Insanity Chapter 2, a sherlock fanfic

Title: Insanity

Summary: When John dies during a case, Sherlock begins to find his mind lose itself. Twoshot Warning: insane!Sherlock, angst

John wasn't dead.

Sherlock didn't know when it first began. It began as a soft whisper in his ear, poking teasingly at his skull. Soon enough, he was hearing it everywhere. At first, when he heard it, he was simply glad that it wasn't "John was dead." But, the voice began to sound more like John's every day. His soft, sweet, and gentle voice that reminded him of his kind smile that always greeted Sherlock. What sound used to be so pleasing to his ears now sounded like bones attempting to writhe away from its permanent grave and fool Sherlock.

"I must be losing it." Sherlock murmured softly under his breath, a cup of coffee shaking and rambling in between his hands. It was the only thing he really drank- to keep his energy up and think. He had to think, think, think, think. "Perhaps I should rest for a moment. Take a short nap. John would be pleased. He isn't dead. At least that's what my thoughts are saying. Though I know.."

He lowered the cup onto the coffee table and sat up from the living couch toward his bed. The duvet was sloppily placed back on the mattress, but it never looked more desirable. His mind palace he admitted was tired about thinking. Sherlock for the first time doesn't want to think. Sure, he wanted to figure out the case, but the simple thought of thinking sent waves of pain throughout his entire wearied body.

Sherlock laid his head against the pillow, and instantly his eyes shut down and he couldn't think about nothing, but the thought that he didn't have to think. That he didn't have to keep hearing John's sweet voice in his mind.

Good Night John.

"Sherlock!"

"John?" Sherlock's body instantly lifts up from the mattress. It was pretty dark outside, so he assumed it was past midnight. It sounded too real. It sounded too much like John. His John. "Where are you? I'm here. So you really weren't dead. I was right." he could feel tears already streaming down his face. His thoughts were right. John..John..

"I'm outside Sherlock!"

"Outside? It's snowing. You'll catch a cold." Sherlock stifled a light and put on a coat. It belonged to John, but it was the warmest parker the ex soldier owned and he always liked to see him wrapped in it. Though, the last time he was in it, he also happened to have a bomb wrapped around him as well. He threw a scarf over his neck and after pulling at the end of it to make sure he was at his warmest, because of the snow, he flew out the door. He barely bothered to acknowledge Mrs. Hudson who seemed surprised to see him so excited for once. Or even going outside.

"John! John!" he waved his arms around, stepping into the icy Baker Street. "Where are you John? Don't hide." he couldn't help but laugh out loud, lifting his hand into the sky. "It's really beginning to snow John. You wouldn't want to catch a cold. Idiot. At least that is what you would say. And then afterward hand me a cup of tea and tell me to rest on the couch and watch some crappy telly. It was worth it though because for once, someone really cared for my well being. It's a little cheesy, but that means a lot to me."

"Dear.." Sherlock looked behind him and noticed Mrs. Hudson, her face filled with concern and fear. Why did she look at him like that? Like all the others.

"What is it Mrs. Hudson? John called for me, but he hid out somewhere."

Mrs. Hudson's face fell flat and she studied his broad grin and twinkling eyes for a minute, before self nodding a few times. "Dear, let's talk. Inside. I believe we need to have a chat. It won't take long."

"But John wants me to find him!"

"He can wait for a second. Now, please. Let's go in my flat."

Sherlock groaned, before nodding and walking back inside the apartment. Mrs. Hudson led them inside her flat which as he expected, smelled flowery and pictures of warm family photos were put up. A few were cut and snipped at the side, most likely her husband that Sherlock helped send straight to prison. He sat down on the couch, feeling slightly awkward. He took several glances at the window, in case John was out there again. Why did he hide from him? They weren't children, but he was willing to look for him. It was John after all.

Why John though..

"Sherlock dear. Would you like some tea? You must be shivering."

"It's fine Mrs. Hudson. Now tell me whatever topic you must discuss. It must be serious judging from the obvious signs of discomfort, nervousness, and worry in your face. Not to mention, your hands folded across your lap and your eyes refusing to meet mine." Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened for a moment, before a smile curved at the corner of her lips. It was nice to hear from the "normal" Sherlock once in a while. She could hear his conversations when he was alone in his flat, consumed in its air. He was losing it. Insanity and madness was near its peak, she could just see from Sherlock's eyes.

"You are correct. About John," Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath, before exhaling. "He wasn't calling for you. If he was, I would more likely hear him, would I not? I after all live in the bottom floor nearest to the front door. Does that make sense?"

Sherlock's fingers tightened, the veins looking as if they were ready to pop out, before they relaxed against his knees. However, his eyes were moving around in panic and his bottom lip was quivering. "But-But I clearly heard his voice. It was John's no doubt. I know him better than you Mrs. Hudson. He was my best mate, pal, boyfriend, husband, whatever people make us out to be. No one else could sound exactly like him."

Mrs. Hudson frowned, placing her hand on Sherlock's hand which were shaking on his knee. "Sherlock, John is dead. He couldn't have called for you. Do you understand?"

"John isn't dead! My thoughts aren't saying that. Sure, they used to, but now they aren't. I'm never wrong Mrs. Hudson. Except that one time about Harry who happened to be John's sister, not brother."

"You are a very intelligent man Sherlock and no one can doubt that. However, you just lost the closest person to you. He was your perfect match who fit you perfectly and when you lost that piece, I think you began to lose it."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed, "I am offended Mrs. Hudson. I know what you're thinking. I can now see your thoughts as if it was written on a sheet of paper. You believe I am insane, on the verge of madness. I can confirm it from how your eyes look away, common mistake of humans. Eye contact shows sincerity and only a sociopath like me could master keeping it, whenever I'm lying or not. Also, you believe that I need comfort like all the others. Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly, and even that Donovan who always called me a freak." he kept speaking, not realizing his voice was cracking. "They believe I should spill out my feelings on the table and then afterward, I'll feel better. Well I am fine. I am perfectly fine. I am just in a very important case. It might be bring out a lot of emotion, but I am still perfectly okay. Alright?"

"Sherlock.."

"I'll be heading toward my flat. Have a good night Mrs. Hudson and I will see you in the morning hopefully." Sherlock adjusted John's parker and headed up the stairs, retreating toward his bedroom in his flat. His bedroom..his comfortable bedroom.

Instead of sleeping, he let his back simply sink in the mattress, the parka still on. It was going to be a long time thinking.

John is waiting.

It was all Sherlock could hear. How quickly his mind could change from "John was dead" to "John wasn't dead." and now "John is waiting." What was John waiting for? He wasn't even sure if John existed anymore after his conversation with Mrs. Hudson two weeks ago. He settled a half eaten piece of toast back on the plate. He wasn't that hungry to be honest. He just knew that not eating could result in his death and while he managed to live weeks off without a speck of food, it wasn't good for his health. At least, that was what John would say if he were there.

John is waiting.

Where are you Sherlock?

Sherlock blinked, the sudden thought popping in his head. "Huh?"

You still haven't find me. It's cold and lonely. Please Sherlock. I'm waiting.

"How can I find you? I need a set of clues. Anything to start me off. I already have so many mysteries that are boggling my head and it's hard to think. So give me something…"

Cabinet. In the kitchen.

"The cabinet in the kitchen. Which one?"

Top one next to the stove. Please find me Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded with determination, and slowly peeling himself off from the couch, walked toward the kitchen. His footsteps were slow and heavy, echoing in the flat with each step.

"So your loyal dog is here to become the hero?" Moriarty's laugh bounce off the walls, a sneer clearly plastered on his face- enjoying watching John's eyes looked in panic toward the trigger being played with teasingly. Sherlock's eyes widened, feeling his gun frozen in between his hands, his own finger near the trigger- ready to fire. Why was John in front of him? Did he actually want to protect him?

"Maybe I'll fire." Moriarty said. "Or maybe I won't. I'm not totally sure. This soldier of yours is pretty cute Sherlock. I can see why you keep him. Makes you look taller too. Too bad the bells for you two won't ring anytime soon."

"Shut up Moriarty. Or I'll ring your death bells right here and then." Sherlock growled, ready to take a step toward the right and shoot for Moriarty's heart. He didn't want to end up shooting John.

"How cute. Two lovebirds. And I thought we had a special thing going on Sherly. You broke my heart. I'll have to break yours."

"Don't call him Sherly you fucking bastard." John's scream echoed, spreading his arms and legs further to protect the detective. "If you dare attempt to shoot him-"

"Oops. Shot the wrong guy. My bad." Moriarty laughed, watching as the soldier who spoke so determinedly a moment ago, fall to his knees, the bullet going straight through his heart and letting out more blood than John had ever seen himself spill. And he had spilt a fair share of blood during war.

Sherlock pulled open the drawer and the only thing lying in it was a small, white, plastic bottle with the title, For Your Purposes Only. His eyebrows furrowed slightly and he opened it, revealing a small red tablet, gleaming from the kitchen lights.

"What is this doing here in the cabinet?"

That's how we'll be together again Sherlock.

"Why should I?"

You'll never have to be alone or empty or sad. All the mysteries you've been contemplating will disappear and we can be together again. Wouldn't that be nice? For once in your sad, pathetic life. I miss you Sherlock.

"John!" Sherlock ran toward John's side, placing him on his lap so his back didn't have to be against the hard, cold floor. "Are you alright? Please tell me you'll be okay…"

"Sherlock, I'm afraid I'm a goner." John felt a tear drop on his face. He wasn't sure if it was spilling from his eyes or possibly, from the detective's. "Damn Moriarty. I wish he didn't shoot me. It hurts like a bastard, you know?"

Sherlock silently nodded, placing his hand against John's cheek. It only felt right. But, the touch sent shivers up his body for John's body was shivering ice, all the warmth sent toward the wound and away from everywhere else.

"You... you told me once that you weren't a hero. Umm, there were times I didn't even think you were human. But let me tell you this, you were the best man, the most human... human being that I've ever known, and no-one will ever convince otherwise, so there. I was so alone, and I owe you so much. But, please, there's just one more thing, one more thing, one more request, Sherlock, for me. Don't..die. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it. Stop this pain. I want to die.."

"I promise.." Sherlock bit his lower lip, a swelling pain in his heart. What was this feeling? "J-John..?"

John's eyelids were near shut, so near death. He managed to nod, showing that he was listening.

"I'm glad you said that. Remember how I asked you what you would say within your final breaths? I'm so glad that those were the words you chose to say..thank you. And.." John's eyelids were shut fully, his pulse ceased to exist. "Good bye."

"I miss you too John. I miss you so goddamn much." Sherlock choked out, tears stinging at the corner of his eyes, failing to fall. "I wish you were here. I'll be there soon John, okay? So those words you said to me that night, those won't have to be your last words. I don't want them to be. I-I-I love you John."

"I love you too Sherlock."

"John!" Sherlock tripped over his own feet, wishing he had glasses to re-adjust for he must have been hallucinating, like Mrs. Hudson suggested. But, it was really John in the flesh. The same tan lines, the same smile creased on his lips, the same worn wrinkles on his face, the same jumper he insisted on wearing in the mornings. This had to be John. But..

"You're supposed to be dead..?"

"Didn't you hear my voice within your own head? I told you I wasn't dead and here I am. It's me, John. Hey, why are you crying?"John's face fell flat, nervously reaching a hand out at Sherlock. Sherlock blinked for a few moments, and pressed his hand against his cheeks. They were wet as if he was crying. He didn't even realize that he was crying.

"You should be dead. You shouldn't be here. I'm not sure anymore."

"I'm here. Now, let's go. Just take the pill. Go on."

"..so we can be together forever, right?"

"Yes. And we can solve crimes and live in our flat in 221B Baker Street. You wouldn't have to worry about me leaving you for a girlfriend of mine, because there, we'll always be together. There will be no pain and no worry."

"There won't?"

"None."

"I-I love you John."

"I love you too."

"Please hold me. I don't want to die alone."

"And you shall not."

Sherlock reached out toward the pill that has fallen toward the tile floor and slowly pulled it toward his lips. It was barely touching, but he could already see his dead corpse- too late to be saved- and Lestrade and his team surrounding it with a small frown, shaking their heads slightly. Or perhaps Mrs. Hudson would be the one to find him in this state and in a state of shock, drop a tray of tea and biscuits she brought up for the detective. And there would be a bit of mourning. But no one would miss the detective. People would move on and continue to live on with their lives. His website would be abandoned and no one would be able to call and seek assistance from the world's only consulting detective, because he would be dead.

He looked around slowly, his eyes widening realizing that he was all alone again. John wasn't there in the room. Why would he leave him? Sherlock asked to be held. To not die alone.

And here he was. About to die alone like he always imagined before John came along.

Don't die Sherlock.

Don't listen to him.

"Listen to who?"

John appeared again before Sherlock. "Swallow the pill Sherlock. You take awfully long."

Sherlock gulped nervously, "I-I'm sorry. I-I.."

I don't want you to die. Not like this.

"Take it so we can be together."

"Y-You're not John, are you?"

"What? Of course I'm John. You knew me all your life Sherlock."

He's not John. He's an image conjured up in your head. Please don't die. For me Sherlock.

"I can't die."

"Why can't you? That pill is there for you to take so you can die and come with me."

"I made a promise with John, before he died. I promised I wouldn't die. I'll break it one day. All humans die at one point in their lives. But not today. Not by my own hands. If I die, it'll most likely be in a showdown against Moriarty or some other case. Maybe it'll even be simple illness that was found out too late. Whatever happens, my death won't be at the hands of a voice in my head pretending to be John. I know John much better than that. He wouldn't ask me to die. So leave me the bloody hell alone!"

"Sherlock..you can't be like that. I'm your best friend. Your partner in crime."

"My best friend and partner in crime..is dead and the bravest and most sweetest man that I ever known with nerves of steel. He happens to be a crackshot as well. He has an older sister nicknamed Harry and she's a bit of an alcoholic. He preferred drinking tea over coffee and always bought our groceries, because I would refuse out of sheer laziness or concentration in my work. He always denied that he was gay and that we were a couple, which I would usually just quiet my mouth about. And when he died, he died to protect me. You're nothing like that."

Thank you Sherlock.

The image of John chuckled softly for a few moments, "I suppose I'm not," and vanished without another the broken detective for the first time smiled sincerely toward the world without a doubt in mind.

A Few Weeks Later..

"Hello Lestrade. Any interesting cases?" Sherlock asked, grinning broadly at the officer. He managed to sneak his way into Lestrade's office without permission of the secretaries outside. Not like he didn't do this every single time.

"I happen to have one. Five murders all in different abandoned pool areas across the United Kingdom. Not a trace of blood on each of the victims. Seems like suicide, but you'll probably convince me otherwise." Lestrade said, slightly smiling, as he sipped at his cup of coffee with his feet planted on his desk.

Sherlock softly chuckled, "Like always."

"I-It's nice to have you back. Though I have a question for you?"

Sherlock threw him a questioning glance. "What?"

"Have you figured out the answer to that bloody case of yours?"

Sherlock thought for a few moments in silence, before finally answering with, "I haven't figured out the exact answer for the two questions in the case. But, if I were to think of an answer, it would be because..I love John. However, he's dead and I can accept that it's his fate. After a while, I found that it was harder to swallow in than I thought, but now, my mind feels clearer and my heart doesn't feel as empty. I believe that matters more in the end. The destination. I know many say the journey there is more rewarding, but that journey was quite hellish for me."

Lestrade nodded, "I see. Well I'll see you at the next drug bust world's only consulting detective."

Sherlock smiled lightly out the window, the afternoon sunlight beaming at him, "I still am the world's only consulting detective. And I will be for a long time."