His Empty Chair

Chapter 6

Warning: There is a small amount of blood and minor drug use. 

8th September

John awoke to pain. Both of the physical and emotional side. This was how it had been for the past week, he would wake up and for the whole day he would wish for nothing more than to sleep, to die, to have some sort of release from the crushing grief he felt. His family was dead. He had lost everything. He couldn't think, he couldn't even move to expel his growing energy. What was there in the world for him to return to. He had no wife and no child, both had been ripped from him. His beautiful wife with whom he had cared so much for was gone. Never to see the light of day again. Every breath that he took hurt knowing that it was one over Mary. Every breath he took was one his daughter would never get the chance to take. The world was no longer filled with colour. It was dreary and dull.

John had fallen into a dark pit which he didn't think he would have the energy of ever climbing out of again. His heart was gone and there was nothing that he could do. Mary's dead body was seared into the backs of his eyelids every waking moment of his now miserable life and was filled with grief and self-loathing. If he had just acted quicker, if he had just shot the stupid woman. But he had been foolish. He had believed that Mary could not die that they would figure out a way to get them all out alive. He was stupid. And so this was how John now spent his days, tunnelling ever deeper into that pit which he didn't think he would ever get out. He was lost and the only person who was still alive the only person with whom he could still talk he hadn't heard a word from. The only good thing from this had been that Sherlock was alive. He was not dead. But John could not stop his growing anxiety and worry for Sherlock. It had been a week since Mary had died and yet he had not seen or heard a word from Sherlock since then. He now had another of his lives to owe to Sherlock because if it hadn't been for him he would be dead now. John had been extremely lucky; the bullet had hit him in his right side but had only just clipped the large intestine. He knew that he would be able to walk soon with most of the damage being inflicted on his muscle. And yet he just could not find the energy in him to care whether or not he would heal. There was simply no word to describe the pain and grief that he felt. And the only person that he had left to talk to was not here. He was aware of the fact that Sherlock surely blames himself for Mary's death, likely thinking that he should have solved the case faster.

John wished he could see Sherlock, just even if it was to explain to him that it was not his fault. Sherlock had been run dry by the case as it was and he shouldn't try to bear his apparent failure on top of that. Sherlock had been both mentally and physically exhausted when he had showed up at his doorstep. John held no grudge against Sherlock. It was because of him that he had even known that something is wrong. Sherlock gave him the last minutes he had with Mary. It was because of Sherlock that the last thing Mary saw would have been his face.

John was nothing but grateful to Sherlock and he wished he could tell him so, but he had not even received a text message. John worried for the fact that Sherlock had receded to his mind and that he would not return.

As another day ended for John and he lay awake in the bed which had become his home he grieved and he mourned. He had no family and his future was gone. Mary was dead. And John was losing hope.

***

10th September, 2017

Sherlock sat in his chair with his eyes closed, sitting perfectly still in the dark. The silence of the flat was eerie, everything was unmoving and silent. Whether he had been sitting there for days or years it did not matter to him in the slightest. His harsh words would ring out in the ears of anyone who came near him Mrs Hudson couldn't get a word from him whenever she came near, Sherlock would lash out with his harsh words, commenting on her inability to shut up. He had been lost within himself for what felt like merely seconds, yet conscious time was moving at some pace. He wanted no interruptions and he was too hurt and vulnerable to ever let anyone in again.