W.S.S.H.

The Terrifying Truth

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them I was standing in between bookshelves at the library. But it didn't look as cheerful as I previously saw it, it seemed dark, like it did indeed hold a psychopath in its walls. And there he was, the exact man in the picture from the 1800's, sitting on one of the wooden chairs near the window.

"Hello Mr. Watson, how are we today?" he asked, slowly flipping through the pages of a book and gesturing to the seat beside him, an invitation. But I didn't sit, seeing him there made my chest well up with emotion, he was so casual, he had no idea that I knew what he was. When I didn't sit he looked up in slight confusion, but I just took a deep breath and looked at him with what felt like a broken glare.

"Are you okay?" he asked, he cared, I could tell, psychopaths couldn't care about people, could they?

"We... we need to talk." I said. Sherlock's worried expression turned to slight confusion, maybe worry? Either way I didn't really care, I was going to get the truth whether it kills me or not.

"About what?" he asked.

"Greg called me over today, and he had done research on the book, the caves, the psychopath." I added, hoping he'd get the hint. Sherlock seemed to realize what that meant, and the confidence in him seemed to seep out like a dam had broken. He sighed, looking down at the desk in front of him and didn't say anything.

"John, I..." he started.

"I don't want an apology, I want an explanation. Why wouldn't you tell me this, why didn't you tell me that I had been pouring my soul out to a mass murderer! When I first saw this book, I was terrified, I thought it did belong to a murderer, but when I met you I felt safe, I thought that it was luck, and fate, and everything good about life wrapped up in one. The first thing you should've told me was that I was about to fall in love with a murderous bloody psychopath!" The words poured out of my mouth, I couldn't even control it, I had no idea what I was saying but it definitely felt good to get it off my chest. I didn't think I was crying but I felt tears on my face, tears of rage probably, accusing him of leading me into this trap. Sherlock didn't look at me once more; it was as if he was too ashamed of himself and his twisted past. Questions swam in my head, pounding against my head. I wanted to scream them all at once, scream at him for the longest time because he deserved it.

"Do you really want to know?" he asked in a weak voice, as if it physically pained him to have this conversation.

"It's not like you could make it seem any worse." I snapped.

"Well you might as well sit down, it's a long story." He sighed. I didn't move.

"You don't have to sit next to me, we can talk through the shelves if you want, but I don't want you to hate me." he admitted.

"Then start talking." I decided. Sherlock sighed, looking out the window and pretty much everything except me. For once I wished there were other people wandering around here to make sure I wasn't going to suffer the same fate as the other six.

"Well I guess we should go all the way back then, to my Hogwarts days, I told you briefly about the crush I had right?" Sherlock asked, looking up at me for a split second. I didn't answer, but I saw in his green eyes that sort of hopelessness of a dying man. He was preparing for his death, but according to the news article he was already dead. There were also brimming tears, but his voice showed no sign of quivering.

"His name was Jim Moriarty, another Slytherin in the grade above me." It's a guy? "He was evil, and I mean that in the most literal way. His parents were all tied up with all the dark wizards and he pretty much knew every torture curse under the sun. But he was brilliant, and that was what drew me to him. I knew he was the top of the class, we didn't share any classes, but he would brag about his grades in the Great Hall. One day I decided to just go for it, admit my feelings for him and hope beyond hope that he wouldn't skin me alive. But when I told him he smiled at me, the first real smile I've ever seen on him, and said that he'd consider it. That was the first hope I ever had in my life, the hope that maybe it was okay to be happy once in a while." Sherlock paused, catching his breath or taking that extra moment to figure out what exactly he would say next.