Extra long chapter, enjoy!
[John]
I woke up in a cold sweat, but for the life of me could not remember the dream that had terrified me so much. I just knew it had left me with a bloody awful headache and a jittery attitude. I pushed my fear aside to make room for more important matters, such as my conversation with Sherlock last night. I hadn't known that the self-proclaimed sociopath could show so much understanding in emotional situations, but I was certainly glad for it. He had done his fair share of unlawful activities, so on some level must have known what I was going through. I decided to see what his attitude was at breakfast, as I was unused to this side of him, and wanted to see if he was going to maintain this sudden emotional intelligence.
However, the detective was not at the table when I walked down, and neither was he in his room. One of the staff told me they had seen him go outside for a walk late last night, and with Mycroft apparently unavailable, I reasoned to start looking for him there.
I became more and more anxious the more time I spent searching for him, and many horrible possibilities passed through my thoughts. Hours passed, and Mycroft's garden was gigantic to say the least. I called his name so many times I lost count, and my voice had become hoarse. I considered that Sherlock may not have even come in the garden, and was actually hiding in the house somewhere, giggling in a cupboard like a five year-old. Then I remembered it was Sherlock Holmes I was talking about. A cupboard was not nearly a fantastic enough place to hide for the World's only Consulting Detective.
I decided to search the forest at the bottom of the garden before quitting. At least that way, if Sherlock really was in the house, I could tell him I searched the whole garden looking for him, and he'd laugh in delight at my idiotic ways.
Though on the outside I looked relaxed and maybe slightly annoyed, inside I was truly frightened. If he wasn't in the forest, he wouldn't be in the house. Maybe he had gone off to do his own investigation, but maybe he wasn't alright. Maybe he had been taken by the same people who had set off the bomb in the prison. Maybe they had hurt him.
I was so lost in my own thoughts that I barely noticed the pale figure lying by the side of the pond, deathly still. However, some part of my brain made a connection between the figure and my seemingly fruitless searching, and my feet moved unconsciously towards him. I was kneeling next to Sherlock before I registered it was him, and my eyes widened in shock before I went into doctor-mode.
Sherlock's clothes were damp, meaning he had found himself in the pond only a few hours before. I checked his heartbeat, which was thankfully steady, but his skin was ice cold. I tried saying his name again, almost like a mantra, hoping that he was alright. He may well have heard me, for those intense eyes soon fluttered open and landed on my face. His gaze was unsteady, and he barely looked alive, let alone awake, but the important thing was he recognised me, as his face lit up slightly into a small smile. However, the look very soon disappeared, to be replaced with one filled with both shock, and confused determination. With a surprising amount of strength he pushed my hands away and sat up, holding his head.
"Sherlock? Are you alright? What happened?" I asked, concerned with how he had come to be in such a predicament in the first place.
"I'm fine now," he replied, though to me he didn't sound it. Those eyes were unfocused as though he were trying hard to come to terms with something.
"Please tell me you didn't think it was a good idea to go swimming in a secluded pond in the middle of the night. I don't care what your excuse is, you had me worried sick!" I was getting angry now.
"I've been drugged... But how..." He said it softly, so I nearly didn't catch what he was implying.
"What?" I asked him, bewildered as to how he came to such a conclusion. The man ignored me as he had started to mutter deductions under his breath, and I wondered if he was feeling alright.
"The tea!" He suddenly exclaimed, and jumped up, nearly falling in the process, before running off back towards the house.
"Hey!" I shouted, still shocked from his sudden outburst, before taking off after him. Surprisingly, Sherlock was a very fast runner, even when (possibly) drugged. I didn't really know if he had been, though if he believed it then it had probably happened.
When I finally caught up to him, he was shouting at one of the kitchen staff, threatening her and leaving her very close to tears. "I don't know! We get it all delivered..." She sobbed, and Sherlock took off again, shouting about drugged tea.
I attempted to console the poor woman, who seemed on the verge of hysterics. "There's nothing wrong with the tea!" She cried, "I had a cup at the same time as him, and I feel fine..."
I left her muttering about finding a new job with fewer weird occurrences, and followed Sherlock to the kitchen, considering what she'd said. The detective was busy throwing tea bags around and getting the milk out of the fridge when I arrived.
"Must be in one of these... The sugar? Couldn't be a coincidence, they must have followed the Baskerville case..." He seemed very frantic, and I almost didn't want to stop him from talking.
"Sherlock... The woman, she said that she had a cup of tea as well. That means it can't be the tea." Sherlock stopped and stared at me, before dropping the mug on the floor where it shattered and coming towards me. His eyes were wild, and I took a step back in fear, but he simply passed me and left the room, shouting back that he was going to find his microscope and medical kit and that I should give him half an hour.
I growled in frustration, realising he had successfully avoided answering the questions I had voiced to him, leaving my only information being that he was drugged. He didn't seem drugged though, just slightly frantic. His body seemed to be working normally, though to be certain I needed to find out what had happened last night.
I returned to my room, figuring that he would find me when he finished doing whatever he was up to. I checked my old blog on the computer, re-living memories of cases that I had forgotten about. It was nice to not worry about current events for a few minutes. I was just finishing up when Sherlock barged through the door, his emotions on play for all to see rather than the usual emotionless mask he put on.
"No drugs..." He said, and I really looked at him. How tired he looked, and how scared.
"What happened last night, Sherlock?" I asked, my tone firm, pretty much forcing him to answer me.
"I... I don't really know..." He confessed. "The forest, it was so alive, and there were people there... And, and... Moriarty. He was there too. It must have been a drug, John! He's dead, and there were dreams, and I was running-"
"Stop! Please!" I said, voice wavering slightly. It hurt me to see him looking so vulnerable. "You didn't find any drugs in your system?"
"None..." He confessed.
I wondered what that meant. Had he finally lost it, too? Was it exposure to my own insanity that was brining out such weird actions on his part? Was it possible for me to affect him in such a way?
"Maybe you need some sleep." I suggested, but it didn't feel like such a small action would be able to help. He shook his head, but then proceeded to lie down on the sofa, curling himself into a ball. It was terrifying seeing him like this when he was normally so controlled and calm.
"Maybe I should leave." I said softly, half not wanting to voice the possibility in case he agreed. He turned his head to face me, confusion and fury etched on his features.
"How will that help?!" He exclaimed angrily. "Don't say such stupid things John!"
I felt my own anger bubble up inside me, and I responded to him in a very similar tone, "Well, maybe if I hadn't come back to live with you, none of this would be happening! You'd still be alright, still be sane!" I stopped, shocked that I had said that out loud. He seemed surprised that I had said that too, and very hurt.
"Is that how you feel, John? That I am mad?" His lip began to quiver, though I doubt he noticed it, or even knew how much it was giving away.
"No, I think that I'm mad, and you're just picking up on it and responding to it." I tried to keep my tone very matter-of-fact, but I feared it hadn't worked as well as I'd wanted it to.
"Don't be preposterous, John." He scowled in my direction, and I snapped.
"Do you think your health is some kind of game, Sherlock? Something that doesn't really matter? It may not be important to you, but it matters a hell of a lot to me, and I'm not just going to stand here and watch you get worse when it's probably my fault!" I was shouting by the end of it, and Sherlock's face had returned to its usual disdainful expression.
"It's not your bloody fault, John! Stop acting like everything has something to do with you when it obviously doesn't. I haven't gone mad as you may well believe, and if I had it certainly wouldn't be through any fault of yours." Sherlock did not shout, but his voice was cold and that somehow gave it an even greater effect. He stood very unsteadily and attempted to walk purposefully out of the door, but I stopped him.
"If you step out that door, I won't be here when you get back." I was angry, furious, even, and I hated him in that moment for not seeing what I was trying to say. He could be so single-minded sometimes. If he wanted me to stay, he would have to come back and give me a convincing argument. However, that was far from what happened.
With a last look of pure rage, he turned and sauntered out the door, leaving me guilty that I had given him such a decision, and downright horrified at what he had chosen. Swallowing back the tears that threatened, I pulled out the bag from under the bed and began to pack.
Ooh angsty! Splitting them up, that's bound to start the ball rolling, isn't it? What do you think has happened? I'll never tell, but I'd love to hear how you think this story will end! I can tell you that you'll get all the answers you need, but not necessarily the ones you want... (Muahahaha) Oh and thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! 121 reviews, and over 90 follows! I have one word for that- amazing! Please keep reviewing, I definitely don't bite, and you'll get a lovely little message from me in your inbox, so isn't it all worth it? Exciting events coming up very soon, so stay tuned! I'll try and update quite a lot in the next few days as I go to San Francisco next Wednesday, so I hope to either finish completely or leave the story on a really horrible cliff-hanger just to annoy you all! (I will probably update while I'm there, the hotel apparently has wifi, and the journey is like nine hours long, so don't get too worried if I do leave you hanging!) Love all you wonderful people :)