Sherlock: The Human Robot

7 - Alone

"Sherlock?" you called but he didn't answer. His bedroom door was shut. Maybe he was asleep. You stood in the hall, deciding if you should knock on the door or not. "Whatever," you mumbled and knocked two times. No answer. It was 9am in the morning. He wasn't usually still in bed then according to John. Carefully, you opened the door just to find the bed empty. That's weird, you thought.

Next, you tried the bathroom, but he wasn't there either, nor was he downstairs in Mrs. Hudson's flat. In fact he wasn't anywhere in the flat. You tried his phone but it went straight to voicemail. "Damn," you said irritated and hoped nothing bad had happened to him. You went into the living room as you were about to try and reach John in case he was with him. Then you noticed the note on the table.

"Y/N, I'm sorry to leave at this time, but I have something I need to do. In the meantime, don't open the door for anyone. Don't trust anyone. I don't know when I'll be back, but I expect sometime tonight.. Until then, stay safe. SH"

"Great, yesterday I moved in here because you said I shouldn't be alone and the next day you run off. But I'm sure you know what you're doing. I trust you on that," you said to the note before you. You called John to tell him about the note and he said he didn't know anything about it. In other words, Sherlock hasn't contacted him. John asked if you wanted to come over. Mary had left to go to the store. Since you didn't have anything better to do, you accepted his offer.

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"And the note didn't say where he was going?" John asked for the third time. "No, he didn't say anything. I just woke up and the note was there," you explained him, again.
"Why should he go away?"
"He's Sherlock. How will we ever know what goes on in that head of his," you said with a bit of worries in your tone. "After what happened last time he went off on his own, I..." you started but couldn't finish because of the thought of Sherlock on the rooftop was too painful to think about. John knew exactly what you meant and sat down beside you, putting one arm around your shoulders.

"Have you tried Mycroft?" John asked. Your eyes lighted up. Of course! If anyone knew something, it had to be him. You took your phone out of your pocket and phoned him.
Straight to voicemail just as Sherlock's phone. Angry, you slammed the phone on the table.
"Jesus!" John shouted as you scared him.
"Sorry," you said.
"Voicemail?" he asked. You sighed in response. Tears started to fill your eyes. "Hey, he'll be back. I'm sure of it," John tried to comfort you but didn't work much.
"If he only would've called and let us know he's alright..." you said.

The hours went by and before you went back to Baker Street, you payed Lestrade a visit at the hospital. He hadn't woken up yet, but the doctor said he'd most likely wake up by tomorrow. His bruises is more visible now than they were yesterday. This wasn't an accident. You all knew that after seeing the chess brick on the police station. That couldn't be a coincidence.

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Several times, you had tried to reach Sherlock or Mycroft without any luck. It was past 8pm and you sat in Sherlock's chair and hoped that he would come through the door at any second. Nothing happened for the next two and a half hours. John had called you an hour ago and asked if Sherlock was back. He had also suggested picking you up and letting you stay the night over but you rejected him and told him you'd be all right here. Nevertheless, you had to admit, you didn't feel very safe since you were alone. You tried to relax by turning on the television. Nothing exciting was on, so you ended up with turning it off again. Since sitting around and waiting wouldn't do any good, you walked downstairs and grabbed Mrs. Hudson's cleaning equipment and started to clean the flat.

23.20pm

After finish cleaning and getting something to eat, which wasn't much since no one's been shopping, you checked your phone, no new messages. You ran your hand over your head and sat down in Sherlock's chair again. When you thought about it, the chair was actually quite big. When Sherlock crawled together, his body could fit in it. You laid your head on one of the armrests, put your knees up under your chin and closed your eyes.

It blew up into a strong wind outside. The front door opened. A stranger took cautious steps up the stairs. Except, he wasn't a stranger. You knew him well. He came through the living room door and saw you sleeping in the chair. As he was standing over you, he stroked you on the side of your head, from your pan to your cheek. You moved a little by his touch.

"Open your eyes," a voice said.
As this person was controlling you, your eyes opened as they were told.
"You," was the first thing you said. "You're dead."
The man laughed. "Am I really?" he asked.
Moriarty, who stood in front of you, now walked over to the table and picked up Sherlock's violin. You got up on your feet and looked at him.
"This is a dream," you convinced yourself. "You can't be here. You're not real."
"Whatever you say, darling," Moriarty said while studying the violin.
"Com'on wake up," you whispered to yourself. Even in a dream, Moriarty made you feel uncomfortable. Moriarty put the violin down, turned around and walked closer to you.
"I'm still here..." he whispered in your ear...

Your eyes shut open and you sat up in the chair. It was still windy outside and for a split second, you sensed the presence of someone else in the flat. Automatically, you put your hand on the side of your face and got a feeling that someone had touched you. Like a memory. But it was a dream. It had to be. You decided to search the flat just in case, but no one was here. You were, still, alone. Neither Sherlock nor Mycroft had called or texted back. It was past twelve at midnight and you sent a text to John and let him know you were okay but that Sherlock had yet returned.