One More Miracle

5 • The Street

I walk down the long winding corridors of the hospital, barely noticing the pain in my leg.

What did I just do?

Oh God. I barely even recollect what I've just done. How much did I smash? I was in a blind rage and now I almost can't remember what happened while I was in it. How did this even happen? I remember the bloody microscope, how he must have just left it there, leaving someone else to take care of it, remember it hitting the floor. Oh fuck, they're pretty expensive, I hope they don't make me pay for it. But with this thought, the anger rises inside me again and I realise that I don't care about the expense, it just felt so good to smash everything in there, so freeing, so reckless. I had finally gotten rid of some of some of the anger that I had felt ever since a few hours after I'd gotten over the initial shock of him jumping. Of course, there was still a lot of anger left inside of me at him, but it was proportionally less than before.

Maybe I should go back and help.

No, I can't I can still feel the anger in the pit of my stomach. If he wasn't dead I'd kill him flashes through my mind. That doesn't make sense, but I feel it.

I swear, if I ever saw his smug, 'I'm so much smarter than you', face again I would hit him. Make him feel the pain he's put me through. I know for certain that even if he doesn't feel the emotional pain, something which I'm in constant conflict over, he will be able to feel that physical pain, and making him go through that will be something I enjoy. Not sadistically, but in a revenge kind of way.

Suddenly, I'm outside. I don't even remember coming to the door, feeling the breeze from outside as I should have coming through here, but the cold envelops me now. The icy fingers creep up my spine as I see where I've come to.

I didn't go back to the way I came into Bart's, no, I had to come this way. The thing is, my body carried me here when I wasn't even thinking about it. It must have been some subconscious decision, based on the amount of time my mind spends replaying the scene that took place the last time I was here, so rather than waiting months and coming here on some morbid 'let's try to relive everything and sink further into depression' field trip I had, somewhere deep inside, decided to come here now.

I'm already out there and I can't turn back now. Even if I wanted to, me feet feel stuck to the ground. On the pavement, the scene of so many of my nightmares.

I feel myself rushing forward, to the exact spot where he fell.

For some reason, I expect there to be a mark there, a dent from the impact or, even more illogically, all the blood to still be there, the stone slabs to still be stained that deep red, the pavement to bear some make of his hitting it, but of course it doesn't. Just another piece of fiction that my deluded mind came up with.

I bend down and touch imagining that he's there still. In my mind's eye I see him again. But this time, I move the crowd, I feel the pulse in his neck, again nothing. Then, with no one there, I can do CPR. And it works.

No one's there to block me, to push me away and I'm able to get through. To save him.

I feel my knees give out, and I'm crashing to the floor. This cannot be happening again. I'm on my knees, and I'm looking up. Into the sky, through the brightness and I can just see the rooftop.

I can't imagine what must have been going through his head. His plan. His plan to avoid death and somehow get off the roof without injury sparks up the little section in the back of my mind that sits there, rocking back and forth with its little tinfoil hat, in its delirium, thinking that Sherlock is still , no, no. I've stopped thinking like that I cannot let those thoughts come to forefront of my mind, I will keep them locked away. He is dead. Right here,, I saw fall 100ft, I felt his pulse...or lack of one.