Gone

Chapter 4

Lestrade was shocked with Sherlock’s behaviour. Of course, he was utterly disgusted by the treatment of John and terrified for his well-being but Sherlock Holmes, high-functioning sociopath, was crying. Crying for John. Sociopath? thought Lestrade. No way. He was unsure what to do now; he badly wanted to comfort Sherlock but he didn’t know how to. Luckily, Donovan took that moment to enter Lestrade’s office and begin to talk.

“Lestrade, there’s been a murder.” He stood up and looked at Donovan and Anderson (he’d appeared behind her) who were frowning at the curled up, sobbing figure of the world’s only Consulting Detective. “What’s wrong with Freak?” she asked. “Somebody steal his scarf? Or maybe his skull? And where’s his handler; where’s John?”  At these taunts, Lestrade got angry, really angry.

“I don’t believe, Sergeant Donovan, that it is any concern of yours where John Watson is or why Sherlock Holmes is crying. Oh and I’ll have you know, that he is neither a sociopath nor a psychopath and if you insult him or John again, you’ll have no job. Is that clear?” Anderson and Donovan nodded quickly and hurried from the office. Lestrade knelt next to Sherlock, who had stopped crying but was still curled up.

“Have they gone?” Sherlock’s deep baritones were muffled by his coat.

“Yeah. There’s nobody else here, Sherlock.” Sherlock climbed off the floor, a look of smug happiness on his face which was the last expression Lestrade expected to see. “Sherlock?” Sherlock looked at him and sighed happily.

“Sorry for that; I needed to see their reaction to me. So it’s me they want, but why did they then take John? To hurt me?” Sherlock mused, almost ignoring Lestrade.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry, but what? That was just a trick and you don’t care about John at all?”

“What? No, of course I care about John but I don’t cry. Well, not out of sentiment anyway… I needed to see the captors’ reactions. They turned off the camera when I started crying, meaning that they had achieved their goal, which obviously was to hurt me. If it had been to hurt John, then they would have let John watch me cry, knowing that that would only hurt John more. This is good,” Sherlock explained, still smirking.

“Why? Why is that good?” Lestrade asked, obviously still missing something.

“Because if they wanted to hurt John, they would do that and then kill him. If they wanted to hurt me, they would keep him alive so that they could torture him more to get to me. It gives us more time to find John.”

“But now they know that it hurts you, they’ll torture John more,” Lestrade pointed out.

“Then let’s try and find John before they can inflict too much damage!” Sherlock exclaimed and Lestrade was happy to find him back to his rational self.

……

As soon as Sherlock started crying, John knew it was faked. Sherlock would never cry out of sentiment, only anger and so John knew it must have been a tactic to try and get him out of there. He was still in agony so he tried to concentrate on something other than the pain. Settling on one thing, John replayed the memory in his head. It was about three months old and had been a wonderful and dreadful day at the same time.

It had been five years to the day since he’d met Sherlock Holmes and over three years since he had committed suicide. John was haggard and tired; a mere shell of the person he used to be. He texted Sherlock’s old disconnected phone one last time.

Thank you, Sherlock, for being there for me and helping me when I was broken from Afghanistan. I miss you, so much, but that doesn’t matter now. See you soon.

And then John Watson raised his revolver to his mouth, shoving the barrel between his teeth.

“I love you, Sherlock and now I’m coming to join you,” he whispered, choking on the words. His fingers tested the trigger and just as he was about to pull it, the door to the flat was thrown open and a rather dishevelled-looking Sherlock Holmes stood there.

“John Watson. Put that gun down this instant.” John immediately dropped the gun, staring open mouthed at the man who was supposed to be dead. Surprise was then over taken by anger and John punched Sherlock straight in the face.

John smiled weakly as he remembered punching Sherlock. He had then apologised and after Sherlock had explained his 3-year absence and supposed suicide, he had forgiven him. Life at 221B had gone on as normal for a little while until this. No, thought John. It had not been the same; they both had snapped angrily at each other and become more wary. It was as if something had changed between them, as if they both needed to say something desperately but they couldn’t because they feared how the other would react. But then this had happened and life had immediately got very real again.