Can't Love You {Sequel to "Not Sherlock Holmes"}

Chapter Seven

Veronica's POV

Nothing can fix it. Nothing. Not Martin's kind words, not the hot coffee going down my throat, not Ian's hugs and kisses, not the warm, soft bed I lay in now. Nothing can fix me. I am done.

But you hardly knew him, Veronica, a voice in my head whispers.

"I did know him," I insist, not registering the fact that I responded aloud. No one can hear me anyway. I kicked Ian out of my room hours ago.

How could you have known him that well? You only met a few days ago.

"I did know him," I repeat. "I don't expect you to understand." I shift in my bed so that I'm in a more comfortable position.

But I am you. I'm the more logical side of yourself.

"Shut up!" I command. "I know my feelings! I know my heart! Stay out of it!" The voice in my head is silenced.

Martin was distressed by the news of Benedict's death, as well. After all, they've known each other much longer. He didn't cry, but he needed time alone.

Still, he found the time to comfort me. Yet he was alone in his grief.

I feel guilt rising in my chest. I know I won't be able to sleep, so I decide to take this opportunity to vist Martin.

You know, since I wasn't there for him earlier.

I crawl out of my bed and I cross the room in two steps. It's not large; just big enough for a bed and a small bathroom.

I slip out of my door and go two doors down. I knock.

I wonder if it's too late; if Martin's already asleep. But moments later, the door opens.

Martin looks tired, but he doesn't appear to have been asleep.

"You can't sleep, either?" he whispers, and I nod. He gestures inside. "Come on in."

I walk inside and sit gingerly on the bed. He sits next to me. And we sit in silence.

"You really loved him, didn't you?" he asks, shattering the silence. I shrug.

"I don't know about that," I mutter. Surprisingly, though, he chuckles.

"You don't have to hide it from me. I understand. I loved him, too." He takes my hand and rubs it.

"No one that I've loved has ever died before," I whisper. I've been able to ward off the tears, I can fend them off, now.

"It's hard, I know..."

"What is it you loved about him?" I suddenly ask. He looks taken aback. "Well, I mean... since there will be no funeral service... I was just thinking... why don't we have a little memorial now..." Martin nods.

"That sounds like something he'd like."

"I hated that he was always so formal," I pretend to complain, and Martin nods emphatically.

"I know! He was a right git, that one. Sometimes, he just made me want to strangle him! He can be irritatingly cheerful, you know what I'm talking about?" I nod, smiling.

"Yes, I do know. But then he had quite a temper sometimes."

"Yeah, but it wasn't as bad as mine," Martin counters.

"No! You don't have a temper, do you?" He nods, grinning.

"Oh yeah. It's just terrible. Amanda reminds me all the time that I need to keep it under control, but Ben always takes it. He never minds." We both notice at the same time that he's speaking in the present tense. "Minded. He never... minded." More silence.

"He was a beautiful specimen, wasn't he?" I ask, and Martin nods sadly.

"Oh, yes. I've never known a better man than him."

"He had this confident way about him, yet he always seemed like he wasn't sure what to do in a current situation."

"He was always positive. Always."

"I lied, Martin." He looks at me. "I liked that he was always so formal." Martin chuckles.

"I liked his constant cheeriness."

"I liked everything about him. Everything."

I can't stop the tears this time. They flow, but there's a freeing quality to them. Like before, I was weighed down by my sadness. But now, as I cry openly, my head resting on Martin's chest as he rocks me, I feel like I may be able to heal. Maybe.