"The frailty of a genius. Who knew that you, of all people Sherlock, could break under the loss of one measly life," Moriarty chimed from the seat across from me.
1:45 AM
I hadn't slept. Not in days. I was beginning to feel the toll.
"Perhaps the one who acts invincible is really the easiest to crack. Really now, you're pathetic."
I cast the "Consulting Criminal" an icy glare, shaking. I feel cold. Freezing. I can't think of a comeback, so I merely draw out a muffled, "Shut up," and go back to...
...What? I don't have anything to go back to.
No John.
No life.
Nothing.
I curl up, feeling as if the walls are closing in around me. Suddenly, I feel so small, and a timid voice in the back of my head is clearer than anything.
What's the point of me...?
"Sherlock."
I ignore it.
"Sherlock."
I ignore it-again.
11:34 PM
I slept-barely. Two hours, at the most. Seems to be the only rest I've gotten as of lately. I'm exhausted-Mentally, and physically. I'm drained-running on low.
"Sherlock."
It's been calling my name for hours.
Sitting in his chair.
Wearing his skin.
Mimicking his voice.
But-it's not him.
"Sherlock."
It's not my John.
I don't know when it appeared-but it's here. Always here-calling out to me.
"Sherlock."
It tests my patience.
I answer.
"Are you going to call until I respond, or speak your mind?"
"Sherlock-it was you."
I tilt my head-slightly perplexed. It senses it.
"Your fault."
There it was. That pain in my heart. The same as when John... left.
"It was your fault, Sherlock. You killed me. This is your fault. This is all your fault."
I keep my composer, but the interior is crumbling.
Shattering.
Self-destructing.
"You're not John," I say in a steady voice.
"Your fault. All your fault."
It smiles. I believe it derives some sort of pleasure from my pain. It can't see it-but It senses it.
Senses me demoralize.
And it's happy.
The night I came back. The night he left. I remember it well.
The metallic smell.
The gun-power.
And all that blood.
All that scarlet blood.
It stained the walls, the floors.
His face.
My heart had froze.
I dropped to his side, gripping his face tight in my hands.
I screamed his name, although I already knew all too well that he was gone.
"John...!? John...!"
Never before had I felt such pain.
"John!"
I was truly feeling for the first time.
It made me never wanted to feel again.
Why did we have to feel when it hurt so badly?
What was worth such agony?
I held him in my arms, clung to him like my life depended upon it.
Had I cried? I can't recall. Perhaps I was too preoccupied screaming my throat raw to notice.
4:15 AM
I hardly recognized the time, caught in the tangled mess which were my thoughts. I was thirsty. I dragged myself out if the thing that provide the slightest bit of comfort in my life-my bed-and into the kitchen.
It was sudden-
I hit the floor-it was slick.
My ears rang as I lifted my head from the floor, groaning in pain.
...?
The floor was sticky.
The floor was red.
I gagged, jerking upright, looking around in a startled flurry.
Everywhere-blood.
It stained the walls, the floors.
My breaths were shallow, quick.
I felt as if I were going to suffocate.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand-a gun drooping from its slacked grasp.
I slipped in an attempt to arise.
I was drenched in scarlet.
All that scarlet blood.
I finally got a closer look.
My heart froze.
His face.
I dropped to his side, gripping his face tight in my hands. I screamed his name, although I already knew all too well that he was gone. Long gone.
"John...!? John...!"
Never before had I wanted to feel such pain again.
"John!"
I was truly tired of feeling.
I never wanted to feel anything again.
Ever.
I held him in my arms, clung to him like I would never hold him again.
Because I wouldn't.
I scrubbed fiercely at my arms and hands.
It was everywhere.
Dried to my skin-underneath my fingernails.
It made me sick.
I released an aspirated whine. It wouldn't come off. I stained with his blood. I couldn't stand it.
It had to have been real. I would've sworn it-but-when I came out of that hallucination, my arms were red with irritation. They stung-I'd even broken skin in some areas. Everything was normal. No blood. No John. For the first time in ages, I felt a strange sense of relief-even thought I knew I was heading on a one way road down the rabbit hole.