Chapter Five
The Man He Once Knew
-.-
Sherlock knows what he has to do immediately.
As soon as Mycroft is gone, he stands up, grabs his coat and rushes outside, hailing a cab. Fifteen minutes later, he is standing in St Bart's mortuary. Molly is with him, holding back tears. She stands to one side after wheeling out the zipped up body and watches the detective from a safe distance. How could he forget? John meant so much to him…
Sherlock closes his eyes for a second, readying himself. He is not sure what to expect, not sure what effect the actual body might have on him. Whoever John Watson was, he must have been relatively important in his life. The very idea scares him. Because he knows himself well enough to understand that he never gets attached to anything. His closest friend is the skull!
He can feel Molly staring at him and realises that he has been standing motionless for nearly half a minute. Now or never… He unzips the bag enough to expose the face of the man inside.
His first impression is: Well. He's pretty average. There is nothing special or remarkable to be noted. This is the man I once knew? He looks at Molly, wanting to make sure. She nods imperceptibly and he turns back to the slab. His hand unconsciously reaches out and sweeps the dead man's fringe back to the left side, how it is meant to be… and pulls away sharply, baffled. He shakes his head and then looks properly again.
He… There is something aesthetically pleasing about John Watson. In life, his skin would have had a certain degree more colour to it and Sherlock can almost imagine him walking around, talking, laughing… No. He can't remember. The corpse before him is just a corpse. There is no life. No personal history attached to it. Nothing.
"Why would I forget?" He murmurs to himself.
"Um…" Molly, who has stood unnoticed, tries to answer. "He was your friend–"
"Yes, but I wouldn't forget a whole person." Sherlock insists. Molly is looking at him with concern, and it takes a moment for him to realise that he is crying silently again. He wipes his eyes, embarrassed. "I don't even know what's happening to me –" His voice cracks and he stops, shaking.
"Maybe… Well, he meant a lot to you. Especially during… um, 'The Fall'."
"But I don't remember!"
"Do you remember what happened that day?" Molly asks quietly. It is a topic that she has never broached before, but she wants to know how Sherlock can answer this without John being involved.
"I was on the run from the police."He responds at once. "I asked you for assistance, came up with a plan. And then… then I met Moriarty on the roof of St Bart's. We spoke… um… Then I…" Sherlock falters, before continuing confidently. "Then he shot himself. There was no reason for me to jump anymore –"
"Was there a reason in the first place?"
"It was a game, Molly. We both knew that… that… well… I mean, he was threatening to kill Mrs Hudson and Lestrade…" He finishes uselessly. "But anyway, that's not important. I stood on the roof and I realised that by faking my death I would be a free man. I would be able to hunt the rest of Moriarty's gang and also escape from London for a time. So I did it. You know the rest."
Molly bites her lip.
"That's… That's, well, it's… But did you enjoy the three years away from home?"
"Of course."
"No." Sherlock looks confused at the uncharacteristic directness in her voice. "You didn't like it. You… You told me once, when you were in hiding… You told me that you missed him. And you… you seemed quite upset and you wanted to – to return as soon as you could, but you couldn't and…"
"I don't remember!" He insists loudly, startling her. "I..." He stops, quietens. "I need to go."
He leaves the morgue without a further glance at either Molly or John's body.
The door slams behind him.
Hello! I am literally buzzing from yesterday. That's the first time I've seen Benedict and Martin for real and I'm still in shock...
Also, I know that Sherlock is kind of OOC.. Sorry about that. I'm not exactly sure how he would react in this situation.