I think you'll enjoy this chapter, it was great fun to write, though it will definitely leave you with a lot of questions! As you can no doubt tell, things are really going to start to pick up from here onwards, and some nail biting will definitely come within the next few chapters! You've been warned ;) Oh, and thank you so much for all the reviews! I am replying to all reviews from now, so please take the time to leave one! I think I will end up doing a thank you list once this story is over, so all my lovely reviewers will feature on it (just as an added incentive!) Here you go, one rather exciting and probably confusing chapter...
[Sherlock]
Preposterous. It was a word that I felt I should really use more often, as it perfectly described my feelings towards most ideas and deductions that weren't my own, such as Mycroft's belief that John had something to do with the murder of Sebastian Wilkes. It didn't seem to me that John would have lowered himself to hire someone else to do his dirty work for him. That and the fact that he had not really been out of my sight long enough for a phone call.
However, he had become a very difficult man to predict. Half the time he acted ashamed of himself and his previous actions, and just as frequently he could be verging on sociopathic with an increasing lack of empathy. It was almost as if his personality had been split in half and neither the best or worst of him could gain full control. Under different circumstances it would have been fascinating to document, but I couldn't bring myself to see him as an experiment when so much was at stake.
The truth was, I didn't know what I'd do with myself if he was found guilty. It would certainly prove that any hope of us returning to normal life would be an impossibility. I didn't want to live my life without him, but if he couldn't control these murderous rages he apparently got himself into, where would that leave us? The good half of him (as I had begun to refer to it as) would never let me live alone with him, "far too dangerous" as he would say.
The meal with Mycroft had been awkward, to say the least. I had refused to acknowledge my brother's existence for fear that he would bring up his suspicions in front of John. I really didn't want to hear John's answer until I was more certain it was the one I wanted to hear. Therefore, silence had enveloped the house, and even the staff kept from asking unnecessary questions. I longed to speak with John about insignificant conversational topics, to hear him laugh as I attempted to steal something of Mycroft's, but he was being decidedly quiet too. No doubt from the tense atmosphere, though I was certain he would be fine when we didn't have my annoying brother listening to every word.
I hadn't slept that night, instead, I began sorting through the past few weeks in my Mind Palace, organising them in all manner of ways. It didn't feel like only a few weeks, it felt much longer.
I gave up after only three hours, the work was tedious and I really needed something else to distract me. With no gun nearby to help take out my frustration I instead moved quietly through the house to John's room. I considered the fact he would probably be asleep and therefore very grumpy when I woke him, but decided he would probably appreciate the fact I hadn't destroyed anything instead.
I was initially anxious and scared when I saw his bed was empty, the sheets thrown back in a suspicious way. However, my wandering gaze soon found his silhouette out on the balcony, and he looked to be in deep thought. I attempted to make as little noise as possible as I crept towards him, but his hearing must have improved, for he turned around and smirked at me before I even got close. Neither one of us broke the silence as I joined him on the balcony, though I felt as though something really needed to be said.
"You got the best room," I said, mock jealousy colouring my tone. He smiled, but it seemed more forced than usual, and I could tell something was wrong.
"I heard you before. You and Mycroft, arguing. About me, it seemed." It took a few seconds to comprehend, but I finally understood.
"You think you did it." I said, my brain whirring with possibilities. John's frown deepened with worry, and I had the sudden urge to put my hand on his shoulder, though I ignored it.
"I don't know what to believe," he said, following his confession with a heavy sigh. "I wouldn't ever have done it in my right mind, I mean, I still don't even know who actually died, but I can't really see another option for what happened. It just doesn't feel like a set-up, you know?" John turned to me, his eyes pleading that I would be able to give him advice, that I would be able to say something to help him, but nothing came to mind. His confession had shocked me, especially the part about him not knowing who had died, but I supposed it was a good thing. It meant the John I knew hadn't done anything wrong.
When no words of wisdom escaped my mouth, John turned away and leaned against the balcony, staring out into the distance. This time I didn't ignore my emotional instincts, and tentatively placed my hand on his shoulder. I was worried the gesture was wrong when he tensed up at the contact, but, immediately after, his whole body relaxed as the stress melted away. I felt amazed at how much a single action could help someone, and vowed to use it again next time I got the chance. I squeezed his shoulder in what I hoped was another wonderful surge of insight, and left my hand placed there. We stayed like that for a long time, each of us lost in our thoughts, until the midnight blue of the sky began to fade to a much lighter colour, and John's eyelids began to droop from exhaustion.
I guided him back to his bed with minimal protest, and the man was so tired that I was certain he was asleep before his head even hit the pillow. I considered staying in his room to help prevent nightmares, especially since I wasn't going to get any sleep anyway, but the consequences of being caught would be dire indeed. Eventually I left to take a walk outside, giving my sleeping flatmate one last look before heading out.
One of the staff caught me just as I was attempting to unlock the door, and forced me to the kitchen for a drink. I attempted to protest, but she reminded me very much of Mrs Hudson, so I accepted the tea she made and took it with me on my travels.
Once I was finally in the garden, I took a stroll, letting my feet take me where they wanted to go while I considered the situation with John. It was rather difficult to fathom out a solution, even for someone of my intellect. There didn't seem to be a happy ending for us in sight, and though I did not want to admit defeat, I found that I had run out of ideas.
With my brain fresh out of useful insights, I turned to take in my surroundings and found myself in an area of dense woodland. I didn't really know Mycroft's garden that well, never having taken the time to explore it before, so I didn't really know how far I'd come, having had only a very general direction in mind when I'd set off from the house.
It was rather dark, and I wished I'd thought to bring a torch with me, considering I could only vaguely make out the outlines of the trees around me. I tried to retrace my steps but it proved to be much more difficult than I'd originally thought. After a while of aimless wandering, I felt myself start to become fearful. The trees seemed to be getting closer together, and I don't recognise my surroundings, which I felt could mean I was going in the completely wrong direction. I heard rustling coming from the bushes around me, and the shadows seemed to be more like the shapes of humans and large animals than trees. Speckles of light coming from the occasional break in the dense foliage left the feeling of hungry eyes watching my movements, and I felt my pace quicken. My heart began to beat faster, and soon every sound and sight seemed to become some indication of predators. My senses were being bombarded, and I couldn't think straight, which left me sprinting in terror in no particular direction, gasping for breath. The tree roots seemed to slither around on the muddy floor, tripping me up at every occasion. Still, I kept running, and the sounds were getting closer and closer. Logic left me as I ran for my life, and all I could see were the eyes of beasts in the bushes waiting for me to make a mistake.
I grew tired, and my muscles began to ache, but still I ran on, sweat plastering the hair to my forehead, and scenarios of being mauled to death running through my mind. My panic caused me to miss what should have been painfully obvious, and soon I was falling, falling into the small pond that I had not spotted quickly enough. The cold water left me shrieking in shock and with fear of death by drowning. I fought to get to the side, but my legs wouldn't cooperate properly, and my eyes and lungs were filled with murky water. Barely making it to the side, and heaving myself out, I lay by the pond, shivering and shaking. The noises overwhelmed me and I began to rock back and forth as images that didn't make sense took over my vision. People, places and horrible growling sounds that left me calling out for John. He would help, he would explain the awful images to me. But John didn't come. No one did. I was left there, shaking, and Moriarty's face played across my vision, taunting me with his evil grin and terrifying laugh that stayed with me even as I lost consciousness, breaking me even in sleep.