Chapter 3

John's POV:

Since the attack I keep a closer look on Sherlock. I look for signs of distress or pain or anything that could tell me he isn't feeling well. Sherlock knows I'm watching him but he never mentions it. He is like always, like before. Nothing happens for months. I start to feel safe again, still watching him but no longer afraid he will break down the next second.

Lestrade calls for a new case and as usual my flat mate pretends not to be interested. But I can see the light in Sherlock's eyes. It has been a long time without a case and after I had received the information about the crime scene it sounded more like an interesting eight rather than a dull four like our last case. So we storm down the stairs and hop into the next cab which as usual magically appears as soon as Sherlock lifts his hand. During the ride he is busy reading more about the case. I just enjoy this quiet time before the action starts. Which will probably end in a chase through London. The thought of this lets me look out of the window to hide my smile. Not everyone needs to know that I enjoy it. Of course not the dead or the bad situations we investigate, but the time with my friend, watch him do amazing things, the adrenalin that runs through our veins and the high after the success.

We arrive at the crime scene, a long-term car park. On the lowest platform was the body of a man, found by a security guard. The body was out of view of the security camera hid behind an old van which must have been there for ages.

I stand next to Lestrade and we are watching Sherlock who is leaning over the body to get every detail he can out of the dead man. After he is done he turns to me and asks for my opinion as if he needs it. But sometimes my input is helpful in some way. So as I move over to him and the body, Sherlock steps beside to make room for me.

The man was in his mid-forties, had a few more pounds as one would call attractive but he was not fat. His clothes are torn at his shoulder and under his skin around his neck light purple prints of a hand are visible. Strangulations marks, which together with the petechial marks on his eyes definitely point to strangulation.

Behind the hand marks on his neck I could also see older ones. Marks made by a rope or a belt. I stand up again, facing Sherlock who is waiting for my opinion.

"Cause of death: strangulation, the hands were used to cover up the rope marks. So he was probable hanged." Sherlock nods with his head to signal me he has come to the same conclusion. I step back again to let him do his work. I'm glad the crime scene is not too boring so that Sherlock enjoy himself at least a little bit (again I certainly do not wish for anyone to turn up dead just so that Sherlock or I can be entertained).

In one corner of the car park are a few containers. Until now ignored by the police as they had only searched the van which was hiding the body. Sherlock walks past the police officers in the direction of the containers. But he stops and not the way he usually does when talking about one of his theories or deductions. No Sherlock Holmes has just paused.

Before he can fully turn around and look fearfully into my eyes I know what is happening. I can see how the pain fills his mind and body. I start running the same second Sherlock's eyes close, his legs give up and he starts to scream.

"Call Mycroft!" I shout to Lestrade before I can lower myself next to my friend who is in agony. I try to hold him to prevent him hurting himself and I call his name but he can't hear me.

Lestrade lays a hand on my shoulder, he must have tried to tell me something but I was to concentrated focusing on Sherlock.

"Mycroft says he will need at least fifteen minutes." Lestrade's eyes tell me that it isn't the first time is a witness to this and we both feel totally helpless.

The scene had been cleared. The only ones left are Lestrade and me and of course Sherlock. His face is wet from tears, his hands pinching into his sweaty curls and after a really painful scream I have enough. So I do what I always do. Act!

I am pretty convinced that nothing I will do can possibly make it worse. I lay my hands on his wet cheeks to ground him and to make sure that if he opens his eyes he would see me. I remember what Sherlock had told me about his senses and the wall.

"Sherlock, focus on me, only me. There is nothing else, just me." I try to will my whole being on him, to make him believe I am the only thing that's there. I say it over and over again, the same sentence. The first time a bit desperately but my voice gets steadier with time. I have to be strong. Since Sherlock's wall is crumbling I now need to be the wall that protects Sherlock against the world. I have to become everything. I have to make Sherlock focus on me. I have no idea if what I am doing is good and helping my friend. I just continue to hold him, make him feel I am close and tell him the same thing over and over again. "I am here, Sherlock. I am here."