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

Chapter Eleven

Benedict's POV

I can't sleep.

The only thing I can think about is Veronica's face. The expression she wore when she first saw me, and then slapped me, and the expression she wore when she saw me laying here.

Pity.

She pitied me.

I must sound insane. I have a hard time believing everything myself, but it happened. Officer Marsh was killing people on our boat, and he tried to kill me. My wounds are still fresh to prove it. I reach up with my good arm and gingerly touch the bullet wound in my shoulder. I wince.

They hurt, but they are the proof that I was shot only a few hours ago instead of 10 years ago.

Ten years.

My heart lurches at the thought. Everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved before this all happened... they're gone. They may not be dead, but if they aren't, they're strangers now. Are my own parents still alive? My friends?

Still, though, even knowing that Martin and Veronica are still alive, it is no great comfort. Because they are strangers now. They've learned to get along by themselves.

I longed to reach out to her. To hold her and take away all the pain that these last 10 years have caused her. That I have caused her. She is no longer the same person that she was before. She has had to step up and take charge and be strong.

And my heart cries because in my head, she's still 18. She's still a young girl, confident but afraid. Innocent and trusting.

Now, I see someone who has calloused themselves against everything.

I have now lost everything; it's true. But it's possible that she could very well have lost even more.

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It's late at night, and I am going in and out of sleep. My body and my heart aches. My senses have dulled, but I can tell someone is entering my tent. I try to keep my breathing regular and keep my eyes from fluttering open. I want to pretend I am asleep because I'm not in the mood to speak. I don't want to talk about anything. I just want to sleep. My body cries for it.

The hand that takes mine is surprisingly soft, and I recognize the feel of it. Veronica kneels on the ground next to my cot and slowly rests her head on my chest. I try to keep my heart under control, and hope she doesn't feel it beat.

She sits there in silence for several long moments. I fight the urge to squeeze her hand, to tell her I'm awake, that I'm here.

"Where have you been?" she whispers, and I hear the cry in her voice. She sighs a little. "I thought you were dead, but here you are..."

More silence. She mindlessly rubs my fingers.

"I've missed you. And you know, no one seemed to understand except for Martin. Ian thought it was silly for me to be so distraught over the loss of someone I barely knew, but he never said that. He always had that look about him, though." She takes a deep breath. "I missed you, no matter what he thinks."

If I could take away her pain, if I could somehow make her whole again...

"A lot has happened these last 10 years. You missed a lot. I'll tell you about it sometime. When I'm not so angry with you." She chuckles at that. "You're asleep now, so I don't have quite as strong of an urge to strangle you." Veronica chokes on her words. I long to caress her cheek, but she places her own hand on my face, lightly stroking it.

"Why did you leave me?" She stands up abruptly and quickly makes her way to the tent opening. I do not dare to open my eyes, but she halts at the exit and seems to be wavering.

"Goodnight." And she's gone. Shortly after, I feel myself dosing off, finally, but not without once again feeling her hand on my cheek. I know it's my imagination, but it feels wonderful, nonetheless.