Chapter 4
Sherlock's POV:
The sharp light daggers which are cutting through my every cell to hurt me are all around me. There is no place in my mind where I can hide, no place I can consider safe and no one who can save me. After all these years I know that not even Mycroft, who has a greater mind then me (I would never tell him that though, he already tells me my mind is 'close to the goldfishes'), has found something to stop it. To constantly hope would only hurt more than the pain I am feeling now. The walls are broken again. Although I tried so hard this time. I didn't want John or Lestrade (who also witnessed this once before) to see me like this but when I feel the walls crumbling it's already too late.
The clothes on my skin feel as if they are cutting into my skin or melting it away.
The light that shines into my eyes through my closed lids burns my sight.
All the noises around me, even my own heartbeat is too much and I fear that my eardrums will burst.
The smell of the city, the people around me is disgusting and I become nauseated.
And the taste, the taste on my tongue of… everything in the air… I can't describe it better as it tasting like molecules of pain.
Good thing breathing is an involuntary reflex, I'm not so sure otherwise I would be able to continue. The sharp pain is still there and I'm waiting for the darkness that follows when Mycroft give me his wonder drug. I hate this darkness, this nothingness. It is sometimes so bad that I prefer the pain, because pain shows me 'I'm still here'. Before I wake up again with my walls back up, I can't be sure that I didn't disappear for a while.
Suddenly there is something new between the bouts of pain. Something unexpected and in my life 'unexpected' always means 'John'.
First the feeling of John's hand on my face infiltrates my pain-filled mind. His warm, strong and caring hands are gently touching my face. The awareness of my body comes slowly, very slowly, back to me.
I feel able to open my up to then tightly shut eyes. John comes into my sight, blurry from the tears I have shed. John is looking with big worry into my eyes.
His mouth is moving. I can hear his voice, calling my name. Not a quiet whisper or a loud shouting, no it his steady voice that gives me a hold. He says the same words over and over again. "Sherlock, focus on me, only me. There is nothing else, just me. I am here. I am here." Repeating himself for what feels like hundreds of times.
The smell of London and the crime scene moves into the background and I can smell John: the tea, the gunpowder, the woolen jumper and everything else that makes John. He must have noticed that I am coming back to myself but neither his eyes nor hands leave me.
I begin to taste the unique taste of John's presence. How can I describe a taste?… It doesn't matter.
Somehow John is able to build a wall between me and the world of pain. Wrong. He is the wall. All I can sense is 'John'. John Watson who can enter my mind to get me back, like I said: unexpected = John.
As I finally comprehend what he is doing (a bit of understanding here please, thinking is very exhausting in my current situation) I start to fix my own wall. Still focusing on John, only John, everything else can wait. Time has no meaning so I can't tell how long it takes before I can take the first breath without pain and fear. I close my eyes while taking the breath to collect myself and John; he waits patiently for me still holding my head in place. He stopped talking a moment after I closed my eyes as if he knows that I'm back. My body is limp under his touch and there is nothing I would prefer now than to sleep. Sleep while still feeling John's hand. But with the awareness of my surrounding a more pressing thing comes also back: a crime scene with a not too fresh body. I can probably come back later but John will never let me go back to work today even if Mycroft had been here by now.
When I open my eyes I make my decision: no more work for today, just home with John, a fresh tea, relaxing on the sofa with a bit of brainless television. Maybe I will let John choose a movie. I push myself up and look into John's eyes. It's no longer only him I can see; Mycroft stands close to Lestrade who is just a meter behind John. The rest of the scene is empty; someone must have sent the police away. For that I'm really thankful. Of course they all watched me but these attacks are something I can't control differently from emotions or how I appear at a crime scene.
John is sitting next to me; one hand is still on me which takes my attention back to him. He smiles a shy smile at me and I feel a smile of my own building on my face.
"John. I would like to have a warm cup of tea now." At first John's eyes show me a bit of confusion but then he gets up and using the hand that was on my face up to a second ago he helps me up. I'm still a bit unsteady on my feet but John is close enough to catch me if I fall.
We or better John tells Lestrade we are leaving and asks him to bring the case file later to Baker Street. We ride home with one of Mycroft's cars. He knows that a cab is better than the underground but the new and clean business cars my brother has at his disposal are the best in this situation. Less people have let their prints behind in them.
Before we enter the car I stop John with a weak pull on his sleeve. He turns around. "Thank you, for being my wall." I walk past him and sit by the window in the car waiting for John and Mycroft to follow.