Consulting Fangirl

Chapter 27: Sherlock

A/N Hey guys, I hope you're all still alive *nervous laughter*. This chapter totally won't break your heart. Not at all. Nope. Maybe a little. I suggest you grab some tissue. A lot. Okay, don't kill me. I love you. Bye. 

P.S. This is kind of the last chapter... so yeah... enjoy...

I leaned my face closer to the table where the book sat. My eyes scanned quickly down the page as I struggled to absorb the information. This was strange. I’d never had a hard time with absorbing. Something was wrong.

My eyes were dry and pained from lack of sleep. I’d been cooped up in the library for hours, ever since the funeral. I’m not sure why I came to the library. Any information I needed could be found online, but the thought of returning to Baker Street caused a peculiar pain. It was as if a bullet was shot through my chest and froze, still digging towards my heart, but at an incredibly slow pace. This pain was new. I didn’t like it.

Memories snapped in my head like a camera flash, distracting me from the medical book I was reading. I saw my childhood, running from Mycroft as he tried to console me over the children at school who were rude to me. I saw John, the first time we met. I watched in my head as I made each of those first deductions on the man who would soon become my friend, my only friend. I saw the look of awe on his face as he complimented me.

The memories flew faster, scattering around my misshapen mind. John, when he was terrified of the hound. John, when he called my name as I fell to my fake death. John, as he stood crying at my tombstone while I watched.

The most recent, though, and most tragic, forced itself into my rollercoaster of thoughts, and I couldn’t shove it away. It was John’s face as he tore through the doors of the place I was held. It was the look of hope in his eyes; the undeniable, pure relief his face held when he saw, after two years, that I was alive. The look of acceptance in his eyes that he sent me right before the man slit his throat. Of course, after the hope, came the next part.

His death.

That memory did not escape my mind, no matter how hard I tried to shove it away. I saw, unwillingly, the look of pain flash in his eyes before they turned blank. I saw the blood, so much fucking blood. It was everywhere. I saw the girl, Mai, as she screamed at the sight of him, the pain in that scream.  

“You left him. You were the one who abandoned him for two years. Sacrificing yourself was okay, but you didn’t have to leave him alone like that.” Mai’s words shot through my brain like a gun, causing an indescribable pain in my head.

I groaned loudly, bringing my hands up to my ears and rocking back and forth in my chair. I just wanted him out of my head. I wanted everyone out of my head. I was a sociopath. I wasn’t supposed to care this much. Why did I care so much?

“Heartless bastard!”

“Stay away from me!”

“My husband is dead because of you.”

“I hope you’re happy with yourself, Sherlock Holmes.”

“SHERLOCK!”

It was John’s voice that undid me. The pain in it, the shock, finally broke something inside me, something I didn’t know could be broken. Mai’s words were the punches, but the memory of John was the knock out blow.

“…Sir… Sir… SIR!” The voice shot through my skull, loud and clear out of nowhere. I sat up quickly, my heart racing.

Oddly, I realized that I had fallen from my chair and was rocking on the ground before the librarian noticed me.