His Empty Chair

Chapter 7

Warning: there is blood in this chapter and descriptions of pain.

Also please keep in mind that this is my first fic and I am by no means any sort of doctor nor do I have any sort of medical knowledge whatsoever. But get ready for the emotional roller coaster.

Sherlock did not want to go but he knew that he had to. He was exhausted every part of his body hurt and his mind was still foggy but there was something in him driving him on, a force he did not fully comprehend was keeping his tired mind awake.

Mrs Hudson had forced him out of his deep blissful nothingness and had shook him awake. Her incessant prodding and shaking had eventually reached his mind where he was forced to drag himself from the darkness. He slumped against John's old bed, his mind was foggy and his movements uncoordinated. Mrs Hudson was kneeling was kneeling next him forcing tea down his parched throat. Warmth from the tea forced its way down through his body even though he didn't want it to, he wanted the cold darkness he had been in. And yet he was finding it easier to concentrate, against his will thoughts were starting to stir in him, feelings.

"Come on, Sherlock, dear, why'd you do that? You know he's not dead. Just go and see him, you never know he might wake up." Mrs Hudson's soft words seemed to hack their way through his brain, the dregs were still in his system and he longed for its return. Light filtered through the half closed curtains of the window and the room around him was suffused in a warm yellow haze. And yet the room was still freezing and Sherlock felt cold to the bone. Mrs Hudson was lifting the tea to his mouth again when all of a sudden it repulsed him, how could he sit here and be man-handled and cared for like a baby while John was alone and cold? How was Mrs Hudson doing it? She had cared for John and yet she didn't seem to show a spot of remorse. How could she not see what was going on? John was gone. Yet again the hungry animal in him rose and anger coursed through him, why did love have to be so complex? A rage was coursing through him now and he could do nothing to stop it, welcomed it even. As Mrs Hudson lifted the tea yet again he cracked. Flinging his arm out he knocked the tea from Mrs Hudson's grasp. Dimly he saw it fly across the room and smash against the wall but he didn't care much about it.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson had let out a small gasp and Sherlock was aware of her scolding him but he did not care. Her ceaseless chatter was interrupting the quiet and the anger in him seemed only to be fuelled by this.

"Mrs Hudson SHUT UP! You never stop your stupid talking just listen to me and SHUT UP! You old woman!"

He was just so angry, angry at the world, angry most of all to himself even Mrs Hudson. He raised his hand and hit her across the face.

"Aah" Mrs Hudson clutched her face and stared at him incredulously. Instantly the anger in him disappeared as if he was the person to be slapped, regret and shame replaced it. He dropped his head in shame and stared down at his shaking hand. Again the grief returned but he seemed unable to contain it. What had he become? A rambling idiot who abused old ladies. Sherlock looked up again into Mrs Hudson's old eyes, "I'm sorry." Mrs Hudson sighed and launched herself at him.

"Oh Sherlock he is going to be alright." She hiccoughed on his shoulder as he simply sat their frozen and numb. "Just go and see him would you?" Mrs Hudson pulled away and stared intently into his face. He gave a vague nod, she seemed to be reassured and got up, giving him another final look she left. She had conveniently left the biscuits beside him but he ignored them. His eyes stung and the emotions he felt swamped his mind. Sherlock could not let John lose his life or anyone else. Mrs Hudson was right, knew that he had to go but he could not move. He could not find the energy within himself to move. Sherlock knew he had to go yet he did not want to. He was in a state of war within himself. But there was some force within him that was urging him on. He did not understand what it was that made him slowly stand and painfully limp towards the doorway. Everything swayed around him while his whole body hurt. He felt pain all over him both of the physical and mental kind. His leg was crusted with blood and his feet still had glass in them. He slowly shuffled from the room and made his way down the stairs. He had to go no matter how much he didn't want to.