The Question of Faith in Baskerville

Chapter Twenty: Aftermath

John jolted awake. He stared at the ceiling as he heaved for breath, fists clutching his sheets. It couldn't be real. It wasn't.

But it could.

Tears sprang to his eyes. Echoes of his dream returning.

Kayla sobbing, begging him to stop. Tears running down her face as bruises formed. Blood trickled from a split lip. Her eyes wide with fear as she shrank away from his rage. A final scream.

He'd never do that. He'd never hurt her like that. But . . . rage did strange things to the mind. It's a drug that clouded one's senses until it cleared and the user was staring down at what they had done.

In the lab, John hadn't even realized he'd clenched his fist until he felt his knuckles tingling from connecting with Sherlock's cheek. How could he be so sure that he wouldn't—

He turned on his side, hugging himself as his heart broke, realizing what he had to do. He couldn't guarantee her safety by his side. So, he'd have to save her from himself, even if it broke his heart.

John fidgeted at the door. Oh, he hated this. He hated every inch of this but he couldn't—

"John?" Kayla had opened her door, gently smiling in surprise. "I wasn't expecting to see you until Friday evening."

"I had to speak with you," John answered, burying his hands into his trouser pockets.

"Come in," she invited.

John's thoughts spiraled as he stepped inside. Did she suspect? Was she suspicious? Or was that his own mind betraying him? He couldn't do this. But this was the only way to make sure she stayed safe.

"John, are you okay?" Kayla asked. So kind, so caring, so utterly beautiful in every way. He could destroy her if he didn't act now, remove himself so that she wouldn't suffer if he somehow lost control.

"Not really," John answered. Tears stung the back of his eyes but he fought them back. "I . . ., I . . ." He couldn't do this. But he had to. He covered his eyes with a hand, tried to keep his breath even. "I have to break up with you."

"What?" A single word. Breathless, almost lost. But so full of emotion: shock, confusion, disbelief, heartbreak.

"I have to break up with you," John repeated, barely making it past a sob. "This past case, I was faced with so many faults, Kayla. I can't tell you how many times I doubted my standing with God. And then things happened and . . . I fear for your safety if we continued seeing each other. I am a bad man, Kayla. I could hurt you when I lose my temper. I could hurt you if I listen to the temptations in my head and I—, I can't—" He gulped, tried to breathe. "I can't continue to put you in danger like that."

"John—"

John evaded her hand even as half his heart ripped away. His breath faltered as he felt her own heart breaking. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just—" He fought against choking air. "I have to protect you, even if that means staying away. I'm sorry."

He turned and ran, even as that dark little voice called him a coward and a fool. Even as Kayla called after him with tears in her voice. But he couldn't allow his selfishness to put her at risk. It was a miracle he hadn't harmed her already. Physically, he told himself. This was the one pain that he couldn't protect her from. But at least, his temper and lust could never touch her.

John threw himself into his project, trying to forget his aching heart. It was a matter of a week and everything was set. Mrs. Hudson had approved. He consulted Mycroft. He did some research. It was ready.

He had faltered once when a box arrived in the mail. He'd barely opened it before stuffing it into the cupboard under the sink. He should have just returned it or tossed it in the rubbish bin, but he couldn't yet bring himself to do it. The same story of nearly a year's worth of mementoes he'd stuffed into the bottom drawer of his dresser.