John's P.O.V.
When Sherlock left, I let myself drown in sorrow and self-pity. As I looked upon my wife's face, I couldn't believe what my life had become.
Sherlock had told me I went looking for the most dangerous people around. That I was drawn to them. I had figured he meant in physical situations, where I was being arrested for spray painting a wall that I didn't touch, or almost getting killed by a bomb. But no. Now I could see. These people would hurt me on an emotional level too. One that would leave me an empty shell.
I was nothing. I had nothing. I had no reason to live.
I thought about just ten months ago, when I was in the delivery room. Mary had let out another scream, and squeezed my hand so hard I was sure it would break.
"You can do it!" I encouraged. "Breath. Breath."
She puffed and pushed and just a minute later, a beautiful cry sounded.
"Sherlock." Mary had whispered, and I had given her an odd expression.
"He's not here, darling.".
She had shaken her head, rolling her head on her pillow.
" That's her name. Sherlock Irene Watson."
Tears rushed down my face now, in that damned hospital room. What a horrid idea, naming our daughter after two psychopaths.
Highly functioning sociopath.
My mind corrected me.
Why did everyone I care for leave me?
As I left for the night, and crawled back in bed, nightmares of screeching cars, gunshots, and high roof tops plagued me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sherlock's P.O.V.
It had been a week since I had tried to visit John. After the last one ended rather badly, I had left John to his wishes, and hadn't tried to be in contact since.
I had to admit, after all these months, something was amiss. My cases weren't as thrilling as they used to be. They had gotten much to bland, in fact. I had only been shot at twice in five months.
"No bombs, no guns, no kidnappings, no threatening phone calls?" I raged, pulling out the gun I used for the face on the wall. "Well hello." I greeted it, before adding another hole in it's face. And another. And another. There were hurried footsteps on the stairs, and Mrs. Hudson gasped.
"Sherlock, don't do that to the wall! I thought John rid you of that nasty habit!".
" He also rid me of smoking, but-" I grabbed a lighter and a fag, sucking in, and lighting it. "-He's not here, is he?" I let out a puff of smoke right into her face, and she coughed, waving it away.
"I say, you've gotten very grouchy ever since Mr. Watson left."
I swung around, irritated. Why must she be so stupid?
"I am perfectly fine, you have just grown accustomed to John softening the edges of things. He was always rather good at that." My lip curled, and Mrs. Hudson took that as a sign to take leave before I shot her.
Good. People were ignorant and annoying anyways.
Compassion always was a chemical defect.
************
Did you like it my bunnies? I hope so! Comment, vote, suggest!
~Violet
