CREDIT BELONGS WHERE CREDIT IS DUE
Chapter 10
Reluctantly John left the room and headed to the flat. He needed to tell dear sweet Mrs. Hudson. She would not take the news as calmly as Sherlock had; he mentally braced himself for the flood of emotions that would come.
Silently entering the flat John trudged his way up the squeaky stairs, and proceeded to make a cup of tea. The time spent at the hospital sucked out all his energy. As Sherlock's brilliant brain deduced, his hand trembled still. Sigh. He knew Sherlock would have seen it, even if his hands had been hidden in his pockets. Another sad sigh escaped him.
"This is terrible! Very 'not good'. I need to tell Mrs. Hudson soon. Not now, but soon. I dread to know how she will take the news. She's too kind to us both, putting up with our antics at all hours of the night. This will surely do her in. "
Finally after several attempts, John had a hot cup of earl grey in one hand, and a bag of ice chips in the other. Plopping into his chair, he placed the injured hand on the ice. Examining the burns with more scrutiny, it turned out that it was not as bad as it looked. A bit red and swollen, but it would go away soon, he noted.
"Steam burns hurt more than the scalding water, and I managed to burn myself with both, well am I not creative?! Apparently I cannot make tea without burning myself…how useful I have become in these recent hours. These tremours are such a nuisance; I thought Sherlock made it go away? I am grateful for his cure to my hand. At our first meeting, Mycroft captured me and deduced the reasons for those involuntary movements, but after a short while with Sherlock, it went away. Why is it back now? Yes I know, I know….I am worried, but "not stressed", according to the brilliance of Sherlock's deductions. Maybe it is subconscious mentality?
The turn of the tide exhausted John emotionally and physically, his tired gaze rested on that hideous skull collecting dust on the mantle. God forbid if anyone touches the skull, save for his master alone. May he never see the wrath of Sherlock! Mrs. Hudson took it away once, and...well she never so much as went near the hearth for a very long time. He had quite a fit when it was missing, but seemed slightly subdued after it was firmly establish that dear, sweet 'not your housekeeper' Mrs. Hudson had taken it, and not Me! Yes, definitely feeling the lack of mutual trust right here, thanks Sherlock…honestly, why on earth would I want a skull? What would I do with it? Act out Hamlet? Name him Yorrick? Seriously Sherlock! You must think better of me than randomly taking your things just for the fun of it.
He felt rather foolish for acting like Sherlock, but decided to try it anyway; perhaps Sherlock's strange habits were starting to rub off on him. He talked to the skull out loud; maybe there was a reason why Sherlock kept the skull around…It was a good feeling to talk to someone, even if that someone was not alive. To use it as a sound board might not be so bad after all, as long as my neighbours do not see me. They might think me as a crazy old man, John reasoned with himself. As John spoke to the skull, he strode over to the window and suck a glance outside, checking if anyone within a reasonable distance. No one was near the flat. Thank goodness for that at least!
Ugh! I feel like a fool talking to you! Great losing my mind while I am at it. No one better be watching me lose my mind or I will never hear the end of it. You are a thing! A skull! You're dead and cannot respond. What is wrong with me!?So help me Hamlet! If I am going to talk to you then you are going to need a name, I cannot keep calling you "skull" or "you". It does not seem too polite, and it could become confusing. I am far from creative with names, you will be called Yorrick. I know. How original! Don't laugh at me skull, I mean Yorrick! You don't have a say, wait you cannot have a say. You cannot speak. Good grief! I need to stop now before I lose it even more.
He paused to catch his breath, and sip his tea before he absent-mindedly continued his soliloquy.
Oh! I just thought about it. Mycroft! Oh my! Mycroft has the whole place bugged with cameras. Great! Now I know I will never hear an end to this. Perhaps I can reason with him to NEVER under ANY circumstance show this video unless I agree to it. Who knows what it would do to Sherlock's inflated head- burst from too much hot air?
He let out a small chuckle at the thought. That six foot tall man-child was certainly a character of personalities all to his own. For shame, that man-child sometimes threw tantrums worse than several two years olds together. Really Sherlock, you are in your thirties or early forties. You are not TWO years old! He never would give his exact age, only mumbled something about wanting to be mysterious.
Unexpectedly, he succumbed to another wave of sadness. He sunk back in his chair, cupping his face in the palm of his hands, willing himself not to cry.
You...you...are too young. Way too young for this?! Even I am too young for this, let alone you! Oh gosh! Why does it have to be this way?
Thanks for reading! Sorry this is kind of a cliffhanger, I didn't want to wait too much longer before I updated.
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