Lost and Found (Sherlock x Reader)

The Final Problem (Part 4)

Sherlock was a wreck. He was panting heavily with one hand resting on the only standing trestle. The other had fallen over during his outburst. He slowly turned around, the standing trestle now falling as he removed his hand from it. He hardly reacted when it slammed against the floor. The detective shuffled across the room, not being able to find the strength to lift his feet in proper steps. The broken pieces of wood from the coffin were knocked about as he walked past them.
When he reached the wall, he pressed his back against it and then slid down until he sat on the floor. His knees were propped up, and his arms rested atop them. His head dropped forward in defeat.
The emotional torture that he'd been put through was more than he had been able to bear. That test was the worst one Eurus had put him through yet. Now, Sherlock could think of nothing else except you.
He could still picture you crumpled on the floor of your flat, crying out at the thought that Sherlock didn't love you. He could still hear you saying those words. Those three little words that caused so much damage to your relationship.

'I love you.'

In the immediate moment of hearing those words, Sherlock's heart had leapt in happiness. Both of you had finally admitted out loud that you loved each other. But there hadn't been time to explain to you that he was going to say it and mean it. Because he did mean it. He meant it with all his heart.

'Y/n, I love you.'

There was now a situation of miscommunication—of misunderstanding. You meant what you said. You loved Sherlock with your entire being. After that phone call though, you now believed that Sherlock did not truly love you. Not in the way you were hoping. And that was what was tearing both of you apart from the inside out.
Sherlock pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He was struggling to keep his heart rate under control, and he was having a hard time breathing properly. Was he having a panic attack? Was this what panic attacks felt like? Or perhaps this was what heartbreak felt like? Was this how you felt too?

'Y/n, I am so, so sorry.'

The sound of footsteps pulled the consulting detective from his thoughts. His hands fell from his face. He kept his gaze on the floor though, already knowing who was coming toward him. John's shoes came into Sherlock's line of sight.

"Look, I know this is difficult, and I know you're being tortured," John said quietly but firmly, "but you have got to keep it together."

Sherlock scoffed. "Torture. Yes, it's torture. It's also vivisection. We're experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats." He let out a heavy sigh and leaned his head back against the wall.

Neither of them said anything, but Sherlock knew what John was thinking just by the look on his face.

"Soldiers?"

"Soldiers," John confirmed with a nod.

He reached out his hand which Sherlock took hold of. John helped the detective to his feet and then handed him the gun. The two of them walked to the next room. John entered first. Sherlock paused and glanced back. He pictured you standing in the middle of the mess.

'I'm sorry, y/n. I need to leave you behind for now. Just until this is finished. Then I'll fix everything. I promise.'

The image of you smiled with tear-filled eyes. You nodded at him. Sherlock nodded back. He then turned his back to the room and entered the next one.

"Tick-tock, tickets please!" Jim Moriarty's voice emanated from the speakers.

The new room was completely empty except for the four television screens placed on each of the four walls. Sherlock, John, and Mycroft were all present.