The Charred Remains
Chapter 18: Coming Back To Yourself
A/N: Getting closer to the end! Grizziesmom is the bestest ever! Speeding things up a bit!
It took a while for John to really settle into the small cottage with his husband. They had begun to sleep in the same bed shortly after the first night, and now John found himself missing the added warmth when Jim didn't make it to bed due to work. They had talked endlessly about the times before John's injury, and slowly John started to experience cracks in his locked away memories. They were still very few and far between, but he was beginning to truly feel like himself.
But it wasn't without complications either. The little snippets of memory that John was getting back didn't fit with the things Jim was telling him, or had told him in the letters. John had kept the letters in their box under the bed. He occasionally dug them out to read them over and try to match up the snippets with what was written, but the more he did it, the more he began to question the whole situation.
John was left alone, as was the usual routine, but this time he decided to put the time to good use. It was a little after 11AM when he watched Jim be driven away from their home. He gave a quick wave, leaning against his crutch before turning to go into the kitchen. He had the rest of the day to do as he pleased, so he decided to actually be productive. His dreams had been plagued by a man with dark, curly hair. John knew that it had to be Sherlock, but he needed to know what sort of connection Sherlock and he shared. He had a feeling it went deeper than Sherlock just being some sort of criminal mastermind.
The cottage had no technology save for Jim's laptop, which he never left unattended. John remembered he had created a blog, and he'd asked Jim to use the computer to look it over, but Jim always managed to steer him away and change the topic. John never questioned it until the dreams began to come more frequently. No matter how long John held onto the tendrils of his dreams, he could never see Sherlock's face. Well, John was done feeling like a lost puppy. He wanted answers, and if Jim was just going to continue to dodge his questions, he'd take the matter into his own hands and find what he needed.
There was a page of numbers in the kitchen that Jim had left him, one was for a driver. John wasn't an idiot, he knew the driver would be under strict instructions as to where John was allowed or not allowed to go. He picked up the phone and then used the telephone directory to look up the number of a random cab service. It actually took a few calls before a cab agreed to come out to where he was and pick him up. After procuring the ride John hobbled back to the room he now shared with Jim and grabbed the box of letters.
Once John heard the cab sound its arrival he grabbed his crutches and made his way towards the door. He grabbed a set of keys from a dish near the door before leaving. He then made his way into the cab, unaware he was being watched. He had no real idea where the best place to go would be, so he asked the driver to take him to the closest library. John settled in for the ride, still unaware that a black town car was following not far behind him.
Sebastian wasn't one to get bored easily. He'd fought off the stagnant emotion long ago when it proved to be counterproductive to his chosen line of work. What he did depended solely on his ability to be patient. Losing focus while on a job always ended up in a failure, so Sebastian did not do bored, but that never stopped the feeling from nipping at his heels. He knew though, that if he watched John long enough something would happen and it had finally paid off. He knew, just as well as Jim and the handful of operatives still in his employ, that it truly was only a matter of time before John would remember the truth. He grabbed his mobile, typing out a quick message. As soon as he had hit the send button a car was pulling up to the drive from the house.
He didn't send a message to Jim right away, he knew the man would make him stand down, but Moran was curious to see what the little doctor was up to. It was obvious he was on some sort of mission and going to certain lengths to hide it from Jim, but Moran wanted to know exactly what it was before getting Jim involved. Moran loved his job, but he hated taking unnecessary risks, and Jim had long ago made it very clear that should any part of his operation be compromised because they were too impatient, well their services would no longer be required. Sebastian curled his fingers against his thigh, watching the car ahead of them actually leave the small, country town.
John wasn't too surprised when the cab opted to leave the small village and head towards the nearest, likely larger city or town, but it did concern him a little. He felt like he had eyes on him no matter where he went, and as soon as the cab had pulled out onto a more urban road, the prickly feeling at the back of his neck grew. He swallowed the lump in his throat, curling his fingers into a tight fist as he calmed himself down. He was being irrational, he figured. It had been ages since he'd gone out, and the last time he'd done so had ended up with him in hospital.
John, however, was brought back into reality when he felt the cab jolt to a stop. He rubbed his fingertips over his forehead before straightening up. He needed to get himself under control, and getting out was a step in the right direction. He was, however, very startled to see they were in Bath. He looked at the meter and cursed under his breath. Of course the driver would take John for everything he was.
"Ta mate, did we really need to come to Bath?"
The driver turned to give him a look, "You said library, I got you to a library," he muttered.
John narrowed his gaze, "I said close—you know what, never mind, here, and that tip is for keeping you here for an hour," he muttered under his breath as he flicked a wad of notes into the driver's lap.
John was glad Jim seemed to be generous with his money otherwise John would be shite out of luck. He tossed the driver another glare before turning away with his crutches and making his way towards the rather impressive looking library. He furrowed his brows. Of course when he tried to do something it'd somehow come back to bite him in the arse, just like his failed gift giving to Sherlock on his birthday years ago.
John stopped dead at the sudden, unbidden thought. He clutched his crutch harder, wondering what the hell that was all about. He squeezed his eyes shut, the beginning of a headache starting to thump behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Oh hell, Watson, get it together," he muttered to himself before continuing forward.
Once inside John was even more overwhelmed. He stood in the door, looking around and suddenly very lost. If he had any sense left he'd turn on his heel now and run. There was too much to take in. He felt the palms of his hands begin to sweat. There was no way he'd be able to find anything.
"Excuse me sir, can I help you?" a pretty blonde woman asked, smiling brightly at him.
John startled, the voice pulling him from his thoughts. He gave her an unsure smile in response.
"Uhm, I'm here to look up a few things. Can you show me to your computers?"
The woman smiled sympathetically at him, most likely used to such people coming through the doors.
"Of course, just follow me. We do have an hour time limit on them, but if you see that no one is waiting for you to get off you may continue to browse."
John nodded along, hobbling behind her as they passed by row after row of books all held on some of the tallest shelves he'd ever seen.
"Right, I don't think I'll be more than an hour," he assured her, smiling warmly.
"Here we are, if you need me or any other assistance please don't hesitate to find me or anyone else at the desk right over there," she said, pointing to a large desk where quite a number of people were queued up with stacks of books, papers, bags, and other items.
"Right, thanks," he said, smiling once more before carefully lowering himself into the chair.
He looked around him at the others using the computers and he suddenly felt very out of place. The people surrounding him were younger, uni students all with evidence of stress lining their faces as they hurried to complete assignments or study for an upcoming exam.
Just as John was signing into the computer he heard a flurry of movement to his right. Curious, he looked up, surprised to see a young girl staring openly at him, her eyes twinkling oddly.
"Oh my god," she muttered, her voice thick with an Irish accent.
John looked around him, wondering who she could possibly be talking about.
"Oh my god it is you!" she said, her voice getting a bit louder with her excitement.
Now John was feeling very uncomfortable, "Uhm, can I help you?" he asked.
The girl practically squealed when John had spoken to her, "I never thought I'd see you in real life! I am such a huge fan of your blog…wait, oh shit, oh no, I'm so sorry!"
John was completely startled at her excitement suddenly turning to something like sympathy.
"I…uhm…I'm sorry I don't follow," he tried, speaking slowly.
The girl only shot him a sad smile, "I know it's been tough since he...well…he did the thing, but you really should start writing again, you've had a ton of support from all kinds of people. We're still rather shocked that Sherlock would do such a thing to you, but we're all here for you." The girl had gathered all her things while speaking with John and was now hurrying away, still going on about John.
It took John a good few minutes to get over the shock of what had just happened, and even then he had no bloody clue. He shook it off, more determined now to look up his blog. He couldn't quite remember what the name of it was, so he googled himself. He was, once again, rather surprised at what popped up when the page loaded.
"Christ," he muttered as he looked at a few photos of himself with a man who had a riotous mess of dark curls atop his head.
"I think you're done for the day mate," a deep voice resonated from behind John.
John stiffened, turning slowly to find Sebastian Moran standing just behind him.
"Sebastian," he uttered, tipping his head back slowly to look up at the imposing man.
"Get up, we're going home," he ordered, the bite in his voice enough to make the students around John cringe.
John, however, was a soldier. He squared his shoulders.
"No, I've finally got the chance to see what my life was and you won't take that away from me," he growled low in his throat.
Sebastian's eyes gleamed, "Johnny, your life has already been taken away. Now, I suggest you get up and follow me."
John narrowed his eyes, glancing at the computer screen again and noting the link that appeared second on the page was for his blog. He turned back to Sebastian.
"No," he stated steely.
Sebastian scowled, stepping forward and clamping a hand onto John's shoulder, "I will carry you out of here if I must and do not dare to think I won't," he growled, his fingers digging into John's bad shoulder.
The doctor ground his teeth against the pain. There was little else he could do without making a scene. He nodded his assent, breathing heavily once Sebastian let go of his arm and stepped back. John glanced at the photos again, the pounding behind his eyes starting to take on a more painful effect. He hissed, bringing his finger up to pinch the bridge of his nose, hunching over.
"Christ," he groaned, the pounding started to become more incessant.
Sebastian frowned. This was not what he was expecting when he'd come into to confront the Army doctor.
"Get up, we're leaving," he hissed, the hairs along his arms beginning to stand on end as more attention was being brought to them.
"Fuck, Seb, my head," John groaned, his face suddenly going completely pale.
Seb cursed under his breath, stooping down to curl his arm around John's waist and hoist him onto his good foot. Seb grabbed the crutches with his other arm and hobbled awkwardly through the library with John leaning on him. He glared at anyone who tried to interfere, growling low under his breath about how his entire plan had gone to pieces.
He got the army doctor into the car idling at the kerb and shot a text off to Jim. He sighed, running his fingers through his feathery blonde hair. Sometimes plans just seemed to go balls up, and Seb was accustomed to improvising when the time called for it, but that still usually ended up in someone dying.
He was just churning over all sorts of scenarios in his head when his phone rang. That was never a good sign. Resigned to getting his head bit off, Seb answered his call.
"Boss?"
"Tell me that it's not true, tell me you did not let John get the information I have been hiding from him."
Seb cleared his throat, shifting, "Well I'm not sure how much he knows. When I found him all he had open was the search page after typing in his name. There were a few photos of him and Sherlock of course, and then when I confronted him, he nearly collapsed complaining about his head. Think he needs a hospital?"
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, "Bring him home. I'll meet you there. It seems the plans have progressed after all."
Seb didn't have a chance to respond when the line went dead. He sighed, pocketing his phone. He looked over at the man laid out on the seat next to him, groans of pain coming from his lips as he shifted and moved trying to get comfortable.
"Why did you have to go looking," he muttered, settling in for the ride back to the cottage.
John could only groan in response, the feeling in his head nearly bringing tears to his eyes. It felt like someone was sawing against his skull and picking out small bits of his brain. He tried to curl in on himself but the confined space in the back of the car prevented him from doing so. He couldn't even bring himself to worry what might happen once they got home to Jim.
Time seemed to crawl by while John suffered in his own private hell. He didn't dare speak his piece. Not only was the pain unbearable, but he knew it'd make no difference. He'd just dug his grave and now his husband was going to see that he lie in it. He barely even registered the car pulling up to a stop once it'd reached the cottage again, not until the door was pulled open and the weakening rays of sun washed over him. He whimpered, the pain pounding again with renewed effect.
"Pull yourself together, Watson," Sebastian growled, pulling at John's arm, forcing the man to sit up.
John's stomach roiled at the movement. He fought back the urge to be sick all over Sebastian's shoes, but just barely. He was dragged from the car and into the small cottage. His vision swam; the edges a dull grey as his mind attempted to pull him under, his body starting to lose the fight against the pain in his head.
"Well, set him down before he's sick," a cold voice urged.
John could only groan in response, wincing when he was dropped onto the couch. He heard footsteps coming and going from the room a few different times before a clink pierced the fog.
"Here, take this, don't worry, it's only paracetamol, for now," the voice urged.
John couldn't even lift himself up to drink and swallow the pill. He felt a pair of hands lift at his shoulders. He then felt a cool glass being pressed against his palm. He then felt a pill being pressed against his lips. At the moment, he didn't even care what it was, but swallowed it. He lifted the glass with a shaky hand to down a pull of cool water. The glass was soon taken from him and he was lowered back to the sofa.
"Oh Johnny, I really wish you hadn't decided to get curious today. I was so looking forward to some more time with you and we could play a bit more. I barely even scratched the surface with you. Poor Holmes, back from the dead and out of his mind with worry for you, he'll suffer the most. He will be so saddened to hear that his little pet was put down. Ah well, they do say that all good things come to an end! It's just too bad that we've got to end you so soon Johnny!"
Jim's voice was over dramatic as he delivered his speech, a speech John barely even understood. His entire body was shivering, pain overcoming all sense. He finally rolled off the cliff and into the abyss, Sherlock's name a soft whisper across his lips just before he sunk under the total cover of darkness.
A/N: Apologies if I butchered any geography, but I had to use google for research! This story had taken a whole different turn than I had originally intended, but it's all working out just fine! I do hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me for how long this took. I intended to get this up sooner, but life has an odd way of working for me lately. I am working on the next chapter and hope to have it up soon! The next chapter will find us back with Sherlock! Yay! And then only a few more chapters to go! Thank you all, any comments or kudos or support in this story will be greatly appreciated!