John was surprised as the cab came to halt. He looked out the window and saw 221B; oddly, he didn't remember any of the trip here. He was in a daze as he pulled out his wallet, his shoulder protesting, to pay the cabby. John thrust some money at the cabby, not caring if he was due any change as he climbed out of the cab. The street was silent; it was late night and very few cars passed on the road. The full moon and the stars shone brightly in the sky; how could things seem so normal when so much was wrong with the world? Didn't the earth know terrible things had occurred? It should stop….he knew that he felt like he had stopped.
John unlocked the door of the flat and walked in quietly. He made sure not to make noise; he didn't want to wake Mrs. Hudson at this hour and have to explain. He would have to explain eventually and he didn't relish the idea of that, but he didn't want to do it now. So he tiptoed quietly towards the stairs and walked gingerly up them. He walked into the sitting room, turning on a lamp to open up the oppressive darkness that was taking over. When the light came on, John still felt the same amount of darkness crushing his chest; he ran around the flat turning on every light that he could find but he still felt darkness, sadness, crushing him from the inside out. John turned around, looking at all the light and listening to the crushing quiet. John turned the telly on but it still felt just as quiet as before he had turned it on.
John walked to his bedroom, leaving all the lights on and the telly on. John felt so tired, emotionally and physically but he knew that sleep would be impossible. John threw off his shoes, trousers and jacket; feeling too lazy to care about pajamas John crawled under his covers in his t-shirt and underwear. He lay on his back, the only comfortable position he could manage with his shoulder and stared at the ceiling. He focused his eyes on the shadow the lamp cast across the ceiling, listing to the faint sound of the telly in living room. John pulled the cover up to his chin, clutching it in his hands so tightly in his knuckles that they turned white. His chest felt heavy as if he needed to cry, but when he tried, nothing came out.
Sherlock's absence was oppressive. It shouldn't be quiet; Sherlock should be here, criticizing the telly, blowing up something in the kitchen or nagging him. But he wasn't…. John felt emotion well up inside him when he thought about where Sherlock actually was. Jail…..Sherlock was being considered a criminal and he was spending the night in a cell. What if he was scared? What if he was confused? John wanted nothing more than to be with him.
John remembered Lestrade's anger with him at the hospital; he seemed to think John should be angry at Sherlock. And maybe he should…..some part of his mind told him that yes, he should be angry, scared even, of Sherlock. Part of his mind told him that Sherlock had brutally attacked five people, including him, with no sign of remorse whatsoever. Part of him screamed that worrying about Sherlock scared in a jail cell was ridiculous.
But John couldn't help it. He couldn't be mad at Sherlock; deep down he knew, even if no one else did, that this was not Sherlock's fault. No one else had seen how Sherlock had been acting these past few weeks. No one else had seen the way that he had looked when he had come back from his case. John knew that something was wrong. Sherlock was not a psychopath; something had caused him to snap. He would never have done this under normal circumstances.
So John lay in bed and did what he did best; he worried about Sherlock. He lay unmoving for hours, reliving the awful event in his mind over and over again. Guilt crushing him for not doing something sooner, worry pressing on him as he wondered what was happening to Sherlock.
John turned over to his night table and grabbed his mobile. He knew that Sherlock most likely didn't have his, and even if he did he was most likely not in a state to talk or even think about John. But on the off chance that he did, John had to reach out to him. It was all that he could do.
Sherlock, I hope you are okay. I don't know what happened tonight, but I know that this isn't you. I don't know what will happen with the police, or even if you are okay. But no matter what is going on, I want you to know that I believe in you. I know that something made you do this….I know you wouldn't do this otherwise. I miss you….the flat is too quiet without you.- JW
John sent the text out into the abyss, never to been seen before tossing his mobile across the bed and rolling over. Sometime, hours later, by some miracle, John fell asleep.
Sorry this chapter is so short, I figured a short chapter is better than no chapter at all. I promise the next one will be longer. Please review :)
