Shadows of the Past (BBC Sherlock) -1-

24. Haunted

Not again.

I whimpered, still frightened even though Moriarty was not back for another visit. Instead of meeting brown eyes, I was met with eyes that had told me goodbye yesterday. He was just as I remembered him before he took his life.

What was with me seeing suicidal men today?

All the breath was sucked out of me by his mere presence. I swallowed, slowly edging towards the threshold. Our eyes never broke apart. My heart was flying so fast I thought it would explode.

While my eyes were full of shock, confusion, and a million other emotions, the eyes that held mine looked...pained, like how his voice had sounded when he had been on the phone with John. I wondered if he would walk right past me, or through me, only to find the nearest window and hop out of it. Let's not think about it and not have it happen.

What if he's real? I never really saw his body. Moriarty, he had shot himself. The proof was there in his hand. But him, I hadn't seen any proof, unless I count the blur of the stretcher and the paramedics...

I wasn't sure if he was really standing in front of me or not. As crazy as it sounded, I was considering the slim possibility of him being alive.

God, I was losing my mind.

Faint footsteps from the other side of the apartment made me jump.

"Rachel?" John. Finally, he was back! He has to...

I looked over my shoulder, the footsteps grew louder. I turned my attention back to the man who was—surprisingly—still standing before me. I opened my mouth, ready to tell John I was in the bedroom, but he put one long finger on his lips.

Whether you're real or not, why should I listen to you? My eyes said it all; I headed out of the bedroom at a full out sprint, nearly taking John out the moment he got in.

"What's going on?" he sputtered as I helped him right himself. "Did someone break in?"

I panted, trying to be coherent. "He—I just—home alone—he's here—"

"Slow down, Rachel. Who's where?"

"He's here, John! He is!" I knew how touchy John was when I mentioned the name, so for his sake, I never uttered it.

John's eyes turned sad, pitiful. "You're only seeing things, I'm afraid."

"No, I wasn't—I'm not." Without any explanation, I pulled John behind me, heading for the bedroom. "He's standing right—" The last word never came out.

He was gone, just like Moriarty had been. The bedroom was like it was before: untouched and uninhabited.

"No..." I stepped into the room, dropping John's arm. My lip quivered. "He was just here."

"What's going on with you, Rachel?" John held genuine concern and fear in his tone.

I looked back at him. "Nothing! I just—"

"What were you doing in here to begin with?"

"I zoned out with music playing."

"You probably fell asleep to music and were dreaming, then." He fingered the dangling ear buds that had fallen out in my haste.

"But I didn't! I was awake; I was just...into the music."

John didn't look convinced. "You haven't been sleeping well lately."

"It's not because I'm sleep deprived! I mean, it could be, but I'm pretty sure it's not the reason why."

"Do we need to put you on medication?"