Memento
The only movement he made was to twitch uncomfortably when the guy on the radio announced the date and closing his eyes tight when the cab passed St. Bart's morgue. Tears started to form in his eyes but he didn't allow them to fall. Instead, he addressed the driver to change the route, new destination cemetery. His voice cracked whilst talking and he had to force himself to stay rather relaxed, silently fighting the unwanted emotions that were slowly overwhelming him. John was relieved when the car stopped and he could pay the driver to get out. The cab drove of, leaving the cemetery's entrance in darkness which John was thankful for. With trembling shoulders, he stumbled through the gate, around the little chapel towards the tombstone he had been so eager to get to since he left the pub. His sight was blurred from tears and alcohol, his mind didn't work properly for he had let down all defences when he had made his way through the gates of the cemetery, leaving only his bare heart and soul to be consumed by the darkness that had been growing inside him for years. Memories flooded through him, making him tremble even harder and sob uncontrollably, overwhelmed with agony so deep he could hardly take it. John couldn't feel his feet and was close to tripping and falling several times before reaching the tombstone and the tree that spread its b ranches over the space above it as if to protect it. Finally, his knees gave in and he sank to the wet ground, almost hitting his head on the stone when his muscles gave in, making him bend forward. The cold wind seemed to blow right through his bones, increasing the rate of cold shivers running over his back, his hands pressed to his stomach, nails digging deep into fabric and flesh beneath them. Suddenly, he got aware of the whole situation he was in – How the rain was drowning everything, being the only noise in almost complete darkness, except for the whispering leaves above him. How the darkness seemed to be living through him. How alone he felt and how he seemed to be wasting every day and night not feeling alive at all. Rage flooded through his body, his brain burned, fire spread through his veins, his jaw hurt as he clenched his teeth tight as possible. He tensed, his right arm rushing backwards before he rapidly smashed his fist onto the cold wet stone in front of him. Exhaling with pressed, shuddering motions, he looked down at his fist. Warm blood was dripping down his knuckles, but he couldn't feel the pain. He was as numb as the stone he had just hit. “Bloody bastard.” he hissed, barely in control after finally being able to open his mouth again, “You. Machine.” “Do you even care what you did to me? I wasted YEARS, Sherlock. YEARS! I'm barely living, I feel like turning into you, never showing emotion to ANYONE who actually cares about me.” he bent forward, resting his forehead on the stone. “I asked for a fucking miracle. But you don't care, do you? I believed in you! I trusted you!” He leaned back abruptly, his right arm snapping back again, fist clenched. “Why. Won't. You. Answer?!” he hissed, punching the motionless stone after every word. With the last hit, he heard a sharp crack when his middle finger broke, showing white hints of bone beneath the torn skin of his first two knuckles. More blood started to drip, then pour out of the wound. “I WOULD HAVE DONE EVERYTHING FOR YOU!” he shouted, putting all the pain he felt, all the anger, agony and desperation of the last years he had tried to cope with his best friend being dead into a deafening, brute roar that made birds sleeping in the trees shoot out of them, disturbing the air with the rushes of feathers and wings. John smiled bleakly as a single thought crystallized in his brain. A distant memory of a conversation he and Sherlock had had before he had died. The deep voice of his lost friend echoed through his mind and he repeated the word in unison.
“Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.” A sad laugh escaped his trembling lips. It fitted how he felt now, he thought. “No. It doesn't.” a deep baritone cut through the night. “Friends protect people.”
