Once Upon Another Time (Third Book In The "Life Is But A Dream" Saga)

The Empty Hearse: Part Seven

I ended up back at 221B, no suprise there. Almost as soon as I entered the flat, I collapsed, trying to catch my breath. My hands stung from the blisters and the weight I put on them when I caught myself. Once I felt my heartbeat return to a suitable rhythm, I stood and went over to a cabinet with the first aid kit.

After turning on the kitchen light, I took the kit over to the small table next to sofa, and plopped down. Opening it, I found some burn cream and bandages. I simply thought, 'What would John do?' and carefully massaged the milky white and thick cream onto my blisters.

It stung at first, but once I wrapped a layer of bandages around them, the pain eased. If only I could wrap my guilt in some bandages to ease that as well. I hated this feeling, that I should've know that John was in the fire. Maybe I did? No, now I'm just confusing myself. I ran my fingers through my hair and relaxed on the cushions, staring solemly out the window.

It was a while before I heard someone coming up the stairs, and soon through the door of the flat. It was Sherlock, to whom I stood once he saw me.

He was a mess: his curls were everywhere, his scarf was undone, and he held his coat in his arms. I could tell he was distressed by the way his hands shook ever so slightly. I could just feel my heart pity him, and embraced him with sympathy.

"Is he okay?" I asked.

"Yes. Mary took him back to their own flat. There were n-no major injuries." Sherlock explained, and quickly backed away from my hug. He went straight to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact.

"Are you okay Sherlock?" I asked.

"Of course I am, Aspen. Shouldn't you be asleep? It's passed your bedtime." He told me. I chuckled, and sat back down on the couch cushions.
"I'm sorry for leaving the scene, Sherlock. It's just, I saw John hurt and- I don't know I just froze. I felt helpless and it just triggered all of these emotions I thought I had buried and gotten rid of." I began to babble.

The detective was making tea while I spat out the word vomit.
"I'll talk to him tomorrow." I said out loud, sounding more to myself than to Sherlock.

I sat back, now feeling the fatigue get to me. I could hear the clinking of the spoon on the teacup, and the rustling of Sherlock's suit as he moved. Rubbing my eyes, I exhaled and glanced at the time. It was now half past midnight.

"Aspen," Sherlock started, breaking my thoughts and concentration. "Where did you get your watch?" His voice sounded tired, as if he was making small talk, but still I could tell he wanted to know, for reasons unknown.

It did catch me off guard, but I still tried to think of an excuse. I didn't want to give myself or Sherlock unwanted memories of Moriarty. I remembered then when he tried to get me to join his side and timed me by forcing this watch on my wrist. God, that day was just terrible. When Sherlock glanced my way, I hid my shaking hands by sitting on them.

"Uh, it was a gift. Back when you were, you know, dead, I was given it." I told him.
"Ah, you've had it for this long? Must be important to you." He said.

That statement left me speechless. tried to give him a response, but all that came out was a scoff. My chest felt hollow, yet my heart couldn't have been beating faster. Looking down, I consciously took off the watch and threw it down at the soft floor.

Sherlock was staring at me when I glanced up.
"It's really not. I c- I can't even remember who it was, really." I stammered.
Standing up, I took a deep breath and headed to the doorway of my bedroom.
"Goodnight, Sherlock." I said quickly, then went into my room and closed the door.

Focusing was a chore after that. I didn't even remember changing into my sleepwear; next moment I was at the door and the next I was in bed, still breathless.

Eventually I fell asleep to the silent sounds of London outside.

**********

I dreamt of almost nothing. It was like I knew I was asleep, and still chose not to dream. i needed sleep for my tour of Parliament the next day.

Almost. I couldn't avoid thinking about everything. At some point I seemed to have lost control, and began to dream.

I was on the church grounds, alone. The same pyre was in front of me, untouched and intact.

"Aspen!" I heard John call, and saw him in the distance. I waved, and began to walk towards him. As I got closer, I saw that his feet were on fire. with every step, the flames began to grow, and eventually my uncle cried out in pain. I tried calling him, but I didn't make a sound. I began to panic and started running towards him. Of course, I tripped, and the scene changed. Everything was dark, but still familiar. I expected it when I glanced up and saw a bright blue  outside a window; a pool.

It's not real, Aspen. It's only a dream. He can't hurt you in here.

I then charged to the window, and as soon as I collided with it, the glass shattered and the water darkened. Oh, how it felt so real. I remembered this memory, It was after I jumped off the bridge. Daniel was there, is arms wrapped around my motionless body that I tried to move an inch. First impressions, man. As we both surfaced, everything was just loud and suffocating, making me jerk.

***********

I woke up to the bright London overcast, gasping, and my chest heaving. There was slight chatter in the flat, outside. I checked my wrist, expecting my watch to be there. It wasn't, and so I glanced at my phone. It was nearly 11 in the morning! I was super late for work.

I never knew I could move as fast as I did in that moment. Throwing on my polo, sliding into some jeans and slipping on a pair of boots all happened in mere minutes. I tied my hair back, snatched my phone and opened the door.

Outside was Sherlock and John, and the latter was taken aback by my presence.

Taking a breath, I rushed to give John a hug bigger than Sherlock's ego.
And in the meantime, decided that I could take a day off today.