My Doctor, Watson

Chapter VIII

Sherlock watched as the helicopter took off. He tried to remain strong. He never had problems with feelings before. Why all of the sudden was he like this?

John Watson was the man who made Sherlock weak. But he was also the man that made him much more human. In a sense, that could be classified as strength. The helicopter's blades not only stirred the air, but stirred up Sherlock in his dreams every single night.

It's been six months now. Six cruel months. Sherlock's never felt so alone. How is it that someone surrounded by people like Ms. Hudson and Lestrade was still completely alone? Someone who was constantly bothered by concerned "friends" still felt the emptiness that only one person in his life could leave.

He was being ridiculous. You're Sherlock Holmes, he thought. You don't need to depend on some man, and you certainly can't keep him back from doing what's right, even at your expense. He shouldn't be moping around, he should be happy he doesn't have to share his living space with someone who would so easily walk out of his life. They all would. Lestrade, Mycroft, Molly, Ms. Hudson, all of them. They would all leave Sherlock as soon as they were given the opportunity.

"Sherlock, dear, it's nearly noon." Ms. Hudson said sweetly, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. Sherlock groaned and turned away from her, trying to fall back asleep.

Ms. Hudson picked up the tray from yesterdays meal, still untouched. And then the next trays from the days and weeks before, not a bite taken out of them. "Keep in mind that i'm not your housekeeper." She said while cleaning up a bit in the room. The chair that once belonged to John sat empty with the dust collecting on it that Sherlock kept mistaking as gunpowder.

She walked over and hovered over John's seat to sit down, but Sherlock took in a sharp breathe. "Don't sit there." he warned. "There's a perfectly good desk over in the corner."

Ms.Hudson considered this and walked over there. "You can't do this forever, Sherlock."

"Oh but I can." Sherlock said with a sarcastic smile.

With that, Ms. Hudson realized she wouldn't be able to help and walked out of the room. Sherlock slept and slept, his dreams repeating the same nightmare over and over again as if his mind was a film with his tape ending.

When he woke up there was a woman in the room.

"Hi, Sherlock." Molly Hooper said while grinning awkwardly and fiddling with her sweater.

"Molly." Sherlock greeted.

"There's a case that we think you should work on, we can't seem to figure it out."

"Yes. You can figure it out. You just want me out of the house." Sherlock responded knowingly.

"John wouldn't want you to sit around all day. He would want you to do something." Molly said.

Sherlock studied her eyes and sat up, his hands in a steeple under his chin. His hair had grown and hung over his eyes in a greasy mat. His eyes looked defeated and had prominent bags under them. His body looked skinnier than normal and unhealthy. But those were just the physical changes, no one could see what was happening on the inside of him.

"How would you know what he would think?" Sherlock said rapidly.

"I don't but... Were you and him..." Her voice trailed off, the unfinished question hanging in the air. Sherlock knew what she was asking but refused to answer.

For the first time in six months, Sherlock was going to work on a case.

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"So. What's the case?" Sherlock asked.

"First, lunch." Molly said.

"Boring." Sherlock said rolling his eyes.

She told the cab to pull over to this little cafe down the street. When they sat down and ordered the food, they began to talk about the actual case.

"Two people killed themselves, two different cities but at the same time. The thing is, they both had the same 3 blots of paint on the wall." Molly said.

"Where are the bodies?" Sherlock asked.

"Saint Bart's. I think that maybe the blots of paint could be the killers signature? Identify that and the case is done, right?" Molly said with a tiny smile.

"Hardly. How could the same killer be at two places at once? Two different towns, the same time." Sherlock said rolling his eyes.

"Look, it's not much of a case. It's not exciting or anything but Anderson wanted to find a case to get your mind off of things."

"Anderson? What the hell does he have to do with this?"

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Sherlock and Molly spent the day crossing towns, searching for evidence. Sherlock collected samples from the paint on the wall and spent an hour talking to Molly who wasn't listening. They tried everything. They searched for patterns in the dust, times, phone messages, the papers on the desks. They even turned the black light on and made the discovery that the killers name was written with invisible ink on the ground in both houses.

"Should we go back to the lab and analyze the evidence we collected? For the report at least. You can check the bodies, look for how they were killed." Molly asked Sherlock while taking pictures of the discovery and alerting Lestrade about it. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows but agreed and got in the cab on the way to the Saint Bart's.

When they got there, the sun was already setting. The dark was advancing on them, but Sherlock didn't care. He wouldn't sleep tonight anyway.

The two of them walked the steps and entered the cold building, it's white lights burning Sherlock's eyes. Together, they walked into the room where the bodies were stored.

Sherlock examined the first body. He leaned close, searching every little detail. He studied the small fracture on the mans skull and how his fingernails were chewed off.

"They were expecting the killer. Had been for weeks, basing off of the stress marks and chewed fingernails. They were obviously anxious seeing as they've eaten the proximity of London. What I don't get is why you lot couldn't do this yourselves."

"You needed to get out of the house and you weren't going to come to us anytime soon." Molly said quietly. "Would you like some tea?"

"I don't go to you, you go to me." Sherlock said, annoyed.

"No." Sherlock said about 20 minutes later after being caught up in inspecting the dead bodies.

"What?" Molly asked.

"No I would not like some tea."

"I asked 20 minutes ago.."

"And you obviously waited 20 minutes for an answer so you can stop looking at me like that now." Sherlock said without even having to turn around and face Molly.

"Sherlock?" Molly asked.

"Hmm?"

"Did you love John?" Molly said, prying information out of him as if it wasn't already obvious.

Sherlock froze and turned around and looked at Molly, a frown on his face.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. It's an error. It's too boring. I did not- do not love him." Sherlock said, taking off his gloves and walking over to the door. He announced that he was going to get some fresh air really quick and left leaving the biggest lie he ever told behind him.

He went outside and found an alley wear he stood leaning against the wall, hoping the tears wouldn't fall, but they did. Of course they did. And as he let them glisten down his cheek, he took out a cigarette, unwilling to overcome the pain on his own. He decided the pain was unbearable, so he lit it. The smoke broke apart as he exhaled, just like the promises he made with John.

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AN: Sorry this chapter kind of sucks. I've been very busy lately. I'm lame I know.