Don't Be...Dead

7- The Grave...Again

I sat there for a while, shocked immobile. Sometime later, it could have been hours or mere seconds, I really wasn’t sure, my phone beeped. Still sort of dazed, I picked it up.

That went well. –MH

Anger coursed through me. I clutched my phone tight and chucked it against the wall. God what was wrong with me?!

I stood and leaned against the wall, raking my fingers through my curly hair, trying to find any small detail that I might have missed that would explain this, but I couldn’t find anything. I turned around and clenched my fists, pounding them against the wall. These bloody emotions! I pushed them back and back trying to hide them because they distracted me. Everyone had always made fun of me for it, calling me ‘freak’ and such. And now the one time, the one time I let them show, this happens! Sometimes I wished I didn’t have emotions, but I wanted to know. I wanted to know why people did what they did. After all, any descriptions of ‘love’ were ever so vague. But I thought with John I had finally found out… And now this happens!

John. I needed John. It wasn’t hard to figure out where he was. I had seen him that morning at the grave. He hadn’t planned on going there, that was obvious. His hair had been rumpled, though he had already combed through it once. He had to go back for the flower, having not picked it up the first time through, and for God’s sake, even a fool could notice he didn’t have a shirt on underneath his jacket. No, something subconscious had brought him there, and now due to the overwhelming anger or whatever bloody emotion was going through his head, subconscious would be leading him again.

 (John)

I wandered the streets for the second time that day, walking without knowing where I was going. The sky was starting to get dark around me and the air was cold. I frowned and shivered. I had been in such a hurry to get out of the flat that I hadn’t grabbed my jacket, and so once again I was wandering the city trying not to freeze.

I stopped in front of Sherlock’s grave. Funny the way things worked. I hadn’t stopped by for months but now I found myself here twice in the same day.

I sat and stared at the grave, trying to figure out what just happened. Sherlock…Had he just… Could he possibly… But he was emotionless… wasn’t he?

I sighed as I tried to sort things out. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

“Hey, so I got you some takeout. Oh, and it’s supposed to get cold tonight, so I brought a blanket for…” Molly trailed off as she saw me there. “John!” she squealed, trying to hide the blanket behind her back.

“How long have you known?”

“Known what?”

“Molly, you’ve never been good at lying.”

“He told you?” I nodded and Molly sat down next to me with a sigh. “Since before. He told me… He told me what he was going to do, said he needed my help. Don’t want to go into details right now- don’t completely understand it myself. Anyway, before he left he told me to look after you. He really does care about you,” she said sadly, and I realized she might still have feelings for him.

“Thanks,” I said, despite the fact that she had just made everything that much more confusing.

She nodded. “Just don’t tell him. You know how he is, especially when people think he has feelings.”

“A git?”

Molly smiled. “ ‘Night John,” she said, walking away.

“ ‘Night.”

I stared after her as she left, then back at the stone. “Maybe you’re right Sherlock… Maybe emotions are just a waste… That I’d be better off without them.”

“They’re not.” I turned and stood at the sound of his voice.

“Sherlock…”

“John, I’m sorry. I deduced wrong.”

“Sherlock…”

“No, John listen.” Words came spilling out of his mouth at a mile a minute, “Look, I thought that… but obviously I was wrong. I must have missed something.”

“Sherlock…”

“It was an experiment. Nothing more,” he said firmly.

“Oh,” I replied, disappointed and shivering, my breath coming out in a visible puff of air. Why hadn’t I grabbed a coat?

“John, are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine,” I lied as flurries began to fall. Sherlock frowned as I stood there, arms wrapped around myself. Suddenly he began to take off his long trench coat. “No, Sherlock, don’t. I’m fine.” He frowned but slid his coat back on over his shoulders. I shivered again and Sherlock’s frown deepened as he removed his scarf. “No, Sherlock I’m fine. Really, I don’t-” I stopped protesting and sighed as he tied his blue scarf around my neck. “Fine. Thank you.” He smiled just slightly as I said it then spun me around.

“Come on John. Let’s go.”