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John awoke when the sun started peeking through his curtains that he forgot to close before he went to bed. He looked over to his alarm clock.
6:47 Am. He sighed and sat up; he supposed he wasn't going to get back to sleep now that he was aware of the time.
Sherlock could still be in bed so he tried as much as he could to be quiet. He yawned on his way to the kitchen and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Sherlock standing in front of the window in the living room, staring outwards to the street.
"What are you doing up this early?" John continued to yawn and switched on the kettle.
"Couldn't sleep." Sherlock replied. His voice sounded dry and dark.
Insomnia, John thought. "So you've been up all night?"
"Mm."
"Well, how about later on, I go to the chemist and see if I can get you some sleeping tablets?"
Sherlock turned to John, a sarcastic smile on his face. "I've gone weeks without sleep, I'm sure I'll be fine."
"It's not healthy. Especially with this case and-"
"I am aware of that." Sherlock interrupted angrily, "I'm not an idiot."
John frowned, "I never said you were, I just-"
"I don't need your help, you've done enough." Sherlock's eyes were dark and John felt almost scared to look into them.
"Fine, all right." John put his hands up in defeat, "just let me know if you do need my help."
"Oh you'd love that wouldn't you?" Sherlock hissed, "Playing me like a pack of cards, letting me crawl into your grasp just to close your fist on me; crush me."
John stood bewildered. "What?"
Sherlock seemed to drop his guard for a moment, "never mind." And he turned back towards the window.
The rest of the morning passed in silence. Sherlock staring down to the street below the flat and John reading the newspaper, then watching television, then leaving the flat to get milk and coming back to see Sherlock exactly where he was before. He was a bit wary leaving Sherlock alone again, but he knew he would only be the maximum of three minutes, and Sherlock may be impossibly brilliant, but in no way could he have super speed.
John thought he should say something to break the silence of the apartment and maybe try to get Sherlock to move or at least go to bed. Something; anything! His silence was worrying, although he shouldn't be worried because Sherlock wouldn't speak to days on end, he knew this was because of something that Sherlock probably couldn't control and was obviously having problems with.
John studied his posture: tense, alert and defensive. John knew he'd been like that all morning and it was obvious the man was on his last legs, just by seeing how exhausted he looked from when he'd turned around to face John earlier that morning.
"Tea?" John asked putting the milk on the kitchen table. Sherlock didn't reply and John crossed the distance between them warily. "Sherlock?"
"Don't have time." Was all he got. John gave him a quizzical look and look down towards the street to see a police car parked out front.
As if on cue, Lestrade trotted up the stairs with Mrs. Hudson in tow.
"I thought I'd better let him in, it's quite chilly outside today." She smiled at Lestrade who rubbed the back of his neck, looking a bit awkward. He cleared his throat,
"Henry Saint is recovering in hospital, we've had police officers in to question him but he won't talk about anything that happened."
Sherlock turned around, "let me speak to him."
"Now wait a second, he's not mentally stable, anything could set him off and we're not sure what he's capable of doing."
"Do you want me to solve this case or not?" Sherlock asked seriously.
Lestrade seemed to debate it in his head and soon sighed, "Okay, but be reasonable with his behaviour. The poor bloke's traumatized."
"Good." Sherlock nodded and Lestrade gave him an uncertain look. "Not good that he's traumatized, I meant..." He trailed off.
Lestrade nodded slowly and regarded John with a small smile then left.
John looked over Sherlock and then himself, "we'd better get dressed then."
Sherlock nodded and headed towards his bedroom. John watched him go and sighed quietly to himself. Sherlock wasn't making anything easier for him; he was like a whole other person. John never even liked it when Sherlock used his acting skills to question suspects; this just made him even more restless knowing it wasn't an act.
"You're the one who suggested we get dressed and you're not even out of your pyjamas yet." Sherlock mocked, entering the living room in a fresh, dark blue suit that really complimented his figure.
John snapped out of his thoughtful daze and lightly smiled, "I was miles away." He started towards the stairs to his bedroom before he stopped. "Just in case you don't already know, you can speak to me about anything. Anything Sherlock, I promise you." And he climbed the stairs without taking a look back to Sherlock.
Henry Saint looked much better than he did the evening they found him in those disgusting toilets, half dead. The ginger mop of hair on his head was cleaned of any blood or dirt and his sea-blue eyes were clear and bright, maybe a little bit glazed over but that was due to medication he was taking.
When Sherlock stepped into the room, Henry seemed to make no attempt to notice he was there. Sherlock didn't bother removing his coat or sitting down so neither did John, he silently stood by the door and watched the scene in front of him; this wasn't in his hands. Sherlock had known Henry, it just depended if Henry could remember Sherlock – if he did, it was a good sign, it meant he trusted Sherlock.
"Henry." Sherlock's deep voice pierced the silence in the room. Henry looked up towards Sherlock and squinted. His expression switched from confused, astonished and unsure then he smiled widely and sat up.
"Oh my god- it's you, I mean, it's you – Sherlock." His grin never faltered as Sherlock gave a small smile that was obviously forced. Henry's voice was light and distant, almost the complete opposite of Sherlock's.
"Haven't seen you in years. Two years actually," Henry paused and counted on his fingers, "is that right? Two years?"
"Thirty-two months." Sherlock corrected.
"Yeah...yeah, wow that's long. So how have you been, mate?" Henry patted the chair next to him but Sherlock didn't sit down.
"I'm not here for a catch up; I'm here to know what happened with your ex-girlfriend. Well, I'm assuming she's your ex bearing in mind she tried to kill you."
John tutted loudly and shook his head, typical Sherlock, completely inconsiderate. Henry was mentally unstable and he just gets straight to the point. "Sherlock, for God's sake."
Henry looked take a back, "who, Rachel? W-why would she...want to kill me?"
"So her name was Rachel this time." Sherlock said to himself.
"What? 'This time', what do you mean by 'this time'?" Henry frowned. John decided it was his time to step in and explain everything because obviously Sherlock was too busy bloody traumatizing Henry even more, completely forgetting that they were previously 'friends'.
"Your...ex, she's murdered men before you." John began, stepping towards Henry's bed. "She goes by a different identity each time and we're trying to figure out why that is. Is there anything you could tell us about her?"
"I-I...She likes pineapple juice. She liked it a lot. It was weird, because, you know when somebody likes something, they always have it but she never had it, not once since we got together, you know? It was weird because I asked her, I said, 'why don't you ever drink pineapple juice if you like it so much?' And she...well she, she told me to shut up, that I spoke too much. I don't speak too much, do I? Do I?"
John paused for a moment, "did she usually tell you to shut up?"
"Only when I was talking too much, which I don't, because I told her all the time I hardly talk unless she talks to me, because I annoyed her." Henry shut his eyes at the memory. "This one time, I asked her, I said 'Rachel, why do you think I'm annoying?' and she said, 'I won't have you speaking to me like that, I don't like you speaking to me like that.'" Henry mocked a female voice and laughed shortly after. His laughed stopped immediately and he stared forward, frowning.
"She always spoke about Jessica. At night, before we went to sleep, she would stroke my hair and say 'Jessica didn't like him. Jessica didn't like him when he mean. Jessica would have liked you Henry, you're so kind to Rachel.'"
John looked at Sherlock, who gave him a quizzical look and shrugged.
"Sorry, who's Jessica?" John asked. By now, he'd taken out a notepad and started jotting down notes. How could this woman pull off so many different names? And most importantly, how could she turn men into a mess like...well, like Henry Saint.
"I don't really know." Henry's voice was distant again, "I never wanted to ask. I was too scared...isn't it funny how fear runs our lives? We run and we run and we run, but in the end, we're not running. We never run. It's the fear that's running instead."
John turned away from Henry and pulled Sherlock over to the other side of the room. "Jessica could be Rachel's real name." He whispered.
"I was thinking the exact same thing." Sherlock replied and smiled at John. Sherlock turned to Henry, the smile still showing on his face.
"How much did Rachel talk about Jessica?" Sherlock's voice was softer than before and John clenched his jaw, surely his mood couldn't change that fast.
"Only before she went to sleep. Or when she was drunk, wow, she would talk about a lot of things when she was drunk."
"Such as?"
"Jessica Barlott or a man named Eli Chard. I would hear her crying sometimes, so I would hug her and she would be okay again. She was always okay when I hugged her..." Henry trailed off. "Why did she want to kill me? I loved her so much, I-I was going to marry her."
"She was going to marry the victims before you." John said. This wasn't making sense to him, he hoped Sherlock understood a lot more than him, because he was clueless.
"Henry, we need you to remember everything you can about her. Did she tell you anything about Jessica Barlott or Eli Chard?" Sherlock asked.
Henry thought for a moment. "She never told me about any of it. I never asked."
"Well. This has been very helpful, thank you for your time Henry." Sherlock smiled and went to leave before Henry grabbed his forearm.
"You will visit again, right Sherlock?" His voice was pleading and small, like a toddler asking his mum for a biscuit.
Sherlock paused and glanced at John, who was standing by the door waiting to leave. He looked back down at Henry and nodded, "yes. Yes, of course."
Henry let out of a sigh of relief and grinned, "Thank you." And he let go of Sherlock's arm. John couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous. He felt ridiculous for it, there was no need, but he could see there was a bond between Henry and Sherlock – there was something there. Nothing romantic, John could tell that straight away. But he could just see something unsaid.
Once they had left the hospital room, John could see the shaking in Sherlock's hands again, which he tried to hide by stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Emotional manipulation does nasty things to the mind." Sherlock sighed.
"Mmm, poor bloke." John followed Sherlock out to the hospital car park where Lestrade was waiting.
"No need to pity him, he's been through worse."
"How do you mean?" John asked.
"Never mind." Sherlock threw over his shoulder and approached Lestrade. "Look up the names Jessica Barlott and Eli Chard."
"Who do those names belong to?" Lestrade quickly jotted them down into a note pad whilst speaking.
"No idea." Sherlock said before he began walking out of the car park.
John sighed inwardly and smiled at Lestrade before following behind Sherlock like a lapdog. "Henry really takes to you." John looked up at Sherlock.
"Yes, well, he would." Sherlock mumbled and hailed for a taxi.
Next time: John does something a little bit naughty, but it's for a good cause.