he had felt pretty good about it, but he was doubting his decision more and more. If he would have had the guts, he would ask the cabbie to turn around, but he didn't. He doesn't want to disappoint Lestrade, he wants to show that he is doing better. They are worried enough as it is. Finally, the cab stops, they have arrived at their destination.
When John gets out of the cab, he feels that his legs are unsteady and he is having trouble not to be too obvious about it. He sees Lestrade walking towards him and he feels his heart beating rapidly. He doesn't want to be here. What was he thinking? He can't, he simply can't do this, it's too much. Right before Lestrade catches up to him, he turns around and vomits in one of the bushes. Of course, Lestrade sees this and runs up to him. 'Are you alright Jonh?' he asks, worry and uncertainty clearly detectible in his voice. 'Yes. I mean, no…' John replies, without being able to think clearly. There is only one thing that is going through his head: He has to get out of here! 'No, actually, I think I might have food poisoning.' John lies, hoping that Lestrade will believe him. 'I'm so sorry, I don't think I'll be of any use to you now, danger of compromising the integrity of the crime scene and all that.' 'No I suppose you are right. It's a shame, we really could've used your help. But don't worry about it, it's not your fault.' Lestrade says in a reassuring tone. 'Please call me when you've arrived at home, so I know you got home safely.' 'No problem.' John replies, before getting back in the cab that thankfully hadn't left immediately.
The first thing he did when he got home was drink a beer, then he remembered he should call Lestrade.
'Lestrade.'
'Hey Greg, I'm just calling to say that I've arrived at home.'
'Ah, that's great to hear, are you feeling any better?'
'No, still feeling rather sick, probably going to go to bed early. Hey, I'm really sorry that I couldn't help you today.'
'No need to feel sorry, It was hardly your fault. I'll call you next time we have a case where we could use you.'
'Yes, I'd love that. Thanks a lot!'
'No worry. Okay, Donovan is nagging me about something. Better give her some attention. Sleep well and I hope you'll feel better soon.'
'Thanks again. Good luck with Donovan.'
'Bye John.'
'Bye.'
With a sigh he fell onto the couch. God, did he feel bad. Not only did he lie to one of his only friends, he also failed to prove that he was doing better. It was just too much, it reminded him so much of those times. And now he had told Lestrade that he would be happy to help him the next time. He was an idiot, why didn't he just tell him he wasn't up for it? Grabbing another beer from the fridge, he settles himself in front of the telly.
After waking up completely disorientated, John mentally scolds himself. He wouldn't let it get this far anymore. Now look at him, passed out in front of the telly, like a slob. It's half past one in the morning, but he isn't tired. At least, not anymore. Also, although he will probably never admit this to himself, he is afraid to go to sleep. The idea that when he closes his eyes, that he might see all those things again without being able to stop it, is holding him back. He really wishes he had someone to talk to right now.
Someone, but not his psychiatrist, because he has stopped seeing her about three months ago. He thought she wasn't helping him. Actually, she was getting too close to the truth, but John, being as oblivious as he can sometimes be, had not realised this. To him, it felt like she was digging in places she shouldn't be digging.
Who could he phone at this hour of the day? Harry? No then he might have to talk to her about her alcoholism and, as hypocritical as it may sound, he is the one that wants to be comforted. After thinking about it for a good ten minutes, while fighting the incredible urge to grab another beer, he realises he has no one. No one he can talk to right now. But maybe… There might be someone…
John grabs his laptop, opens it, waits for it to be started up, opens his internet browser, goes to the website that he can now finally type correctly on the first try, logs in to his account, holds his breath until the page has loaded and breathes a sigh of relieve when he sees the yellow 1 next to the envelope. Hope has replied! Eagerly, he starts reading her message.
Dear Jack,
I suspect your situation might not be as simple as you think. It almost never is. But until I know more about that, I'm afraid I can't help you either. As for me, you asked for more information. Although I cannot tell you everything, I will try my best to make it clear what happened. It is a very difficult situation, I should warn you. If you don't want to help me anymore, you should say so. I prefer honesty over kindness.
My situation then. I had a friend who I really cared for a lot. I'm not sure if she knew how much I cared for her, because I never really told her. We hadn't known each other for that long, only a couple of years, so it wasn't one of those friendships that had been through a lot of issues. I did, however, completely trust her. She made me feel at ease, which was great because I tend to be stressed a lot. I don't think she liked me as much as I liked her, but that was fine by me. I'd never had a close friend, and she certainly was, so I was really happy because of that. Then, a couple of months ago, something happened.
I'm really sorry about this, but this is the internet, so I'm not going to tell you what happened, yet. I want to trust you Jack, but I've made a mistake once before and I'm not going to do that again. I do look forward to your reply. If you tell me a bit more about your situation, I'll know I can trust you. Or at least, it will feel like that to me.
Sincerely,
Hope
"Wow…" John thought to himself, after reading the message. "It sounds like she was let down hard." He really wants to know what happened now. Well, he was planning on replying anyway, better get to it.
Dear Hope,
I'm sorry to hear that you had a bad experience with trusting a stranger on the internet. I promise however, that I will never be anything but a gentleman. I won't use the information you tell me against you, I wouldn't know why. I really hope I can help you, you sound like you need it.
About what I've read so far, it's all pretty logical. I do have one question though. Did you fancy her? Your friend? You say you really liked her, a lot. Don't worry, I don't think there is anything wrong with that. I've actually got an aunt who is a lesbian. Apart from that, I think I have an idea of the situation. I would love to know what happened, I can't help you without more information I'm afraid.
Right, you want to know more about my situation. Here it goes. My friend committed suicide and I'm not over it yet. I thought I was, but then I started to notice things. One person wore his scarf just like he did. Someone else had the same haircut as he had. Simple things like that. It drove me crazy. I kept seeing things like this, and I was constantly reminded of him. Reminded of the fact that I would never see him again, would never go on adventures with him again. He took me to places I didn't know could be so much fun. He changed me into a better man. He might not have known this, but he was the best friend I've ever had. I hate the fact that I can never tell him that. That I can never let him know. I'm afraid that it might be the reason why he committed suicide. Maybe he thought he wasn't appreciated. I hate the fact that I don't know why he did it. He didn't tell me, and in his note, he only wrote he was sorry for lying to me. But I'm sure he never lied to me, not about anything important. I knew him, probably better than anyone else.
I'm glad I have someone to talk to. Tonight I was about to do something, something he and I did a lot of times. I thought I was doing better, that I was ready for it. I wasn't. I couldn't do it, and I'm ashamed. I feel like I've betrayed him for trying to do it, and I feel like I've let him down for failing to do it. I feel really bad, I hope you will reply to me. It would be nice to focus on problems that are not my own, for once. Sorry if that's a bit rude. I hope you don't read this and think I'm mental. I should probably stop typing…
Sincerely,
Jack
Once again, John wasn't completely happy with the result, but once again he reminded himself to be honest. If he wasn't going to be honest, he could just as well type a message to a chair. He didn't delete anything, this was what he thought, this was what he would send to Hope. He pressed the "send" button and logged out.
Almost half past three in the morning. He went to bed and promised himself he could sleep in tomorrow morning. It had relieved him, to finally tell someone how he felt, and now that weight was lifted off his shoulders he felt exhausted. He could hardly undress himself, that's how tired he was. In the end, he did manage to put on his pyjamas and find his bed, before falling asleep. That night, he didn't have any nightmares.
Author's Note: I'm really sorry for all the people that were expecting a case to happen. No, wait a second... I'm not sorry. MUAHAHAHAHA! No just kidding, I love you guys. (Wow, if anyone is mental, it's me, not John.) I hope you keep reading!
