Sentiment {Sherlock BBC}

19. "Crazy"

John and I returned to the inn, and I noticed Sherlock sitting in a living area of some sort. John looked over at the bar counter.

"I'm going to get a drink, you want to go talk to him?" he asked. I nodded and walked in to see Sherlock still in the chair, almost shaking.

"Sherlock," I said lightly. He wouldn't look at me, and I kneeled on the floor in front of him.

"I could be crazy, ha I probably am. Maybe we should just look for whoever's got a big dog." I sighed touching his thigh.

"Henry's right." He said, and I looked up at him, noticing he still wouldn't look at me.

"What?" I asked.

"I saw it too." Sherlock quivered, then looked at me, almost angry. And it scared me enough to pull back my hand and lean back.

"A hound, out there in the Hollow." He began. "A gigantic hound." Sherlock spat at me through gritted teeth. Sherlock looked away trying to hide tears. I turned to see John heard everything.

"Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can't just..." John began, but Sherlock blew out another breath. "Let's just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts." John added. Sherlock looked up to him.

"Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains – however improbable – must be true," Sherlock said... The rules of deduction.

"What does that mean?" John asked stupidly. Sherlock grabbed a drink and looked down at his hand that was shaking.

"Look at me. I'm afraid, John. Afraid." Sherlock said taking a drink from the glass, still noticing he was shaking.

"Sherlock?" John asked. I began to get nervous.

"Always been able to keep myself distant... divorce myself from... feelings. But look," Sherlock said nodding to me. I sat there and looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "My... body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions." He said before slamming the glass on the table. "The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment," Sherlock added, and I stood up, offended.

"Yeah, all right, Spock, just..." John began but looked around realizing we were getting louder as we spoke.

"...take it easy," John said to Sherlock.

"You've been pretty wired lately; you know you have. I think you've just gone out there and got yourself a bit worked up." John said calmly.

"Worked... up?" Sherlock asked.

"It was dark and scary..." John admitted.

"Hell yeah," I added.

"Me?! There's nothing wrong with me." Sherlock stated sharply almost beginning to hyperventilate. He put his fingertips to his temples and John looked at me, then Sherlock.

"Sherlock..." John began. Sherlock was shaking violently and taking crazy breaths. I grabbed John's arm nervously.

"Sherlock," I said trying to stay calm myself.

(Sherlock begins blowing out breaths again, his fingers trembling against his skin.)

"Sher-," John began when Sherlock cut us off.

"THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" Sherlock yelled loudly. Everyone began looking at us, and Sherlock looked at them then turned away quickly.

"You want me to prove it, yes?" Sherlock asked attempting, once again, to calm down. "We're looking for a dog, yes, a great big dog, that's your brilliant theory. Cherchez le Chien. Good, excellent, yes, where shall we start?" Everyone went back to eating, and Sherlock looked over his shoulder and pointed to a man and woman sitting across from one another at a table in the corner. He starts speaking out of control.