Chapter Text
The afternoon light was grey, and dreadful, invoking a depressive atmosphere across the city. The sky was low and dark. The thick clouds, grey as the stone they pulled from the quarry, gave the monochromatic world outside a claustrophobic feel. By this time of day the birds should have been singing and the horizon tinged with reds and pinks, oranges sometimes. But the weather wasaccountable
to no-one and above the frenetic city hubbub, the honking taxis and swarms of pedestrians marching on their own personal missions the sky was comparatively in slow motion. But this juxtaposition was lost on the citizens. No-one even looked up. And so the sky above, as pretty as any million-dollar painting slowly darkened to a stormy grey, never quite black due to light pollution from below. It matched the mood of a certain consulting detective. The sky never failed to amaze Sherlock, filled with mysteries and endless amounts of space. Over flowing with wonders, yet so much space, so void. The sky was ever-changing, its various colors of navy blue, black, lavender, robin’s egg blue, turquoise, and a fiery tangerine painting the dome above everyone. Sometimes the clouds were puffy and tall, other times they were no more than mere wisps, dashed across the sky by some divine paintbrush. Sometimes twinkling stars dangled from the heavens, sometimes the luminescent, white moon, and other times the blindingly radiant sun.
Right now, Sherlock felt extremely weak. His muscles felt like jelly but he could move them just fine. No, that wasn't the problem. This was a very new, a very strange feeling as the weakness was no physical like the ones he was used to. He didn't know what to do. His brain had shut down and he felt like a mindless creature that could only obey, unable to react. His body moved on its own accord, completely uncoordinated with his brain and he could barely feel the smaller frame pressed against his own. Nothing feltreal. It was as if he was living in a dream, just an observer, watching what was happening to someone else's body. Silently observing but not interfering. Not objecting but not quite giving his permission either.
The the unbroken dense clouds above the houses had darkened to gun metal grey oozed and billowed across the barely visible sun, casting the city into a shadowy darkness. The air was thick with moisture. A jagged bolt of lightning ripped the sky in half. The wind became stronger, almost violent and thunders rolled across the sky, seeming to crack the world in half and reveal the fury of the gods. Then the rain set in, not with a slow build up but all at once, a wall of water ...the storm broke. The rain fell like an ocean thrown from the sky. It crashed into the town, splattered off the sidewalks, and formed instant rivers that raced along the gutters and overwhelmed the drains, an avalanche of water that threatened to drown the world. The ground that was dry moments ago was awash, the wind stole into the poor pedestrians as if they were naked. Before five minutes have passed nobody could see anyone else in the streets. Another lightning reverberated around the city, eerilyechoing what the skies promised to bestow as Sherlock finally woke from his slumber and his brain started working again. It was exactly as if waking up from a dream and he felt a numbing coldness gripping his heart.
It was only then when he realized that his shirt had been ripped off and he was standing pressed to Molly with a naked chest. His mouth closed automatically and he stiffened. She must have sensed it because she slowly pulled back, her eyes dizzy and she blinked slowly. The detective gently caught her arms that were resting on his chest and he pulled away.
"Molly" he whispered. He sounded hoarse. He didn't like the sound of his voice.
She didn't speak. She just looked deep into his eyes and nodded. Then, she took a step back, crossing her hands on her chest. She took a moment to compose herself. Her lips were swollen, and Sherlock was convinced his were too, and her skin was flushed pink. She didn't look upset or confused like Sherlock felt. She hadn't even look angrily at him. She just took a deep breath and raised her head again to meet his eyes. Hazel brown eyes met blue green ones and she cast him a small smile.
"It's okay" she said. "I know."
"I'm sorry" Sherlock said and looked at the floor.
"Don't be" Molly replied. "I'm not."
"I didn't... I can't..." Sherlock struggled with words until he could find the right ones until he realized that there were no right words to say in a situation like this one. Was it his fault? Did this mean that he had initiated it? He hadn't pulled back. Did that mean that he had cheated on John? John... Sherlock almost whimpered at the thought of what he had done, of what he could have done, but caught himself before he actually sobbed in front of her. No, he would save himself at least this embarrassment.
Oh, John... What did I do?
"Shh, I know" Molly sighed.
"What?" Sherlock asked exasperated. "What is it that you know but I don't? I am so confused, I've never been like this before. I don't understand anything" he pulled his hair slightly.
"You love me" she said simply and shrugged.
"I... do?" it came as a question.
"Yeah, you do" she chuckled at the confused way Sherlock blinked at her, like a child not understand what he was being told. "You don't get it, do you?" she asked.
Sherlock shook his head.
"I really don't understand anything, Molly" he confessed, half plea, half whine, full of misery.
"What's got you so confused, Sherlock" Molly asked feeling guilty that she had caused Sherlock such pain.
Sherlock shook his head. He loved John, that much he knew. Loved him to the exclusion of all others. But he also knew that he cared for Molly, more than he cared about anyone else who wasn't John, Mrs. Hudson or family. He had once called what he felt for her love, because he knew of no other word to name the emotion she generated in him. Sherlock was at loss, pure and simple, and had no idea what to do about it. He didn't know what to do with what he was feeling and it was bothering him to no ends.
"I kissed you" he growled.
"No. I kissed you."
"Okay, you kissed me first. But I kissed you back and that makes it just as bad as if I had kissed you first" Sherlock whined again, rubbing a hand over his face.
"I didn't... not like it" he whispered.
Molly simply stared at him until he sighed loudly.
"Normally, I don't like people being close to me. I don't like being touched by anyone but John. But... you were near me and I... I didn't really mind and then this happened... I think I liked it" he said timidly, almost horrified.
"Well, that's okay. We care about each other and we're friends. Of course you liked it."
"But I love John!" Sherlock said, the force of his words making Molly jump, before she forced herself to relax.
"I know you do" she answered honestly. "I think I've always known. And I know that he loves you too."
"But you said I love you and I haven't yet denied it!" he nearly screamed. "How can I love you, and kiss you, and like it, and love John, all at the same time?" the detective was now babbling, and Molly took one moment to unravel the question. Sherlock was a tumbled mess of fear, confusion and nerves. It was up to Molly to set him right and that kinda scared her. It was terrifying how the man looked like he totally depended on her answer. She had never seen Sherlock looking so lost and vulnerable, easily taken advantage of. But Molly truly cared about Sherlock and she would never manipulate him into anything. Besides, she already knew the truth, had known it for a very long time.
"You love John and you kiss him. But I kissed you and you liked it, and you're worried that you're in love with me too?" she asked carefully.
"I... Yes" Sherlock sighed deeply, finally relaxing a little bit. He put his shirt back on and sat down at his chair. Molly sat at the one opposite, without knowing it was John's chair. But Sherlock mentally winced at the implication that Molly was now taking John's place... But no. Not in Sherlock's heart. That would never happen.
"Are you in love with John, Sherlock" Molly asked, keeping it simple.
"Yes" Sherlock replied immediately. He didn't have to think about it.
Molly smiled at him.
"Okay then, we're going to have a small test... oh don't give me that look, I'm not gonna do anything. I just want you to do something for me" she laughed at the terrified look that Sherlock had on his face.
"Okay" he agreed.
"Close your eyes" she waited until Sherlock did so. "Now I want you, Sherlock Holmes, probably the most analytical person on this world, to go over every single thing you know and feel about John in your head. Go through every instant of your lives together at Baker Street. Before and after you... you jumped" she said. "Think about what it all makes you feel. Take your time and think."
Molly waited and watched as Sherlock did exactly that. She could tell when Sherlock thought about his first meeting with John and that day on the roof... All the emotions raced across Sherlock's face. She had to wipe a tear from her eyes as she clearly saw the sacrifice Sherlock had to make in order to save John. And Molly knew without any doubt in her heart and soul that this man in front of her was truly a hero, and the truest kind. The kind that shrugged off the title, never took anycredits and kept going on no matter what.
She saw the sadness and rejection as John had first punched him and didn't want to see him and she felt incredibly sad. Then it was happiness. He had saved John and they were running off to danger once again together. After that, John's wedding followed and Molly had to bite her lip. She winced since Sherlock's face was wincing in pain, regret, devastation, loneliness, and even desperation... It was obvious what the man had to suffer, being John'sbest man and all and Molly felt tremendously sorry for him. But then there was a smile as he probably remembered when John admitted his feelings for him and they were back together. That expression Sherlock wore now must have been the happiest one Molly had ever seen in her life. That must have been the day John returned to him. So she waited and she was very thankful and deeply moved when Sherlock got to his return.
She met his heavenly eyes and raised a finger to silence him.
"No talking. Just listen. I want you to hold onto the feeling you have right now, the one for him and compare it, in depth, to what you feel for me. Close your eyes and think. Tell me when you're done" she said.
Sherlock did as he was told. The time Sherlock was away in his mind palace was significantly shorter this time, the emotions not nearly as intense. Sherlock sighed and opened his eyes once again, looking at Molly somewhat apologetically. He had seen the truth now and was much calmer than he'd been a couple of minutes ago. Molly looked at her watch and was surprised to see that they were sitting there like this for nearly an hour. She turned her eyes back to Sherlock's and smiled.
"You done?" she asked.
"Done" the detective confirmed with a slight smile on his own lips.
"Now tell me what you've just learned" Molly said sweetly. "Don't feel sorry, just tell me the truth, I already know it anyway. Don't know why you needed a confirmation."
"I love you, Molly" Sherlock replied truthfully and with no hesitation. "But not the way I love John. You're a friend, a very good one, maybe one of the best... but nothing more. Your kiss was really nice and I've come to realize that I truly care about you. I wouldn't have felt anything if you were a stranger, or someone I had an aversion to" Sherlock stated, confident in his reasoning. "But I don't want you, I want John. I love you whereas I'm in love with him. Deeply, irreversibly, forever engraved across my psyche in love with John. He... he completes me, tears me down and rebuilds me. Without him, I simply cease to exist."
Molly nodded. She was honestly happy they had settled this. She would never have forgiven herself if Sherlock and John had broken up. Even if the stars and moon collide, these two ought to be together. They were a force of nature. Made to be together. They should never be separated. The universe would be burned to ashes before that happened.
"Thank you" Sherlock told her and grabbed his coat from the couch. He quickly put it on and run to the stairs.
"Where are you going? It's still raining outside!" she screamed at him.
"I know. I need to be out, in the rain. It's always calmed me, it'll only be a minute" he screamed back and run happily down the stairs.
He felt much lighter than before, a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He feltfree as he got out of the flat and closed the door behind him. The sky was still dark, maybe from the earlier storm or because it was nighttime, and the winds howled through the streets of London, driving the rain before it, stinging and frigid as it pummeled the detective. Sherlock bore up under the elements, not at all bothered by the raindrops. He ignored the droplets falling, eyes on the streets in front of him as he took deep, greedy breaths of the wet soil. A chil wind was blowing, driving the fresh rain down the nape of his neck, under his coat collar. He felt the cold, of course he did, but he dismissed it rather quickly, unbothered by it. It was just water and cold air, precipitation and weather. Nothing he could change, nor would he if he could.
He was enjoying this particular feeling of freedom and happiness that he didn't notice a noise behind him. He turned around and practically jumped when he saw the man standing only a few inches away. He sighed in relief as he tried to calm his nerves. He tried to explain to his body that the man was no danger but for some reason he can't help but feel tense. He doesn't look right, something's wrong, he can tell. He always could.
"Garth?" Sherlock asked uncertain. What was he doing here? Had something happened? It couldn't be anything good, going by the look on the taller man's face.
The night had robbed them of the daytime colours. Ahead of Sherlock, Garth was no more than a silhouette, the detective had only his fluid black out-line from which to guess his emotions. Right now he wasn't relaxed, and that could only mean bad things. It meant that whatever was going on in his head was unlikely to be anything pleasant and the brunet shuddered. Tension usually meant bad ideas, bad ideas meant unpredictable behaviours and that meant that Sherlock might not be in position to control him. He looked positively drunk and that was never a good sign either. He took a step back. One day he would have to stop playing indefence but for now it was the only card he had left to play.
"Sherlock" Garth's voice was hoarse. He sounded dizzy. Sherlock didn't like it.
In the past, Sherlock had felt many times as if Garth's shadow trailed him, hushed as the night, dancing between the trees as the sunlight would flicker. Usually it would melt into darkness with the arrival of dusk, until it would blend and disappear against the backdrop of nothingness. But it always remained, only neglected. Like the stars during the day – overpowered by the pouring rays of sunlight – but yet still there. As night after night whisked away it would always join Sherlock once more, hailing like an old friend. It would mirror his actions, as though looking up to him,surveying and admiring his every move. An immaculate outline of the detective's fine shape, an echo of his movements, a lifetime companion, it shadows him; a shadow of an old friend.
But now it was different. Now it wasn't just a shadow terrorising and taunting him. Now it was thereal person, with flesh and blood and Sherlock felt weaker than ever. He didn't know why, Garth was no longer a danger, but he couldn't stop his body from shaking slightly. He hated this momentary exposition of weakness but his muscles wouldn't help him as he tried to calm himself again. Yes, he was alone and yes, Garth was drunk but he was only a step away from his flat for God's sake! Molly would be probably watching them from the window. No reason to worry. The man probably wanted something, a favor or he had some bad news. A chill run up to his spine and he shuddered involuntarily.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound afraid. It was always a big mistake to show Garth you were scared.
And then out of the streets' shadows stepped Garth's form. Sherlock had recognised him from the looping strides that almost look like a moon-walk. But now he could clearly see him, and the reddened eyes he faced didn't surprise him at all. The taller man shook his head and didn't speak. Somehow, the detective thought the gravity had been turned down only around Garth as the muscuar man approached. Sherlock tried to keep himself from shuddering again, he really didn't like the fact that the man's gait was a source of such terror. For all his casualness, Garth looked so much like a dangerous mugger, that Sherlock couldn't help himself but smile. He had once loved this gait of his, had even seemed funny to him. He'd never lash out, only made a self-deprecating joke, but he remembered the anger in the blond's eyes. He could see the man clenching his fists now and he nearly whimpered at how familiar it seemed to him. It wasn't a good thing and the brunette swallowed hard, taking deep breaths.
Garth was breathing loudly and he was far too clumsy to be sober. He also looked too thin and gaunt. Sherlock looked nervously around. He was certain that Mycroft had some CTV cameras around his flat. How the man had evaded the security, Sherlock wasn't quite sure. His eyes were the same but his skin was more reddened, more deeply wrinkled too. How was it possible that this was the same man Sherlock had seen only about a week ago? There was a seriousness about him that unnerved the brunette and he felt trapped even though he knew he wasn't. He watched Garth silently approaching him, mentally preparing himself for an attack. But all Garth did was walk up until he was right in front of Sherlock, almost touching him, and he stopped. He nodded once and then turned around and slowly retreated into the blackness he'd come from. Sherlock was astonished to say the least. He should now be alarmed, walk right back to the security of his flat, call John or Greg, but his curiosity got the better of him like it had so many times before. He wanted to know what he was doing here. If Mycroft had seen him, he would most likely send anarmy on his door to decapitate him. Why he had risked his life to come there? He obviously had something important to say to Sherlock.
The consulting detective closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then looked towards his flat, expecting to see Molly's figure lingering in the dark but he didn't. Molly was nowhere to be seen. He gulped, not knowing what to expect. He turned his eyes to the man standing now far too close to him for his liking.
"Sherlock..." the other whispered.
Sherlock didn't like the sound of Garth's voice. He didn't sound drunk as he expected. He didn't even sound angry. His voice was thin and wavery and he sounded scared more than anything and the mere sight terrified the detective. What could have possibly caused Garth's fear? And what was he doing here...? Was he even safe? The brunette swallowed hard and blinked fast. It was all he could do in order to keep himself from bolting. He tried to supress his body's treacherous tremors. It wouldn't do him any good if the other was here to attack and realized he was scared. Sherlock was honestly terrified. He didn't have an actual reason but his past experience with the blond man made him more than a little wary.
"What's the matter, Garth?" the consulting detetive sounded calmer than he felt.
He watched carefully as the other man wetted his lips and took a deep breath.
"I... you... you have to come with me, Sherlock" he finally said.
"What?" Sherlock croaked. He was confused. What was that supposed to mean? Surely Garth wouldn't just kidnap him, right? Not in front of his house. And he would definitely not ask him to simply follow him and expect Sherlock to comply.
"You need to come with me" Garth repeated, a bit louder this time.
"Where?" the brunette asked.
Garth shook his head.
"Just come with me, Sherlock. Please, don't make a fuss now, just follow me" he nearly pleaded.
Sherlock felt his knees going weak. What was that now? His breaths came out faster. He was panicking.
"Why?" he managed to ask.
"I... I have to. I have to take you with me" Garth replied. "Just come with me and I won't have to force you. I won't hurt you, Sherlock. I promise. But you must come with me and don't make any noise."
Sherlock slowly grew angrier.
"I'm not going anywhere" he said clearly and loudly.
"Sher... please?" he asked again.
"I... this is nonsense! Where are you going to take me? Why should I follow you? I don't wanna go anywhere with you!" he screamed and took a step back.
Garth sighed and pulled his gun, pointing it at Sherlock.
"Don't make me hurt you" he barely whispered.
"You wouldn't dare" he hissed.
"I would" Garth said gently. "I don't want to, but I have to. I would. I would shoot you and then go to your flat and shoot that sweet girlfriend of yours. I wouldn't want it but I'd be forced to do it so... please don't make me a murderer" he asked.
Sherlock's eyes widened. He hadn't expected this.
"Garth... don't..." was all he could manage.
Garth stepped forward those last few steps until the gun was pressed against the detective's chest. Sherlock took a sharp breath and stood still, hands made into fists. Garth could tell how much the brunette wanted to push him away. The blond slid his hand up Sherlock's arm, guiltily thrilled at the way the man shivered, anger and disgust at his touch so obvious on his face. He slowly put his hand behind Sherlock's head and stepped into him, his body pressed tightly into the detective's, no space for air between them. Garth's shoulders were strong and he was all muscles. He dipped his head against the brunette's lips.
"Come with me, Sherlock. The game is over" he said sadly.
Then he pulled back and tugged on his hand. Sherlock followed slowly. He was frozen, he couldn't scream and he knew that if he fought it would only make it worse. He closed his eyes and thought of John, his doctor giving him some strength in order to keep from passing out right then and there.
"What are you gonna do?" the detective asked.
"I'm not gonna hurt you" was all the other man said and kept pulling Sherlock.
Garth took them both a few blokes away where a black car awaited for them. Sherlock waiting until Garth walked around the car to open the door for him.
"Get in" he said and pushed Sherlock lightly. Then he went to the driver's seat.
Sherlock sighed knowing that he had no choice and so he followed and slid in next to him in the passenger seat. As soon as he closed the door, Garth began driving.
"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked again nervously.
"Somewhere far away" Garth replied.
"I don't understand. What do you think you're doing?"
"I've just told you, I'm taking you away" Garth mumbled.
"Why, dammit! Tell me why" Sherlock snapped.
"I have to" Garth said. "I'm sorry. I'm just following orders" he breathed heavily.
"Orders?" Sherlock asked shaking his head. "What orders? Whose orders?" he was panicking again.
"Sherlock, please. Stop asking questions you know I can't answer. I told you I'm not gonna hurt you, I just have to take you away from here for a little while."
Sherlock froze, his breath hitched.
"A little while?" he shivered. "What do you mean?" Sherlok waited but the other man offered no reply. "This is insane! Why do you have to take me away?" he growled.
"It's really complicated" Garth spoke quietly.
Both men stayed quiet after that. Sherlock was trying to remain calm and keep his breaths even. He didn't like being so close to this man. He felt trapped and threatened. He wanted John. God, he already missed the man, he needed him to come and save him. Normaly he wouldn't like any kind of help from anyone but right now he was mentally begging for someone, anyone to come and save him. John, Lestrade... even bloody Mycroft! Where was this bastard when he really needed him? Hell... he was in big trouble, that much he knew. He felt completely powerless against Garth. It was irrational, he knew, but he couldn't help it. How he wanted to be back at 221B with his doctor cuddling or watching TV or even having dinner.
And then he remembered Molly. Was she still at his flat? Probably. Was she worried? Definitely. Had she seen anything? Unlikely. She would have screamed or done anything to prevent this strange man from taking him. Especially after what had happened... Molly had kissed him. No, he had kissed Molly. He was so confused. He knew that he loved John, it was obvious. But how had he done that? Was that considered cheating? Should he tell John? Would John be mad at him and leave him? No. The good doctor was far too good to do that and he would forgive him even if Sherlock wasn't so sure he deserved forgiveness... Would he ever seen John again?
"Do you remember when I told you that you should leave John?"
Sherlock's attention snapped back at the man driving the car.
"Yes" he said shortly. "Is this about her? Was she the one who ordered you to take me away?"
There was silence again. And then a small voice replied.
"Yes."
Sherlock closed his eyes and breathed loudly through his nose. He had to remain calm, he couldn't panic now. John was probably in danger and that was more important than anything. He forced himself to look at Garth and he spoke determined.
"Who is she?"
"You know I can't tell you" Garth answered.
"Yes you can" Sherlock insisted. "I can help you. I can help you hide, make you disappear. Whatever it is you want, I can help you. You know who I am. You know who my brother is."
Garth thought about it for a while and then shook his head again.
"I'm sorry" he managed to say.
Sherlock groaned in exasperation. He had to find out who this mystery woman was. She had been after him for some reason, and she knew enough about his life to know about Garth. None knew about Garth except from him and his brother. Someone had looked into his past life and had gone through enough trouble to bring back Sherlock's one and only nightmare and apparently that same someone had their eyes on John, since she wanted to break them up. He felt a shiver running down his spine. He had to find out who she was and if she was threatening John. He could put up with many things and he had tolerated a lot from Gath but not when his loved one was in danger. That was a line that could not be crossed as long as Sherlock was concerned. Sherlock felt really desperate.
"Tell me" he pressed. "Please, Garth, for the love of God you have to tell me. John might be in danger. I'm begging you, I have to know. Please" he screamed. He was openly begging and nearly crying now but he didn't care. Anything to keep John safe. Garth eyed him carefully.
"All I can tell you is that she won't hurt him" he simply told him in a cold voice.
"How can you possibly know that?" the detective exploded. "She could be an obsessed person for all that you know. You say she's making you do this. She must have done some pretty good research on me if she knew about you. Who would do that? Who would care about me and John so much to do that? To bring you back and..." his voice broke.
Garth closed his eyes. He didn't want to see Sherlock like this. But he could still hear him trying to shuffle his sobs. That was his punishment now. To watch this man suffer like this because of him.
"Why won't you tell me?" Sherlock cried and the blond shrugged.
"I'm afraid of her more than I'm afraid of you" he said simply.
"Then give me a bloody clue. Something. Anything!" he screamed again but went ignored.
None spoke again for several minutes. Garth had opened the windows and was driving faster now. Probably because it was dark by now.
"Garth" he whispered brokenly causing the other man to look at him in worry.
"What is it, kitten?" he asked.
Sherlock shivered but ignored it.
"Please" he begged again. "Just tell me how can you be so sure that she won't hurt John?"
The other man sighed. Sherlock was ready to beg again when Garth beat him to it and spoke.
"Because I think she loves him. And she has something of his. She wouldn't kill him even if she wanted to", he murmred.
"But this doesn't make any sense. How can she have anything of John's that's so important? That would mean that John knew her and probably trusted her and you say she loves him so..." Sherlock stopped, nearly shut down. A gasp escaped his lips. No... it was simply not possible. It couldn't be. But... Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains however improbable, must be the truth. So could it be...? "Mary..." he breathed. "Is it her?"
Garth looked at him.
"I told you, I don't know her real name. But even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."
Sherlock ignored him. He felt as if he couldn't breathe anymore. It all made sense now. A woman who loved John but was also close enough to Sherlock. Someone who obviously wouldn't want them together. But... an assassin? Sherlock hadn't seen that one coming. He had to go back. He had to do something, Mary was pregnant... and then he stopped again. John! He couldn't tell John. Mary had threatened to take the baby away. But if John who she was, what she was capable of, then he'd be terrified. He would leave him for sure, he would do anything she asked him for fear of her hurting the baby somehow. It was logical and he knew that it was the right thing for John to do. But he'd leave him... He wouldn't be able to handle that. It wouldn't be John's fault of course but he would still break without him. There was nothing he could do.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember John. Good, sweet, always caring John, entering the flat and scowling.
"These are either the mashed potatoes you made last month or we should leave the flat immediately and call the biological hazards squad!"
The thought brought a smile as well as tears in his eyes.
He stared numbly at the sky. In the darkness the whole world could have blown away in a freak storm. Sherlock was looking outside the window and could smell the earth as if it was wiped clean, as if all the plant life was gone. His eyes were looking at the ground intently the only reason he knew it was still there. Everything else had dissolved like it was never there at all, like the universe hadn't even begun, or perhaps it never did. In the darkness, as Sherlock contemplated the idea about his best friend, his wife and their baby, he couldn't get a sense that anything was important at all – life, death, pain. And suddenly he could no longer stand the dark sky. He wanted the dawn to come and kiss the land and remind this fickle heart that he was not the only one there - that there was a whole planet of other sentient beings who lived and loved and suffered. And he was loved, he knew he was even though he felt more lovely than ever. For now all he had was this starless sky he was looking at. Even the moon didn't shine tonight, as if it realized Sherlock's pained epiphany. He briefly wondered if John was looking at the sky right now and if he was thinking about him. He knew that if he told John, he would be too scared to go against Mary for fear of their child and he would most likely leave Sherlock. The thought made the detective want to vomit and then curl up.
The future was now an unwalkable road. Even if Sherlock tried, it would be a journey into a land devoid of hope. It was one thing to look back and realize you were in darkness, it was quite another to look ahead and realise your days in the sun are numbered. Sherlock had always been one to reward those best at manipulation but now that he was on the other side, he realized how wrong he had been. He couldn't see a way out of this mess. He felt as if he could see the end but had no desire to fight it, as the ground beneath his feet crumbled, sending him spinning into a dystopian nightmare that he could never wake from. For him, despair used to be an emotion for the elderly and frail. Now it was as ubiquitous as the polluted air and rivers of London.
It was torture. There was no other word to descrbe what he felt. This despair felt like a heady blackness; the ways forward he had ever though possible, had now vanished to black, not blocked, but like they were never there at all in the first place. Sherlock felt trapped. The notion of hope had become meaningless. And if the detective's mind had once even lingered on such ideas, they now started to feel like cruel tricks, as cruel as any desert mirage. The bonds he had, the ones that kept his fragile heart beating, felt thinner than ever and they were a terrible weight. He wouldn't be able to be with John. Garth would keep him away until Mary gave birth to the baby and then what? John would probably hate him for leaving. Or he would have forgotten all about him, being so thrilled about his new family... Sherlock could practically hear his brother's words from when they were little:
"To love is to care for their futures and for them to care for mine - yet what is to come will bring no comfort to any, least of all for us "disposable people" on the cheap side of town."
He had told him a million times that caring was not an advantage but he hadn't listened. He had goe and fallen in love twice and this is what had happened. He felt like his life wsa over. It would be. A life without John was no life at all. He didn't want this kind of life. He tried to be strong, showing no weakness to the man next to him. Only when Garth stopped the car to take a piss, did Sherlock allow his desperation to overwhelm him and started crying.