When Luck Runs Out

Life Without My Love

I was exhausted but I just lay in the bed, staring up at the ceiling and refusing to sleep in case I was plagued with nightmares. They'd be more horrible than ever, not only would I see the shattered body of John, but I'd see Jim as he spiraled off of the railing, I'd see Jeanette's horrible, betrayed face as I strangled her, I'd see Greg fall over, coughing up blood. I was so much more scarred now that I had gone two rounds in that arena, that I doubted I'd ever let myself sleep again. I wanted John here by me, I wanted him to tell me that it was alright, to hold me hand like we had so many nights, to let me curl into his warm chest, to stroke his fingers through my hair and remind me that he loved me. But that would never happen again, because now we were separated by more than a Capital, by more than self-consciousness and nerves. The veil of death was covering my love from my view, and for all I knew he could be laying right beside me, trying to tell me that he was here, but I was obvious because I was trapped on the other side, on the worst side, doomed to live the rest of my life without my precious John. I watched the red numbers on the clock slowly increase, and then the twelve jumped to one and I was still alone. There was part of me that was expecting John to come out of his room for some reason, maybe he was scared, maybe he just wanted to be with me. I kept watching the door as if he were going to appear any time, knife free, all his blood still in his body, that goofy smile he always wore plastered onto his face as he made fun of me for looking sad. It just hadn't sunken in yet, I had to remind myself, I had to remember why I was so distraught, but once the shock left the loneliness, the horror or watching my love die, it will settle in eventually. In the end it was too hard to not fall asleep while lying in my bed, I had to distract myself. So I got up off of the bed and pulled my robe over top of my freezing skin, wandering out of my room and into the living room. It was empty and dark, but there was always the occasional burst of colorful light from outside, the people celebrating with fireworks and sparklers. They seemed to be the only ones happy that I was alive. I walked over to the moonlight window, staring over the crowds that were mosh pitting in the streets, celebrating my victory, cheering for John's death. I sighed, seeing my reflection in the window. I looked like me, but I didn't look like me. Of course I had my same hair, my same face, same eye color. But I looked colder, tortured, as if everything in my life meant nothing anymore. My eyes no longer had life in them, they were cold and dark, staring back at me through the window pane as if blaming me for what had happened to John.
"Sherlock?" asked a voice. I turned around immediately, expecting to see John calling for me. It wasn't John, instead, Molly stood in her fluffy pink bathrobe, looking worried.
"Hello Molly." I muttered. She looked kind of nervous, as if afraid I was going to jump and lash out at her.
"What are you doing up this late?" she asked.
"It's not like I could sleep." I sighed.
"Ya, me neither. I haven't been getting much sleep since the games started." She admitted.
"Why not?" I asked. "Nightmares?"
"Nightmares are the easy part. Actually settling in and falling asleep isn't. Ever since they announced that the Victors weren't totally safe I've become kind of paranoid." Molly shrugged.
"Well, the only ones that could've hurt you are dead now." I assured. That didn't seem to make Molly happy.
"I watched the whole thing. You and your little group seemed to be doing fine, got your own paradise; there was no one in a mile radius after Greg killed your next door neighbor." Molly pointed out.
"I didn't want him to." I insisted.
"I know, but it was necessary. While you all were living the dream though, Moran and Moriarty were butchering those poor people. Jim would kill them slowly, Moran would smear their blood on himself, they were..." Molly stopped what she was saying because she noticed the affect it was having on me. Suddenly this penthouse wasn't feeling as safe as it had been, with the mention of Moran and Jim, I half expected them to be crouched in the shadows, waiting until I was distracted enough to tie me up as well.
"Sorry." She muttered.
"It's fine. It's true; I should really come to grips with that." I insisted.
"You really shouldn't." she sighed.
"Why not?" I asked, feeling slightly frightened by Molly but not knowing why.
"Because you'd realize what actually happened. It's better now, everyone thinks they're better the night before, they think they haven't been affected, that maybe the things that had happened just bounced right off. That's what happened to me." Molly shrugged.
"I thought everything bounces off of you, like rubber." I insisted.
"I'm glue." She sighed, pulling her arms around her as if she were cold, but there was no draft and it was quite warm.
"I don't think I'm okay, I know that there's no recovering from that. I know that I can't recover." I muttered.
"It wasn't your fault, if that's what you think." She insisted.
"Of course it was. He died for me, I was an idiot, I should've made sure, I guess I was just too preoccupied with the anticipation of my own death that I...well, I just should've been more careful." I muttered.
"Sherlock.." Molly muttered, taking a step forward as if she were going to comfort me or hug me, but on instinct I took a quick step back, slamming my back into the window with a hallow bang.
"Sorry, I'm sorry I didn't want to scare you." Molly said quickly, taking a step back.
"It's fine." I muttered, but I didn't step back, I just watched her suspiciously, all of the nerves and the caution from the arena sneaking up on me, now I was as skittish as a guinea pig. I felt like a guinea pig, I was God's guinea pig, and he was experimenting on me, taking everything from me, my sanity, my love, my innocence, he wanted to see how long it would take before I handed myself to him. Maybe it wouldn't be long.
"Well, I should really go back to bed, you're okay, right?" she asked, obviously feeling uncomfortable now that she thought I was scared of her.
"Would it make you feel better if I said yes?" I asked.
"Yes." Molly admitted.
"Yes." I shrugged. Molly forced a weak smile, but it looked horribly false, and it was almost hard to look at.
"Good night Sherlock." She decided, and walked back to her room. I didn't say goodnight back. I sighed, standing at the window and letting my bare ankles press against the cold window panes, not moving them even though the freezing glass was starting to burn. I liked the way it felt, it reminded me that I was still alive, even if I didn't feel like it. My life right now was like a limb that had fallen asleep, when it feels like your leg accidentally flipped to the static channels on the TV, and can't figure out how to turn back. Every touch I didn't feel, it felt like I was simply inexistent, and I was shaking, trying to move, trying to make myself wake up. But in this scenario I knew what would happen when I woke up, when finally my eyes opened and I saw what a mess my life was doomed to be, and I wanted more than anything to close them once more. But that was thing, once I woke up, once I saw the world, the Johnless world around me, I knew that I couldn't fall back into this sleep. I sighed, going to the microwave and heating myself up a hot of hot chocolate, not bothering to make sure the powder was evenly distributed, or that it wasn't burning hot. I sat down on the couch; my hands wrapped around the burning mug of powder topped water, and didn't make any move to drink it. Hot chocolate was supposed to help us feel better, it has since Mrs. Hudson was a part of my life, but even the thing that was supposed to bring me happiness was wrong. I just liked the burning. When the mug cooled down I dumped it into the sink, leaving the mug for someone else to wash, and returned to my room without any intention of going to sleep. I knew this wasn't a morphine situation, and I didn't feel practically bad, I just felt hollow. So I didn't even smoke, I just curled up, alone in my room for the first time since I had held hands with John, so long ago. So alone.