Things John thinks about while lying awake at night:
Too uncomfortable to sleep, her body on top of me is making me sweat.
Is there enough shampoo left for the morning? I need to make a trip.
I’ll get the one with the mint… I used that kind a few times. When I would run out of wash before… his would always be minty. I like the way it makes my scalp tingle.
The flat was empty the other day when I popped over.
It was a mess. Worse than usual.
He’s been odd lately, even for him. He’s hardly there, Mrs. Hudson said. She isn't seeing him sleep. Bringing up his morning tea to have him complaining about the chill that night. Even when he is there, she says, it’s like he’s not.
I’ll ask him… I feel like I shouldn’t. Is it not my place?
No, of course it’s fine. I’m his friend. That’s normal.
I feel like I shouldn’t. Why is that not appropriate- asking what’s going on? Or is it more like I… that’s it.
I don’t want to know his answer.
I can’t feel like this- like I did this to him. I’ve done nothing.
His flat is so vacant and quiet… God knows he’ll go his entire life locked up with his own madness, by himself in that flat…
Even Mrs. Hudson will eventually… no no, this is fine.
He was fine before you came along.
That’s a lie. What a lark.
He was not ok. You heard. From Mrs. Hudson and Greg and Christ even Mycroft. Before I moved in he was…
Even within the first month of my marriage he self-destructed.
God, I’ve done this to him.
Get off it. He’s done this to himself, I can’t feel guilty for getting on with my life! He had died!
Does he even realize with that massive head that my stomach sinks when I see him sometimes?
Would he even be awake right now?
Chances are he’s currently scraping petri dishes of bacteria and injecting toxins under fingernails.
Quietly working under the kitchen lamp.
I would come down for the loo and he would be doing things like that, completely immersed. Didn’t know I was there half the time.
Shit, that one night I couldn't stop staring.
The creases of concentration on his nose and his hands adjusting the fine focus. Rocking the ball of his foot on the floor, worrying his bottom lip. His hair was a mess- like he had been pulling and running his fingers through it all night.
The feeling that came over me then. Like nothing else I had ever… I can feel it now. In my neck and my feet and my god-damned chest.
God. Good God. Why do I still have to feel like…
A wife, a child soon- and I can’t wrench Sherlock bloody Holmes from any part of me.
So restless. I look at her and my fingers tremor.
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