Ending Grief
Chapter 5
John stared at his mobile phone blankly, unsure of what to do. Mrs. Hudson and he had chosen Mr. Moran as the new live-in, and she had given John the job of ringing him and telling him the good news. But he only laid in his and stared at the device in his hands.
He was nervous– a stupid feeling which John and learned long ago not to feel. Often, though, certain emotions got the best of him, and this was one of those occasions. He felt idiotic for feeling such things. He was going to call, tell Sebastian they'd love to have him move-in, and hang up. It was that simple.
Finally, he took a breath and dialed the number Mrs. Hudson had given him. It rang for a few moments and John wondered whether or not he should just hand up.
"Hello?"
"Um– hello, yes, is this Mr. Moran?" John stammered.
A chuckle. "Yes." His voice was cool and collected.
"This is John Watson from Baker Street."
"Oh, John! How nice to hear from you," Sebastian said happily from the other line.
John heard Sebastian mumble something to someone else. "Are you busy? I can call you back in a few."
"No, no! That wont be necessary. Just walking out of a meeting is all."
John then told him that he and Mrs. Hudson would like him to live in 221B, if he was still interested, of course. Sebastian exclaimed his delight in the news and the two men planned when Sebastian would move in.
Once they got off the phone, John felt a happy glow inside of him– something he hadn't felt in a while. He then realized that there wasn't an actual place for Sebastian to move into. Nobody ever came to collect Sherlock's things.
John uncomfortably entered the bedroom that he had avoided for so many months. He started to unpack the closet and set the clothes in storage boxes that Mrs. Hudson owned. Every item of clothing he touched sent a surge of pain through him, but he controlled himself. Once he walked out of the room with the boxes, he realized he had been holding his breath, and he exhaled sharply. The breath came out as a weak wheeze. John thought he was about to fall over when Mrs. Hudson came and took one of the boxes.
"I didn't know you hadn't done this yet," she said quietly as they walked to the basement.
"Never got around to it," John said.
Mrs. Hudson looked up at him. She set down the box beside the basement door and touched his arm softly. "Everything happens for a reason, John."
He laughed slightly to hold back his tears. The boxes he was holding in his hands were all he had left of Sherlock, and he was about to lock them away in the basement. It hurt more than it should have. John knew how irrational he was being. He knew that if Sherlock were there he would not approve. But sometimes painful feelings are someone's only solace, and once they finished putting the boxes away, John went to his room and sobbed in his pillow.
Throughout their entire time living in 221B, John had been ignoring his feelings. Not completely perhaps, but he had put his desires in the back of his mind and always let Sherlock lead the way. Now Sherlock was gone and John felt like he was lost. He loved Sherlock– more than he thought was possible. It was a deeper love than friendship, or even sex. It was like he and Sherlock were one being that was separated forever, and it was physically painful for him.
As John laid in bed, he remembered something he read back in college: "In Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. They came in all combinations: male, female; female, female; and male, male. The gods were proud of what they created, until humanity began to attempt to be as powerful as the gods themselves. Zeus then split the humans in half to diminish their strength, and sent the two halves in separate directions. Since then, now only walking on two legs, humans have searched the globe trying to find their other half in hopes of being complete again."
When he had first read that, John laughed. Such petty romanticism in those words. He never understood how someone could feel like they were physically torn apart from someone– until Sherlock was physically torn away from him.
He clenched the pillowcase above his head and closed his eyes.
"Tomorrow's a new day," he told himself reassuringly as tears ran down his face.