Falling For You

Emotional Weather

It was dark in his room, but the doctors said it was better that way.  The only light that entered the room was the generic whiteness from the lit hall outside.  Sherlock cautiously made his way to John's bedside and looked down at the silhouette of John Hamish Watson.  He tried to study his love's face to see how he was doing.  He was unconscious but his heart rate monitor still beeped methodically, never straying from the pattern.  

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

Sherlock frowned when he saw the pain painted on John's face.  He didn't like to think of John in pain, and he especially didn't like to think of it when it was practically all his fault. He could have stopped all of this if he had only paid more attention to Sherrinford.  He should have taken him seriously.  He should have understood that Sherrinford Holmes always meant business, and never in a good way.

He tried to think of what to say.  There were so many things that he wanted to say to his love, just in case it was indeed the last time he got to speak to him.  He took John's hand in his own and looked away, unable to look down and maintain his sanity.  If John did indeed die in this hospital, Sherlock knew that he would never be able to forgive himself.  He knew that he would become what he had been when Redbeard had been murdered.  That's when he had started the drugs.  After the dog died, he needed to be on his toes and the only way to help him become smarter was the drugs.  They kept him smart and too consumed with his deductions to care much about the dog's death.  Only, Sherlock didn't want to forget John.  He didn't want him to become a name that Sherlock cringed at when he heard it.  He wanted John to live on within him forever, so Sherlock made himself get a good look at John, studying even the tiniest of details as though he had not studied them before, and then he tucked it away into his Mind Palace.

"John," Sherlock began, hopeful that he was doing this right.  "I'm sorry.  I know that if you were listening to this you'd try and calm me down and tell me that it's not my fault and that you went into that warehouse on your own accord, but that's a lie.  It is my fault.  If I hadn't been such a drama queen, I wouldn't have looked for the message he was trying to leave me.  If I hadn't been such a drama queen, I wouldn't have returned home and let you nurse me like a mother.  I would have toughed it because the pain wasn't really that bad, and it's absolutely nothing compared to the pain I feel now, and then you wouldn't have gone.  Then we could be at Baker Street right now playing Cluedo or something.  Maybe snogging.  I don't know.  Honestly, I would take anything compared to this because whatever this is, it doesn't feel good."

Sherlock moved over to the window and frowned.  The day outside didn't match his mood at all.  In fact, it was one of the rare sunny days in London where people milled about below.  Christmas was coming up so it was a bit nippy, but the sun provided a warmth that was usually lacking in the streets of London.  Sherlock wondered why it wasn't raining.  The weather had always seemed to mirror the depression and sadness of others, but why not himself?  Sherlock wondered if there was something wrong with him.  He wondered if there was some sort of reason for why the universe was not cooperating with him.  What had he done to deserve this?

Tears formed in his eyes and he rested his head against the window.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to last very long on his own.

He knew that if John died, he would too.