Noises of the battle seeped in through the windows, quickly stifled by the apartment air, thick with apprehension. Flashes of energy surged by, lightening the cramped space like a camera capturing a frozen moment. I perched on a chair, a cup of coffee warming my numb hands and watched the stranger that lay cocooned on my lumpy sofa. Bundled in blankets and huddled before the fire place the man continued to shiver viciously, the words flowing from his mouth like a stream of water as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Hypothermia settled in for the night.
{ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}
The man slept for 2 days; waking only once to cry out into the night. I rushed to his side worried he'd injure himself as he thrashed senselessly. I knelt by the sofa, still groggy from sleep and placed a wary hand on his shoulder. Sweat streaked his angular face, fear and panic plagued the deep blue of his eyes and his whole body shook viciously. There was no more I could do than talk slowly and calmly to him, desperately hoping he'd find some safety in my words. His face searched mine, dazed and confused, but the steadiness of my voice seemed to soothe him and he soon collapsed once again, limp and exhausted.
{~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}
He woke on the morning of January 12th. I was making coffee in the kitchen when a single word tumbled from his lips. "Thankyou." No more than a whisper. He'd muttered mindlessly throughout the night but for some reason this single word seemed more conscious and deliberate than any other.
I soon found myself face to face with the stranger that had occupied my couch for 2 days and oddly, I was lost for words. It dawned on me how foolish I had been to take in a complete stranger I found wandering the shoreline during a storm, oblivious to any dangers that might present to myself when he woke. Despite how weak and feeble he looked I was suddenly incredibly conscious of his foreboding height and broad tensed shoulders. How much did I not know?
"You – you saved me." He mumbled. The words drowning in the mug before his lips. His voice was deeper than I'd anticipated, like the deep growl of thunderous clouds. I took a brief sip from my own coffee and answered with a small smile. We sat for minutes, not saying a word, him seemingly lost in the peaceful silence and me not wanting to shatter the tranquillity.
"Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes." He offered his pale hand.
"Molly." I took his hand and shook it once. "Molly Griffin."
"Molly." He chuckled. An act that shook his weak body dynamically and sounded odd in the cramped space. "I had a friend called Molly. Always there for me she was. Always. Even now and even then."
I could see his eyes slip away with his mind, lost in a deep memory. I could see the longing for his lost friendship, the darkness of an unknown tragedy and regret, deep, deep regret swirling and building like a storm in his eyes. A single tear broke its way out of that storm, climbed the steep mountain of his cheek bone and tumbled down the other side, slipping to hide inside the cave of his chin.
"And John?" I whispered. This struck a nerve, yanking him sharply out of his memory like a slap in the face. "You talked about him," I continued cautiously, "while you slept. You wanted to apologise. Told him how sorry you were. Screaming out his name sometimes, pleading with him not to be angry, to try and understand, wanting him to forgive you, begging him to forgive you."
Silence fell as the essence of the words hung still in the air.
I'd said too much.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry." The words tumbled from my mouth. "You were just talking constantly, muttering to yourself and I couldn't help but hear, even though I tried not to and I was worried you wouldn't wake up and I didn't know what to do and - " The useless apology slipped away before I could snatch it back. I cringed and stood up starkly, then whispered to the sullen man, "Sorry. I'll leave you alone. Uh, there's food in the kitchen, I'll, um, be in the back room if you need me."