Into The Dark Water

The Dead Dock

Unfortunately I don't have a gun with me.

But as I step off the lifeboat into our savior ship, I wish I did.

I ruffle my hands through my dark curls and flip up my collar. Stretching my long legs across to water to step upon the enormous boat, I continue to think about what John said.

I knew I shouldn't have come back. After the fiasco with Eurus I should've pushed him away, it would've saved us so many... feelings.

I practically scrape my eyes out trying to dry them. I take off my drenched scarf and wrap it around my hands to use as a towel. The crewmen escort me and the other passengers to the large dining area, and we are seated.

I scan the room for John. John and his beautiful graying hair. John and his broken eyes.

John.

I suppose I ought to apologize. Although I'm still not sure what I did, hopefully he will appreciate the thought. I don't want to lose him again.

I can't. I'm not strong enough.

I put my head in my gloved hands.

Ugh. Feelings.
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I need my gun.

I need to put it against my temple and feel the cobwebs blow away. I need to feel the blood trickling down my temple in the milliseconds before I am greeted by my angels.

And I'm technically not far from that feeling now. There is definitely blood on my face, just not near my temple. It's coming from my eyes, feels like its protruding through my pores, and leaking onto the floor.

My limp feels even worse. I forgot my cane when I went to get Rosie.

We're led to a spacey dining room. Or so it seems. Many other passengers are here. Most are sitting in chairs, others laying on the floor with blue skin and open eyes. They must have been reeled in or taken off the boats.

I see Sherlock's dark figure enter the room. And he's... crying. No. That's not right. He doesn't do that. That's not a thing that happens.

But the signs are there. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot and his face is shiny.

Whatever. It's not like I give a %$!#.
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The ship docks around seven in the morning. I spent the whole time sitting in that room, staring off. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I just thought. About John (when do I ever think about anything else?), about Molly. And Rosie.

We hop off the ship in groups. Mine is one of the earlier to leave. The air hits me with a cold and hard smack!. Looking across the dock I observe a large sum of people watching us come.

As if we're flying pigs or something.

Continuing to let my gaze flit about, I notice bags covering the boards. They pile onto the hill, through the road. And they're bringing more. I know the bags have bodies, that bit doesn't faze me. I've seen plenty of corpses in my time. But I never have seen Molly's.

I jog about, opening the tops of the bags (or just ripping them off), searching for her.

I take off one covering a man's body. Then a girl's. Then one holding Rosie.

No. Don't think. Move on. Move now, you twat!!

Molly isn't even in a bag. They've latched under her shoulders with a rope. I run over to her lifeless body. I don't know what to do, so I just close her eyes and hold her.

A few miutes later, the men make me get away, and bring me to a doctor to be examined.

"You're fine. But your friend over there," the doctor said, nodding to John,"he doesn't have long."

"Meaning?"

"Well, physically he's fine. But you probably want to keep him away from weapons. He's acting suicidal."

Of course.
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All the short chapters bros. Sorry.