Text Messages Cannot Convey Feelings

Chapter Two

This could not be happening.

Sherlock wasn't dead. He couldn't be. No, Sherlock was hiding. He had to be.

Where did you go, Sherlock? JW

John waited. And waited. And waited.

No response came.

*

He tried to carry on normally, he really did. It was just that he didn't know what normal was anymore. Sherlock was his normal, crazy was his normal. This mundane lifestyle could no longer suit him.

I'm bored. JW

That's what Sherlock would say if he were alive. Here, John corrected himself. That's what Sherlock would say if he were here.

I miss you. JW

John knew how Sherlock had always felt, now. Like his brain was too big for his skull. Too many memories, made bittersweet by The Fall, pounded against the inside of his head. Trying to escape.

Please come home. JW

How long had he been sitting in Sherlock's chair, breathing in the scent of the consulting detective? Days? Months? Years, even? Or had it been only seconds, or minutes? He had no idea. Sherlock hadn't texted him back. Maybe he was actually sleeping, or eating.

Or maybe he was dead.

*

John did a double-take. Yes, he really had set out two mugs of tea on the table. He had made one for Sherlock, too, out of habit.

I made you some tea. You'll come drink it, won't you? JW

He didn't want to start drinking without Sherlock. So he waited.

Eventually he became too thirsty, and drank the by-then-cold tea anyway.