Consulting Fangirl

Chapter 8: Mai

A/N I'M SO SORRY IT'S A BIT LATE!!! I honestly didn't like leaving you guys with that cliff hanger. This one is much less scary at the end. Sorry again :/

I’d decided the second he left that I had to go after him. He wasn’t exactly stable at the moment. I was scared for him. It was my fault that he was so angry and sad. If I hadn’t broken down and shared my little sob story he would have been fine. I hated that it was my fault that he was in such a condition. Still, I didn’t feel comfortable letting him run off like that, not when he was so distressed.

With a nod of my head, I grabbed my coat and jogged off into the London chill in pursuit of the lonely doctor.

It occurred to me once I’d stepped outside that I had no idea where he was. John had told me before that he was staying with his sister Harriet, but I didn’t know where she lived.

Something told me he hadn’t gone there, though. I didn’t presume to believe I knew John Watson, not really, but I had a feeling that he would go to the one place he didn’t want to, the one place he shouldn’t.

He was going to Baker Street.

I’m not entirely sure how I knew. It was just a feeling, a voice in my head telling me he was going to be there. I trusted it enough to turn in that direction and start walking.

Realistically, I should have taken a cab. It wasn’t too far, no, but it was rather cold. The harsh winter winds of London bit my cheeks like a thousand angry insects, bringing tears to my eyes. Still, I buggered on, unable to face the thought of failing John when he needed me. Besides, the prospect of taking a cab had never appealed to me, not since reading A Study in Pink.

When I arrived at 221B, I stopped in front of the door, hesitant. What it he wasn’t there? What if it was only Mrs. Hudson inside? She didn’t know me, so I would hardly be welcomed.

Just as I gathered the courage to knock, my eyes caught something that didn’t seem right. The door was slightly askew, so slightly that most wouldn’t notice. It appeared as if someone had opened it in a hurry and forgot to close it.

I knelt down and expected the handle closer. There was a slight layer of oil on the hinge, meaning it had been opened just minutes ago. Someone was inside the flat. If it had been Mrs. Hudson, she would have closed the door. That meant that it was either John or an intruder.

 With a shock, I realized how much I sounded like him. Maybe I was a detective after all.

Before I had the chance to pride myself on this deduction, the sound of a gunshot tore through my eardrums, stopping my heart.

I froze for half a second before shoving past the door and into the flat. I climbed the stairs two at a time, my heart racing in fear. Oh God, was I too late? Did someone hurt John? Did he… hurt himself? No, he couldn’t have. He just… couldn’t have. Yet even I knew how false I sounded. John was depressed, and as much as I hated to even think about it, it was a possibility.

With a deep breath, I turned the handle on the door to his flat and shoved it open. I mentally prepared myself to see his corpse on the ground, a pale face with blood seeping from his skull.

Instead, though, I found him crumpled on the ground, shaking with sobs. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and ran over to him, wrapping my arms around his frail form.

 “John! John, I’m here. I’m here.”

I didn’t give him any false reassurances. I didn’t tell him it would be okay because it wouldn’t. Nothing would ever be okay again for him. All I could hope for was that I helped things become bearable once more.