A Study In Blink (A Wholock Crossover)

Chapter five

"What happened?" Sherlock asked the second they reached top of the staircase.

Lestrade did not immediately answer, however, he just stood there, gaze blank.

"Greg?" John said, "are you alright?"

Sherlock gave John an incredulous look, "clearly the stress you're under is much worse than I originally thought, now your mind's going wobbly."

"My mind is not going... wobbly, Sherlock!"

"Then why are you calling him Greg? His name is not Greg!"

"Yes it is if you'd ever had the courtesy to ask." 

John looked at him, worried. He'd never seen the inspector like this, his voice filled with listlessness, his back was hunched and his eyelids were drooping. It was as if someone or something had sucked all the energy out of him.

"Inspector...?" John approached again, "what did you want to talk with us?"

Lestrade sighed and gestured to the door, "we'd better sit down, it's gonna be a long night."

The three entered the dingy old apartment of 221B and John instinctively walked over to his chair and sat down. Sherlock seated himself on the sofa in front of him but Lestrade remained standing.

The dull light of the evenings, illuminated the insides of 221B and had so often entered, nagged at John's consciousness,
begging him to lie down in bed and embrace the darkness as sleep crawls over...

"John, snap out of it."

John's eyes flickered open, two blurry shapes were in front of him, one sitting, one standing.

"What?" He muttered through a daze.

An exasperated sigh leaked out of one of the figures' lips and Sherlock spoke up.

"John you haven't been paying attention."

The fog that had settled in his mind minutes earlier was clearing now. John recalled the afternoon, the trip to Engel's Cemetery, and the statue... It's face blossomed suddenly inside the darkness and John yelped out in surprise. Every feature of the angel was so realistic, he could even make out the tiny lines that marked the joints of each finger, the hair strands pulled back in a bun, and the face hidden behind her hands, as if she was weeping.

"John are you alright?"

Sherlock's voice came in distant, as if it was from a hundred centuries away.

"What?"

Now that his eyes were again working properly, he could see the two detectives examining him with furrowed eyebrows and tight lips. Sherlock seemed to be genuinely concerned for one.

"You just yelled." He said, "as if you were in pain."

"Oh yeah," John said, mind working fast to think up of an excuse, he didn't want to bring up the angels again for Sherlock would merely sigh and Lestrade would think he was going mad. "I um, had a bad dream." He decided.

"You were not even asleep," Lestrade, this time, "we've only been in for what could most have been three minutes."

"Oh right, yeah, okay." John muttered. He was getting a serious headache and did not quite register Lestrade's words.
"Fine, whatever. I think I'm going to bed."

Out of the corner of John's eye, he saw the two exchange a worried look, but honestly he didn't care at that moment, he was tired, he was scared, and he just wanted a good sleep.

"Okay then," Sherlock said, and John could almost swear, despite his drained and frightened mind that he discerned a hint of disappointment in his companion's voice.

As he went off to his bedroom and slumped himself on the bed, his thoughts were constantly on the angel statue, and what it all meant.

Author's Note:
Hey guys! Thanks for taking the time to read this fanfic! Really hope you guys like it. I'm sorry that this chapter was boring but there's gonna be more interesting stuff in the next!  Please don't forget to vote and comment, thanks!

~Emma