White Noise

Broken Men With Compatible Hearts

John was being dragged along the carpet, he couldn't see it, he couldn't hear it, but he felt it, he felt the carpet burning into his exposed skin, and the scraping of the metal door frame as it dragged along his calf, ripping through his skin and leaving a trail of blood as he got carried down the hallway. John was still screaming, he was clutching at his eyes, his red, bloodshot, useless eyes, being dragged away by the neck of his shirt, strangling him meaninglessly as the fabric tightened itself around his neck. Doors were opening, he could hear muttering, confused questions shot at the eighty year old who was dragging an insane man down the hallway like he weighted nothing. And John couldn't do anything, he started to feel himself getting dragged down stairs, the thudding as his body got dragged and dragged, the clacking of his teeth as he was thrown onto the landing, the banging of his already sore head against the wall as Mrs. Hudson swerved among the steps.
"I don't want to ever see you here again, and if I do, I'm calling the police. I hope you've learned your lesson, you sick, sick man." Mrs. Hudson growled, and just like that John felt himself sprawl across concreate, laying and clutching at his eyes, not seeing anything except darkness, hearing men and women yelp as they tried to walk around him. For a moment he wondered why they were all so scared of him, but then he realized that he was screaming. He realized that his mouth was open and his throat was burning with the effort, using up every last puff of breath in his lungs to scream all of his troubles away. John's hands finally moved from his eyes to his mouth, clutching at his chin and forcing it closed. And finally he was able to hear everything else, the disgusted mutterings of the pedestrians going by, the cars honking, the people shouting, the tires of a bicycle as it ran over the garbage cluttering the trash in this good city. John tried to pry his eyes open, staring at a mass of light in front of him, his eyes watering so heavily that he was splashing rivers down his face; his body was trying in vain to flush his eyes of this poison. So he had failed. Maybe this was where he belonged, trodden on, scowled down upon, looked at like a freak, stretched out upon the pavement with his limbs spread out like a star, suddenly...it didn't matter. What good was he without Sherlock? What would he ever be in life if not by Sherlock's side? A doctor? A husband? A father? Why was any of this necessary, why did he have to be here, why did he have to waste everyone's time, space, and oxygen when his life was over anyway? To live on would be to submit himself to all this uselessness, to all of this pathetic posing, pretending to be happy while his insides churned in disgust. And Mary would never know, and Rosie would grow older, and he would wake up every morning at five, eat his oatmeal, go to work, eat his lunch, come back from work, eat a disappointing dinner, and go to bed. For the rest of his life. For the rest of his god forsaken life. What use was life if he had to sit here and wait, knowing that Sherlock would never return for him, knowing that Sherlock would spend the rest of his comfortable existence held in the muscular arms of Victor Trevor? Why should John live to accept the fact that he had wasted his only chance at happiness? The rushing of the cars sounded closer now, they didn't sound annoying, but tempting. John couldn't see anything but light in his vision, but maybe that was exactly where he needed to go. On. If his life was going to be enthralled in darkness from this point on, he might as well go towards the light when it was the only thing that seemed real. John sat up, his eyes burning in his sockets, tears running down his face, he grabbed onto whatever he could find, under his fingertips it felt like a lamp post, with cold, grimy metal, but he could be wrong, it could be anything. He could only navigate by sound right now, and the low groan of motors only got closer as he took stumbling steps, and finally he found himself in the road, stepping off of the curb with a momentary sense of falling, and beeping, and screeching, and impact, and darkness.... 

John was just there, he could see it, the light, the never ending, everlasting light. It held so much opportunity, and it was just beyond his grasp. However, there was more, there was darkness, acting as his screen, preventing him from getting any closer to the light. It was moving like an energy around him, surrounding him, so that it soaked into his very soul, the darkness of hopelessness and despair. And the light, so close, he could hear it echoing the words uttered by Sherlock; he could hear the faint whispers, the promises and the exclamations, everything that Sherlock had ever said to him just now they were so tempting, because he knew that if he returned into the darkness he would never hear those words uttered again. In fact, he would never see Sherlock again, despite all his hard work, despite his need, he had to get to that light, it was his last chance, he would never get to be with Sherlock again if he let the darkness swallow him whole! And yet a new voice started to speak, and urgent one, radiating out of the darkness with the drone of the devil, a screeching woman, echoing from every corner of the everlasting darkness and drowning out Sherlock's whispers forever. And that darkness started to close in on him, and suddenly John wasn't able to move, the light started to fade, he knew that he would never see it again, he fought, he struggled, but he was paralyzed, helpless, he was being forced back into life without his consent, this wasn't how it was supposed to go, this wasn't fair!
"John, JOHN!" Mary's voice sobbed over him, clearer than before, talking so forcefully into his ear that John was sure she would deafen him if she kept shouting like that much longer. She was here, he could feel that sense of dread, she was here. John opened his eyes very slowly, and while they still stung he was happy to see that he could actually see, the whiteness of a hospital bed, the crying figure of his wife over top of him, the clock ticking continuously over the door...
"Hospital." John whispered, the only thing notable about this place, the only thing he wanted to address at this moment in time. Mary broke down into sobs once more, her whole body quivering in relief as she flung himself on the bandaged body of her husband.
"Oh John, John we were so worried!" she exclaimed desperately, sobbing into John's thin hospital gown so that her tears soaked through onto his chest.
"No, not this isn't....I'm not supposed to be here!" John exclaimed, trying to jump out his bed in hysteria, however Mary just pushed him back down with the simplest of touches, and he recoiled like a snail back into his shell.
"It's alright honey, it's alright, they found you on the street, they took you to a hospital." She assured.
"No I mean, I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not supposed to be anywhere, I was dead, I was dead!" John exclaimed, tears falling out of his eyes once more as he looked back upon such a wasted opportunity.
"Oh John honey I know, it was scary, but you're back now, you're safe. I won't let them take you from me, not again." Mary assured. John let out a moan of agony, trying to clutch at his eyes once more when he found his hands to be immobilized, tied with cloth handcuffs to the side of the bed, as if they saw him as some deranged criminal instead of a helpless, broken man.
"What is...what are these? What are they doing to me, WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME?" John demanded, shaking at the cuffs so violently that the entire bed shook. Mary jumped back fearfully, staring at him with a look of terror, as if he didn't recognize her husband anymore.
"John they found you in the street, your eyes were red, your feet were bleeding, your leg cut open, your skull close to broken, you were hit by a car!" Mary exclaimed.
"I was HAPPY THERE!" John screamed, fighting against the restraints again. "WHY DID THEY TAKE ME AWAY FROM THERE?!"
"Nurse, nurse please, my husband is getting upset, he's getting violent!" Mary exclaimed, rushing towards the door and momentarily leaving her hysterical husband shaking in his bed, in his room of white. Suddenly a couple of nurses, clad in the same color as the rest of the building, rushed in, talking in soothing words and trying to explain the situation to him. But John wouldn't hear it, he heard his screaming, he heard that name, the name being thrown from his lips with such force that it sent Mary scrambling towards the opposite wall, white as a sheet, shaking his bed so forcefully that it rocked back and forth on the tiles, and a pinch, and once again...blackness.