221B Baker Street
"Sherlock, please!"
"I'm thinking!"
"You're just angry at Lestrade…"
"YES I'M ANGRY AT LESTRADE!" He shouted, pulling back gun's slide. He aimed for the yellow smile grinning back at him, which was already riddled with bullet holes.
"No no no," John said, taking the gun out of Sherlock's hand. "We're not going to ruin Mrs. Hudson's walls again."
"DAMN THE WALLS!" Sherlock yelled, storming into the kitchen. John followed, setting the gun on the coffee table.
"Sherlock, they'll get it right! If you're right…"
"Of course I'm right! I'm never wrong," Sherlock sighed, rummaging through the cupboard. John watched him curiously as he moved on to the drawers, tossing out spoons and knifes onto the floor.
"They're not here," John said, trying to hide his amusement.
"Right, and you expect me to believe that," he said, opening the refrigerator.
"You're wasting your time," John said smugly, sitting down in the living room chair. After a few minutes, Sherlock returned to the couch, sulking.
"I told you," John smiled, shaking his head. "I don't have any." Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
"You're lying."
"No, I'm not."
"Why can't they see! It's obvious," he groaned as he laid down on his back. "Ellen fits the description their witnesses gave, and was with her sister the day of the murder!"
"Just give it time. Patience!" John said, sipping a cup of tea. "They'll see it soon enough."
"Patience. Just an excuse for being lazy," he sighed, staring at the ceiling.
"And you're not lazy?"
"Irrelevant," Sherlock said, reaching for his phone as it rang. He raised his eyebrows at the number.
"Who is…"
"St. Barts," he said, bringing the phone to his ear. He paused, his eyes widening slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly, hanging up the phone.
"What was that about?" John asked. Sherlock remained silent, still holding the phone.
"Sherlock?"
"Molly's in a coma."
St. Bartholomew's Hospital
"Need anything to drink?" The nurse asked.
"No, I'm fine." He paused, glancing at Sherlock as he gazed absentmindedly at the far wall. "He's fine, too." The nurse left them alone in the waiting room. Sherlock continued to stare, deep in thought.
"How?" He asked finally, not moving his gaze.
"I don't know, Sherlock. I really don't."
"I went over the room at least a dozen times," Sherlock said weakly. "No evidence. No weapon, no blood. Nothing taken."
"Well, if you can't find anything, then there isn't anything to find," John said, glancing at Sherlock. The sat in silence for a while. John flipped through the magazines, skimming the articles with disinterest.
"What is it?" Sherlock said suddenly, standing up.
"What's what?"
"A feeling," Sherlock said, pacing across the room. "A feeling where you know you could've done better, done something right, and then everything would've been okay?" He paused, looking yearningly at John.
"What?"
"There must've been something I missed. Something I didn't see," he muttered to himself, walking back and forth across the waiting room.
"You can't…"
"I should have known, John! I must've known! You can't miss something like that," he said, running his fingers through his dark hair.
"You weren't even…"
"Who? Who could've gotten into the laboratory? Past security, past the nightguard…"
"We'll find them! Sherlock, trust me. We'll figure this all out," John said, trying to reason with him. "You can't know everything."
"It's not the fact that I don't know, John…"
"There wasn't anything you could've done…"
"John. Do you realize that if I would have stayed in the lab a minute longer…" Sherlock paused, turning to face John. "It's not the fact that I don't know. It's knowing what could've been prevented." He sighed, sitting in the chair next to John.
"It's called guilt," John said after a period of silence.
"What?"
"Guilt. It's a feeling," John said, turning to Sherlock.
"I'm aware."
"Well, you asked what the feeling was, where you could've done something right, but you didn't."
"I know."
"Then why'd you ask?" John asked.
"Because I was hoping you wouldn't say it," he said softly, glancing at John.
"Out of all the times you've insulted other people. Robbed them of their dignity. Degraded their intelligence," he paused, waiting for Sherlock's reaction. "You choose now to feel guilty?"
"Yes."
"But it wasn't your fault!" John insisted. "Not this time."
"John, I was the only visitor in the building. It was late, we were alone. I should have noticed someone entering the…"
"Sherlock! There were night guards! That's their job!" John said, exasperated. "Nurses! Custodians!"
"Wait. Say that again," Sherlock said suddenly, turning to face John. "Slowly."
"There were night guards. Custodians. Nurse…"
"Thank you, John! You're a saint!" He bolted out of his chair, running towards the stairway. "I'll be in the lab!"
"What's he doing?" The same nurse asked who offered them drinks asked, watching as Sherlock ran up the stairs.
"I have no idea," John sighed, shaking his head.