Let The Shadows Win

Life Owes Me John Watson

The Doctors didn't stay long, although they did give Mrs. Hudson a folder as well. This was undoubtedly the in case of emergency folder, containing all of the numbers to call if Sherlock ever went rouge. Mrs. Hudson thanked them yet held the folder as if she knew she was never going to need it. The confidence that woman had in the goodness of her new tenant was astounding, especially knowing what sort of background he had! Did she just assume that everyone that came out of that hospital was unable to kill again? When finally the Doctors left, Sherlock almost felt the urge to cry. Not because he was going to miss them of course, but because he never had to see them again. That thought alone was enough to make him tear up in happiness, for never before was a goodbye so meaningful and so necessary! He hated those doctors with such a burning passion that to see their retreating backs and a shut door was a work of art in itself. It was worth faking sanity, it was worth all of this. Sherlock took a deep breath of satisfaction, knowing now that it was just he and his new landlady.
"Well Mr. Holmes, I'm so very glad to have you staying with me!" Mrs. Hudson repeated, setting one of the keys down on the table and looking up at Sherlock with a smile.
"Aren't you just a little bit apprehensive, considering where I came from?" Sherlock wondered quietly.
"No of course not, silly. I know you're a good man, deep inside. Everyone is." Mrs. Hudson said with a confident smile.
"You seem like a good person too." Sherlock agreed with something of a nervous smile. Mrs. Hudson smiled right back, for she seemed to take that as the utmost compliment.
"Well let's make sure I can hold you to that expectation." She said with a little giggle. "Now I'll go over the apartment then, tell you all about the heating, the water bills, and the trash collection." The speech was long and boring; however unlike the speeches given by the Doctors, Sherlock forced himself to pay attention. It was nice to listen to this woman's voice, for it was so soft and gentle that it was almost comforting. Even as she talked about the garbage man's schedules Sherlock listened intently, knowing that if he missed a detail he might hurt this woman's feelings, and he did not want to do that. Not in the slightest. He was told there was a folder with all of the necessary information in it, this coming from the landlady and not from the Doctors, that was tucked away in the first drawer on the right in the kitchen. This had all of the good restaurants in it, all of the local grocery stores, and everything else he might need to survive. Of course when Sherlock had been imprisoned everything worth going to was thirty minutes outside of town; however it seemed by the way Mrs. Hudson was describing it that the town had done a great transformation in those thirteen years. It seemed as though it had come to life with new business and restaurants and markets, worth enough now to sustain a person without too much complaining. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson left Sherlock on his own after she had gone through her little speech about what to do and when. It wasn't that he wasn't happy to listen to a voice that wasn't a guard or a medical professional, it was simply that he had other things he wanted to enjoy other than human company. Like his own bed, his own shower, and all of the silly little cartoons he was never allowed to watch as a child. This would be the first time he had actual access to a TV, and he fully planned on abusing such luxuries and watching it until his eyes caved in. Mycroft never liked Sherlock to have technology, he was so afraid of the outside world and their outlandish ideas that he restricted all sort of content that he considered abstract. He insisted that he was trying to keep Sherlock away from the obscene part of the world, with all of the sexual content and profanity, however Sherlock knew now that Mycroft didn't want to lose complete control. He didn't want Sherlock to see something that might remind him that the state he was living in really wasn't a state of living at all. It was merely a flat, barren life of nothingness, that is until Sherlock began to find some excitement in the world of romance. Victor had been the first exciting thing to ever have happened to Sherlock, and being as secluded as he was growing up, he had absolutely no idea how to handle him. It was an adventure; it was exhilarating to try to make Victor love him back! In the end, however, such a game had ended in tragedy, and he was stuck once more with his brother alone. Speaking of his brother, it was odd that he was absent. Usually Victor and Mycroft liked to stay in Sherlock's vision just somewhere in the corner of his eye. And if not that, they would remain as voices in his head for as long as he could tolerate it, and then beyond. And so why he felt so alone, and why his head was filled only with his own voice...well it was an enigma. Surely they couldn't have been left behind? Surely they weren't trapped in the pit, with the rest of the shadows? As painful as it was to leave Victor behind Sherlock allowed himself to hope, just for a moment, that this seclusion would last. It was nice to finally be alone for once in his painful existence. Sherlock knew that he had to go back to his old house, for the clothes he was wearing would only last him a day or two before he began to feel disgusting. Mrs. Hudson had mentioned a laundry room in the basement, however Sherlock had no quarters for the machine, nor did he have any detergent. And so he would have to go and reclaim his wardrobe from the supposedly unsafe structure that was his childhood home. The first thing Sherlock did was take a nice hot shower, enjoying the privacy and enjoying the temperature control. In the penitentiary they had gang showers, with all sorts of guards looking over everyone to make sure no one over stepped their boundaries. It was a horrible experience, especially for such a modest and lonely man like Sherlock. To be able to hide behind this little curtain and turn the water as hot as he pleased was honestly something of a blessing. And all of those smelly shampoos that had been left in travel sizes; he used every single one of them just so that he could smell the scents he had entirely forgotten. Lavender, wild cherry, and coconut! All were sensations he never remembered in his time in prison, the smells he had never thought to mourn. Yet here they were now, and he wondered once again how he lasted thirteen long years without smelling anything sweet and fresh. When finally his shower was over (it had taken a good hour at least for him to feel ready to get out) Sherlock stepped out and toweled off, pulling his clothes back onto his damp skin and rubbing off the steam from the mirror. It was odd, to see himself again. It was odd to see himself with anything less than a scowl, to be looking almost as if he was downright enjoying life. He almost felt the urge to smile, an entirely foreign feeling that he had not felt in so long, possibly even never. He had never thought he had anything to smile about, back when he was trapped with his brother, and trapped in his own madness. Now he almost felt rejuvenated, as if suddenly the world owed him something and he was about to reclaim it. But that was ultimately the truth, wasn't it? The world owed him love; the world owed him John Watson. And he was most certainly going to claim him, that beautiful boy; he was going to claim his right to his heart once more.