W.S.S.H.

The Walking Dead

We ended up sitting on the stone railings on the staircases; Sherlock was laying on the right one while I sat on the left, gripping the stone for dear life as I looked down off the steep edge. Sherlock had his fingertips under his chin, obviously lost in thought, his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful laying there, but every time the staircase switched and moved around I wanted to scream for him to hold on.  I doubted he could die again, but it would certainly kill me to see the love of my life fall of the magical moving staircases.

"So the nurse wants me to get a mental health check." I told him after a while of silence. Not that I minded the silence, I got to look at him and all his beautiful features, but I wanted his opinion on this.  Sherlock's eyes opened and he turned his head to look at me.

"And?" he asked.

"Well, I don't think I'm insane, do you?" I asked.

"Only the good people are insane Mr. Watson, I am, Jim was, there's nothing wrong with it." he pointed out.

"But my mom will flip; she might even send me to a hospital." I defended.

"Then we could be together every day, what's wrong with that?" Sherlock asked.

"True." I agreed. "But it's kind of weird you know. What do you see when you're insane?"

"I assume it's different for everyone."

"Well what's it like for you?"

"I see everyone as a threat. Moran was in the way of Jim, the bullies were in the way of my happiness, the teacher was in the way of the bullies getting justice, it just goes down the line. Everyone was out to get me, destroy me slowly."

"That's kind of what's going on with me, except they're all out for you, for the book. That's why I attacked the football players, they stepped on the book." I pointed out, hoping that it was just a coincidence. I wasn't insane, I was cautious, there was nothing wrong with my head, I was better than I ever had be. 

"Don't worry Mr. Watson, there isn't anything wrong with you and even if there was I wouldn't care. I have more flaws than the best of them and it doesn't seem to affect anything." Sherlock pointed out.

"But I don't want to hurt anyone, Greg, Mom, what if I attack them?" I asked.

"Then I hope you have a good reason, unlike me."

"That doesn't help much." I pointed out.

"There's an escape from anything Mr. Watson, from pain, from suffering and torment, and it's one bullet and a trusty gun." Sherlock shrugged. I nodded, not knowing if that was a good answer or not. Of course I wasn't insane, and I wasn't going to kill myself, it just wasn't a good idea. What was the purpose of death if Sherlock was going to be in my world for the rest of my life? I could wake up and see that beautiful face, go through school with him by my side, ride home with our hands interlocked, it would be paradise. I wasn't insane; I was just a little bit shaken up. Sherlock went back to resting his head on the stone, not really in a talking mood I suppose, which was just bad considering I was lost to my thoughts. You couldn't kill a thought, not once it's made a home in your brain, and at the moment that thought was doubt, and doubt was even worse. It ate my brain away until I doubted I was even John Watson at all, I was someone completely different, and ready to kill and die myself for this love.

                Even though Sherlock promised not to bug me about taking care of myself he still made me attend my family dinner. I didn't want to, even though we were doing absolutely nothing, but sitting in Hogwarts was better than a party on Earth. It was pathetic, and I didn't want to be there. I sat at the table, feeling my mom's eyes watching my every move. It's like I was going to use the soup ladle as a weapon and go crazy, attacking people by the dozen. Harry and Dad weren't showing any signs of knowing about my day. It was normal, abnormally calm. I knew that Dad would flip, even though he doesn't affect my life in any way he still thought I needed to be the perfect son, and to do that I couldn't be suspended for a week. I wondered if Greg knew, but I doubted it. He was still mad, I could tell from the silence. On a normal Friday night he would be over, shooting basketballs or just sitting on our porch until I came out to either join him or tell him to beat it.