Deceptions
Chapter Two
"I've brought you some sandwiches."
John Watson looked up with a start, slightly disorientated by Mrs Hudson's sudden appearance at the door. He had been miles away. Lost in his turmoil. Words proved a struggle, as if he had temporarily lost the ability to speak. "Thank you," he managed hoarsely, "but I'm not hungry."
Ignoring him, Mrs Hudson busied herself with the table beside his chair, tactfully moving aside a pile of newspapers headlining Sherlock's suicide, to make room for the plate. He noticed that she was still wearing the black skirt and blouse she had worn at the funeral. "We can't have you starving yourself."
John forced a smile, knowing that he'd be wasting his time trying to dissuade her. He knew she meant well. "Thanks."
She hesitated, sighing gently as she folded her arms and glanced sadly around the room. "All his things. Whatever will we do with all his things?"
John fleetingly closed his eyes.
"His brother might come for them, I suppose."
"No," John rushed sharply, quickly reviving.
Mrs Hudson looked down at him in surprise and he had no choice but to meet her curious stare.
He knew he had no claim on Sherlock's possessions. He had only known him eighteen months. Where as his brother had known him all his life.
"I mean…not yet," he amended awkwardly. "Not yet." His latter words were little more than a whispered plea, desperate murmurings beneath his breath.
Mrs Hudson reached down to affectionately squeeze his shoulder and he relished the gesture, despite himself. He already looked upon her as a mother figure. And though he had never admitted it, he felt Sherlock had too.
"I understand, dear," she tried to soothe. "I miss him too. This place is too quiet without him."
He found himself reaching up to squeeze her hand in return. "Thanks for the sandwiches."
"That's alright, dear."
Silence stretched between them and when it started to feel uncomfortable Mrs Hudson glanced towards the kitchen, suppressing a shudder. "I won't miss all the body parts though."
John managed a chuckle though it was a heartbeat away from a sob. "Me neither."
She gave him a sympathetic smile and diplomatically left him alone.
He waited for her footsteps to die away and then slumped forward in his chair, dragging his fingers through his hair. When he finally summoned the energy to lift his head again his eyes were sparkling with unshed tears.
He couldn't believe they had buried Sherlock today. Couldn't believe that his body had been inside that coffin. Cold. Dead. That brilliant mind of his suddenly…
John swallowed uncomfortably, his throat felt dry and raw, as if he had swallowed glass.
That brilliant mind…suddenly stopped…terminated…gutted like a candle flame victim to a gust of wind.
So long ago it seemed now, but what had Sherlock snapped in a fit of frustration, way back when they had first met? That his mind was his hard-drive?
God, how he wished he had the power to switch it back on, wished it could be that easy. Just press a switch and bring him back.
Sherlock, come back. Stop this. Stop. This. Now.
His anger suddenly flared.
How could Sherlock do this? Kill himself? Never, in a million years would he have believed he would end his own life. He would have seen it as weak, beneath him, surely?
And as for that bullshit about being a fake?
John stood up vehemently, shakily, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails dug painfully into his palms. An ex-soldier maybe, but he wasn't a naturally violent man, that was why he had chosen the doctor's path, yet the desire to lash out, to smash one of those condemning faces, to let loose some of this pent up emotion that was building inside him like a time bomb…
A fake? Never! He had seen with his own eyes. Heard with his own ears. Experienced, first hand, day after day, that incredible mind at work. Endured the extremities of that bizarre yet compelling personality. There was no way that could possibly be faked!
His rage dropped like a stone, his shoulders sagging in bewilderment.
So why? Why had Sherlock lied to him?
A sob finally escaped him.
"Why, Sherlock?" he choked to the empty, silent room. "Why?"