Chapter 21: It's ok, John.
After a couple of minutes of walking, I feel back to normal again. John and I are now walking alone as Lestrade had to stay behind to deal with the fall-out of the chaos I had caused. I'm sure that in the future, John and I will look back on these flashbacks and laugh, maybe.
As we get nearer to Baker Street, I notice John is slowing his pace a little. At first, I think he must be getting tired again, but then I realise why he's so reluctant: he was held in 221c for a week, and I've never asked him anything about it. I have no idea what horrors he faced there alone.
"Are you ok?" I cautiously ask.
"Oh, you know...fine." John says with equal caution.
We fall into silence as we round the corner onto Baker Street.
The street seems to last forever as I try to think of some way to lighten the mood.
Eventually, we reach the door to 221B. Suddenly, it looks too dark and too tall. I remember delving through it in my desperation to find John.
Realising John isn't going to, I fumble for my key in my pocket and unlock the door. Pushing it open carefully, I half expect one of Moriarty's men to be here.
There is no sign of anyone. Mrs Hudson won't be back until tomorrow morning. For now, we are alone.
I step inside the door and remove my coat, tossing it over the end of the banister in my usual fashion. Looking back to the door, I notice John is still standing on the stairs outside.
"Come on, John." I say, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
"Sherlock, I...I don't think I can." John stutters, gripping the rail next to the the steps, his knuckle turning white.
I walk back to the door where John is.
"It's ok, John, nobody's here. Moriarty's long gone by now. The flat is empty." I say, turning as I do so and holding out my hand to emphasise my point.
"I know it's empty, it's just...I just...I can't." John says, his face drained of colour, causing his terrified blue eyes to stand out even more.
"John, just go one step at a time. Come right up to the door." I gently coax, realising this is going to be harder than I thought.
John's feet shuffle up to the door, but he doesn't touch the boundary, as if doing so would spark some terrible occurrence.
"There you go. Now, put one foot through the door, then the other." I coax again.
John grips the doorframe hard as he steps inside. I want to close the door so that nobody can pry, but John is currently standing in the way, and I don't want to make him feel trapped.
I want to ask about his time here, but I don't want to make John think about it more. Damn it, what else is he thinking about at the moment? "Did you walk in before, or were you carried?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
John looks me dead in the eyes, and I see his fear. Not just the fear someone has about a spider or something, but genuine terror. "M...Moriarty told me that urm, if I didn't walk up to the door, unlock it and casually walk in, he would break straight into the hospital and stab you through the heart." John shakily says, closing his eyes and swaying slightly. I need to get him upstairs and sit him down.
"John." I say "I'm going to close the door, so can you step a little further inside?"
Tentatively, John shuffles his feet a little further into the flat, allowing me to shut the door softly behind him.
I turn back to John and follow his gaze to the door of 221c. "It's ok, John, he's not here." I say, before lightly pressing his arm in order to direct him to the stairs.
Thankfully, John allows me to guide him up the stairs and into our flat. It feels so familiar, left just as it was the morning we left in such a hurry, coffee mugs still on the table.
I slowly guide John to his chair and motion for him to sit down, he does. I look at him. His eyes are dim and almost glass-like, his skin is pale and his gaze darts around the room nervously, checking for intruders. I know Mycroft will have put cameras up around the flat to watch our every move, and make him able to dart into action if I have another flashback.
"I'll make some tea." I say, not waiting for John's reply, I head to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, I bring the steaming cups into the room, set them down on a small table and sit in my chair.
I look into John's eyes. "Tell me what happened to you here, John." I say.
He closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, opens his eyes again, looks at me, and begins his story.