Chapter 27

As time passed Sherlock's temper gradually worsened, to no avail would anything calm the madness ongoing in his mind. It was a heart-wrenching display for John to witnesses, as he often saw the worst of it. Molly occasionally came when she had her day off, and soothed the poor man, distracted him from the inevitable with idle chatter, but that relief last only as long as she was with him. The suffering one would pace up and down, well, attempt to pace was it is rather difficult to storm about a flat cluttered with rubbish. John did his best to keep the flat clutter-free, but Sherlock insisted on still performing experiments, and that meant everything pertaining to the consulting detective scientific study was thrown haphazardly around the kitchen.

Sometimes the sad man would curl up on his chair and refuse to move or eat for long periods of time. No amount of persuasion from his friends would change his disposition. He merely zoned out all noises. Those once brilliant and vibrant eyes only looked off into distance, it was, what his caring friends thought it as "a look of defeat and acceptance".

A bitter one it was though: Acceptance. How much of an acceptance is it truly so, if all it means is 'I give up'? Acceptance shouldn't equate to hopelessness his concerned friends wholeheartedly agreed. In some way or another they would bring the Sherlock they knew back, no matter how annoying or stubborn he was. They missed their friend, John most of all. He couldn't stand the disposition of his friend reduced to being trapped in a war within his own mind.

What his concerned friends didn't know of was the desperation behind Sherlock's mask of faux-Acceptance.

No! Wait! Don't go! Hold on. Stop! Don't do this to me! Please. Take this as my last request. What I would give to have this one last case to solve. Once it is solved, you can take it away, take everything. Take my life-I do not want it any more once you are in control. What good is it to me if I cannot see,The Work is my life. Without it, I have no life, I am as good as gone. I will still alive, but there is such a difference between life and living. Time, please, I beg of you. I promise to be kind to Mycroft, not fight with him over useless things. Give mum more kisses. Listen to father more. Promises and more! Please. Let me see the ones I care most about before I sink into the whirlpool devoid of all beauty and colour. I promise to remember the earth revolves around sun and recall every fact about the nine planets, if only I could see the magnificence of space still. Time...show some compassion, please. The world showed no compassion to me, but you could. One last request. Grant me please.

This was the raging battle no one would be able to help him. This was not Acceptance, this was Bargain. Time drove a hard bargain because he made a deal with the Devilish Mighty Twenty-two. Sherlock's plea did not carry the same weight Twenty-two did; the heavier one won, obviously.

Dear Sherlock,

I'm so so sorry. I can't help you anymore.

Sincerly,

Time

Of the weeks leading up to the special date, Mary made an extra effort to talk with Sherlock. She wanted him to have no doubt, not been of the smallest amount that the marriage would not change the friendship he and John had established so long ago in that fated meeting at the lab. Some days she had pleasant conversations with him about scientific topics or experiments, those were his best days. He was quite the gentleman then, opening the door for her, making tea, and the like. On his worst days, Sherlock would only stare at the wall he peppered with bullets ages ago. He refused to talk, but couldn't refuse to listen as much as he tried to filter out her words, he just couldn't. It was some unknown essence keeping his mind and hearing fully engaged with her voice. Mary, the strong willed one she is, was undaunted despite his behaviour. She merely chatted to him in a one-sided conversation about her work or wedding arrangement.

It was purely a coincidence that John overheard the conversation his Mary was having with his best mate on a mostly bad day. He hadn't mean to eavesdrop, but the intriguing topic stopped him short from coming down the steps into Sherlock's flat. Leaning over the railing he heard his fiancée's words, words he was a bit thrown aback at:

"I haven't know your for very long Sherlock, but I'm your friend. I hope you know and remember it. John is your best mate and my husband-to-be, that is the best combination of titles ever. The kind of relationship you two have is quite remarkable. I may be his wife, but it is you he will always run to first. I am second rate to my own husband, most women wouldn't have been able to last this long in a relationship with him, but I am different. Together both of us can make John truly happy. We both want that, I know for a certainly. In order for that to happen, you must be happy. Truly happy."

He didn't sleep often for long periods of time, but recently he couldn't keep his concentration on anything for long periods of time. Why that was so the consulting detective couldn't understand at all. Granted, he had a lot on his mind at present with his personal health and the unfinished case. It was most vexing, not being able to solve the case.

What was wrong with NSY? Why couldn't they provide any useful information for their consulting detective to work with? He was a detective, not a miracle worker. Surely they could distinguish the two...but one could never be too sure especially if Anderson was involved. That man, that Philip, was such an odd man. Not a brain cell of decency, it's a wonder how he manages anything by himself! Anderson wasn't a bad man, or an unintelligent one, it was just he chose to pick fights with a five-years old grown man. Shame on Anderson for knowing better and still doing it, and shame on Sherlock for acting like a child all the time.

The case finally started to progress quicker, a lead was found at a vandalised building. At first it seemed as if a was merely delinquent wreaking havoc in the area, but this one was significant. Ordinarily, it would have been dismissed as another nuisance, but this was different. The number 8 was painted in bright red all over the building, close to where the five criminals were apprehended. It was clearly connect to the criminals still locked up in the holding cells. NSY finally made some progress after slaving away scouring the resources for information on the creature markings. Turns out the creatures, colours, and number of criminals involved were all rather significant. Greg was beyond thrilled, and phoned the consulting detective hastily.

Perhaps Time was extending his merciful hand, it only begs to wonder: What kind of deal did Time make with the Mightily Twenty-two?

"Sherlock! We've got a lead for the Spider Web case. Coming?"

"Of course George! Don't be daft, you know how long I've been wanting to finish the case,"Sherlock fired back shooting straight out of his chair trying not to trip over his own feet for being so hasty causing him to nearly plant his face on the rug, "Would have gone faster if your minions knew where to look. I will be right over."

"My name is GREG, as in GREGORY LESTRADE!" Lestrade punctuated rather loudly to the consulting detective's answer. "At least he remembered the first letter correctly, that's progress, I guess?" the DI mumble to himself whilst massaging his temple. That grown child gave him more grey hairs than all his past stressful encounters working for NSY added up and tripled.

"Whatever. It's not important," Sherlock dismissed with a careless flick of the wrist, "Get up John! The game is on! Hurry up! Let's go NOW!" Lestrade couldn't get the phone away from his ear fast enough, Sherlock's voice screamed through the earpiece clearly despite being so far away from his face. He shuddered, that voice nearly blew out his eardrum. Thank goodness Lestrade was in his office with the door closed all the way when he phoned, or else the entire floor would have heard Sherlock screeching at his turtle-paced flatmate. They probably heard some of it anyway, Sherlock was known to be overly dramatic. What a surprise that was...

Sure enough the two men stood before Lestrade with a scowl on their faces, but for entirely different reasons. He couldn't help but chuckle at the déjà vu feeling from weeks ago when an over eager beaver got elbow jabbed in the side by an annoyed half-asleep companion.

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms, "Well?! What are you waiting for Gilbert? I haven't got all day. I do have a life besides solving crimes for you pathetic lot."

John shot an incredulous look at his flatmate gawping like a fish out of the water.

Really? Did you really just say that Sherlock? You have a life besides solving crimes?! Well excuse me, but I beg to differ by a wide margin. Where should we begin, I've got a running list. All you ever complain about is not having enough cases to solve.

Gregory Lestrade huffed an exasperated sigh and John offered a sympathetic smile, it was clear the brilliant minded talking encyclopaedia would never remember the good detective inspector's first name. It wasn't important information, but it would have been a nice gesture since typically remembering the first name of friends is considered good manners.

"Well, let's go then!" Lestrade announced, so they headed off to investigative the newest evidence.

A-N: (hectic course schedule this coming week, won't have chance to start writing until mid next week. just letting you know in advance. )

I hope you've enjoyed to story so far! Do leave a comment please. The story will wrap up soon, but never fear, I've already begun the first chapter of the unnamed sequel. I hope you stick around for Part II and III! :D

The idiom "Catch-22" refers to a dilemma or difficult circumstance from which there is no escape because of mutually conflicting or dependent conditions. I'm not sure how many readers understood the reference in the last chapter entitled with the idiom, or the reference in this chapter, but now everyone knows! :) The idiom comes from "Catch-22", a satirical novel by the American author Joseph Heller.