2
"John, dear! Would you like something to drink..?" Mrs Hudson entered the room, carrying a tray of tea. She smiled at the frowning man, who was leaning forwards clutching his face. John warily glanced up, and sighed. Not Sherlock….
"No thanks, Mrs Hudson - I'm fine…" He returned to watching the blank television.
"Dear - Surely you can't still be waiting for him," She sat down by him, slightly puzzled, placing the tray on the table, "It's been hours… And you haven't moved a bit!"
"It's just - I don't know where he is… After last night… I'm worried about what he's gone and done…"
"What do you mean, dear…? After last night..?" She moved closer, intrigued. A smile creeping across her face.
"Mrs Hudson! We are not - we didn't…! Look… I was tired; trying to get some sleep – and he wouldn't leave me be… He was bored… So I - I told him to just go away… he didn't take it well…"
"Oh," She sat back, picking up a teacup, "So… Why are you waiting…?"
"I don't know… I-"
The door downstairs slammed shut, causing Mrs Hudson to nearly drop her drink in shock. They heard footsteps, getting closer, and then stop. Crossing his arms angrily, John sat back. Seconds passed. Minutes. Then the door slowly opened; the handle rattling. Something's wrong… thought John, tilting his head. He watched the taller man walk into the room, shaking, and sit himself next to Mrs Hudson; whom he ignored.
"Sherlock…" The man blankly looked up, hearing his name. He seems different… John noted.
"Sherlock…? Where have you been?"
"I – I… I don't know…" Sherlock whispered, looking down at his lap. Obviously hiding something… but what?
"What happened then..? Is there something you need to talk about?" John glanced at Mrs Hudson, "Privately?"
Taking her cue to leave, she left; once again did Sherlock fail to acknowledge her. Sighing, John went over to sit next to his silent flatmate.
"Sherlock, please…"
"John, for the last time, I do not know where I was…"
"Ok… but do you know - why you was… wherever you was…?"
"I… I – uh… was bored…"
"Bored, right, of course you were," Silence, "… was anyone else there?"
Sherlock paled slightly. "No… No-one… I was – alone," Too fast, John thought, creasing his eyebrows. "I need to go -"
"Sherlock... You just got here…"
He stood up, "… to my room." John watched after him, confused. What has he done? This isn't him… Isn't like him at all… His thoughts trailed off, but he knew what to do.
Tentatively, he picked up his phone, and dialled.
Upstairs, Sherlock was sprawled out on his bed, thinking, no, remembering, about the early morning's events. The adrenalin still pumped through his veins, and it wouldn't leave him be… The images just refused to be deleted… He sighed, closing his eyes in despair. Surely he hadn't… enjoyed what he had done, he couldn't have… but what else would explain the shaking? Shock? No, he thought, frowning, I… It -
John mustn't find out…
He couldn't…
What would he think of him then?
I didn't mean to, he kept telling himself repeatedly, it… it was an accident… I – I can't explain… I… He stopped, mid-thought, an unnerving smile suddenly plastered onto his face, as no matter how much he could deny it, he knew, deep down, he had.