We ended up sitting on the stone railings on the staircases; Sherlock was laying on the right one while I sat on the left, gripping the stone for dear life as I looked down off the steep edge. Sherlock had his fingertips under his chin, obviously lost in thought, his eyes closed. He looked so peaceful laying there, but every time the staircase switched and moved around I wanted to scream for him to hold on. I doubted he could die again, but it would certainly kill me to see the love of my life fall of the magical moving staircases.
"So the nurse wants me to get a mental health check." I told him after a while of silence. Not that I minded the silence, I got to look at him and all his beautiful features, but I wanted his opinion on this. Sherlock's eyes opened and he turned his head to look at me.
"And?" he asked.
"Well, I don't think I'm insane, do you?" I asked.
"Only the good people are insane Mr. Watson, I am, Jim was, there's nothing wrong with it." he pointed out.
"But my mom will flip; she might even send me to a hospital." I defended.
"Then we could be together every day, what's wrong with that?" Sherlock asked.
"True." I agreed. "But it's kind of weird you know. What do you see when you're insane?"
"I assume it's different for everyone."
"Well what's it like for you?"
"I see everyone as a threat. Moran was in the way of Jim, the bullies were in the way of my happiness, the teacher was in the way of the bullies getting justice, it just goes down the line. Everyone was out to get me, destroy me slowly."
"That's kind of what's going on with me, except they're all out for you, for the book. That's why I attacked the football players, they stepped on the book." I pointed out, hoping that it was just a coincidence. I wasn't insane, I was cautious, there was nothing wrong with my head, I was better than I ever had be.
"Don't worry Mr. Watson, there isn't anything wrong with you and even if there was I wouldn't care. I have more flaws than the best of them and it doesn't seem to affect anything." Sherlock pointed out.
"But I don't want to hurt anyone, Greg, Mom, what if I attack them?" I asked.
"Then I hope you have a good reason, unlike me."
"That doesn't help much." I pointed out.
"There's an escape from anything Mr. Watson, from pain, from suffering and torment, and it's one bullet and a trusty gun." Sherlock shrugged. I nodded, not knowing if that was a good answer or not. Of course I wasn't insane, and I wasn't going to kill myself, it just wasn't a good idea. What was the purpose of death if Sherlock was going to be in my world for the rest of my life? I could wake up and see that beautiful face, go through school with him by my side, ride home with our hands interlocked, it would be paradise. I wasn't insane; I was just a little bit shaken up. Sherlock went back to resting his head on the stone, not really in a talking mood I suppose, which was just bad considering I was lost to my thoughts. You couldn't kill a thought, not once it's made a home in your brain, and at the moment that thought was doubt, and doubt was even worse. It ate my brain away until I doubted I was even John Watson at all, I was someone completely different, and ready to kill and die myself for this love.
Even though Sherlock promised not to bug me about taking care of myself he still made me attend my family dinner. I didn't want to, even though we were doing absolutely nothing, but sitting in Hogwarts was better than a party on Earth. It was pathetic, and I didn't want to be there. I sat at the table, feeling my mom's eyes watching my every move. It's like I was going to use the soup ladle as a weapon and go crazy, attacking people by the dozen. Harry and Dad weren't showing any signs of knowing about my day. It was normal, abnormally calm. I knew that Dad would flip, even though he doesn't affect my life in any way he still thought I needed to be the perfect son, and to do that I couldn't be suspended for a week. I wondered if Greg knew, but I doubted it. He was still mad, I could tell from the silence. On a normal Friday night he would be over, shooting basketballs or just sitting on our porch until I came out to either join him or tell him to beat it.
"So Harry, how was your day?" Mom asked, making me sigh, looking down into my soup.
"Fine." Harry grumbled.
"Where were you after school?" Dad asked, the question that had been hanging over all of us for a while.
"School stuff." I muttered after a while of silence.
"What type?" he asked. Mom took a deep, calming breath, looking at her husband with worry.
"John got in a little fight today at school." She said simply. Dad didn't show any emotion, but Harry snorted with laughter.
"Shouldn't you be in the hospital?" she asked.
"Harry, please leave us. We need to discuss this." Mom decided, folding her napkin and setting it on the table. Harry just rolled her eyes, getting up as loudly as she could and grabbing a piece of bread from the table, obviously happy to leave but disappointed at not hearing what I was fighting about.
"What was this fight about?" Dad asked, his voice low and menacing. I knew he was on his last nerve, and one wrong mood would snap it. I also noticed a bottle of beer by his table; he was drinking, which wouldn't help my situation at all.
"Well, John said..." Mom started. Dad raised his hand, silencing her at once with such a simple gesture.
"I want to hear it from the boy." He growled. When I was 'the boy' the future didn't look too good.
"Well I was walking down the hall, and the football team knocked me into the wall and stepped all over my stuff, so I got revenge." I explained, not looking him in the eye.
"Well, that's not all, John has been suspended." Mom said. "For a week." The table seemed to shake with his anger; the water in my glass splashing like the T-Rex from Jurassic Park was coming.
"You got suspended for a WEEK?!" he asked, ending his sentence with a yell that made everyone flinch.
"It's really not that bad, they got what they deserved..." I started, but the glare from both my parents shut me up.
"That will go on your permanent record, this could be the defining moment for what bloody college you get into DOES THAT NOT MATTER TO YOU AT ALL?!" he screamed, gripping his fork so hard I was afraid it would crumble in his fist.
"It does, I just..."
"SHUT YOUR F***** MOUTH BOY, THIS IS GOING TO COST ME MONEY!" he yelled, getting to his feet and hurling the fork at me. I ducked, hearing it clang against the wall, and then all Hell broke loose. Mom dove between us, trying to calm him down, I ran from the table, my chair falling to the floor as I heard more silverware clatter to the floor. I heard Harry yelling from her room, trying to find out what was going on.
"YOU GET BACK HERE BOY, GET BACK HERE NOW!" Dad shrieked. But I didn't, of course I didn't, I ran to my room, I ran to Sherlock where no one could get me. This was it, the last straw, the thing that would give me the salvation of getting Sherlock to me permanently. I grabbed the book, a pencil, and my Swiss Army Knife from my dresser, pulling on my coat and looking around my room before opening a window. This was it, this had to be it, I wasn't going to take this torment anymore. The world I lived in was rubbish, and the only thing that would make it better was if Sherlock was in it. I crawled out into the cold night, landing painfully in one of mom's well-trimmed hedges and rolling out with several sharp branches poking through my jacket. This was it, the defining moment. I ran down the road, not bothering to grab my bike or anything, I was going to where it all began. The night was chilly and silent, but I could hear my dad screaming for me to get back there. I hoped my mom was okay, and even Harry, but I hoped even more that my dad would fall in a tragic accident down the steps or something. I could almost hear him calling for me, he knew it was time to; it was time for him to join me.
I ran all the way to the caves, my sneakers kicking up the old dirt and mud that still had the bike tire prints of when Greg and I first came down here. Greg, poor, oblivious Greg, he had no idea what he could've gained with the discovery of Sherlock in the journal. He could've lived this life, had Sherlock to himself, all he would've had to do was grabbed the book instead of me. But lucky for me I had grabbed it, and I had gained this one and true love, he was all mine and I was his one and only. I didn't bother grabbing a flashlight, I didn't need one. I was no longer scared of anything in this cave; I knew that the 'psycho murderer' wasn't what they all said he was, he was my Sherlock. The snakes and spiders that used to make me cower were nothing, our unstoppable love would be nothing compared to something as small as venom or fangs. For some reason I knew exactly where I was going, as if there were a big neon sign pointing to the rocks that used to hide the passageway that hid Sherlock from the rest of this world. All the normal people that tried to pin his crimes on him, and not the people that pushed him to commit them. And those people deserved what they got, they deserved more than that they shouldn't have had such a quick death, anyone that touched a beautiful hair on his perfect head deserved to bleed to death, combust in their eternal pain. I crawled under the rock, scraping against the dust and stones but not feeling an ounce of pain. I was coming Sherlock. I followed the pathway until finally the room opened up, the bookshelf, the table, the chair; Sherlock had sat in that chair all those years ago.
"Sherlock I'm here!" I called, my voice echoing off the stone walls and simply bouncing back at me. Nothing, he still wasn't here. I sat in the chair, sure he wouldn't mind, and scrawled down in the book.
I'm in the cave, it's time.
Mr. Watson, what happened? Dad found out about the fight, he attacked me, threw silverware I escaped through my window but it's time. What do I have to do? You're absolutely sure? I need you here with me Sherlock; it's not a matter of how or why, it's now. Very well. I'm afraid that my soul is too weak to make myself a stable body, I'll need help. I'll do anything. Bring me someone, anyone it doesn't really matter, I just need an unconscious body. They will selflessly donate their life to supply mine and I will become what I am here, a solid, un-aging, nonliving person walking your Earth. Will they die? Unfortunately they will not survive the encounter, so don't pick anyone too important. I will Sherlock, I absolutely will. I agreed, and with that I grabbed my army knife and a rock from the ground, no regrets as I crawled once again out of the cave. It was for Sherlock, I would kill for Sherlock, I would kill myself for Sherlock, there was nothing I wouldn't do for Sherlock. I waited on the road, waiting for anyone to run by, I didn't really care who it was. My army knife was clutched in my hand and the rock in the other, waiting silently behind a small bush. And then I saw two lights approaching out of the dark, a truck by the looks of it, but size didn't matter, I could take down anything with this adrenalin pumping through my veins. I collapsed onto the ground, waving my arms and putting the most painful expression on my face as I could. As it came closer I realized that it was indeed a tractor trailer, slowing to a stop in front of me. The brakes hissed as the widow rolled down.
"Kid you okay?" the driver asked. Why a big tractor trailer was riding through our small little town was beyond me, but it was perfect. I didn't feel guilty as I let out a fake groan of pain. I wasn't killing him; I was using him for something so much more than he actually was.
"My leg, I can't walk, can you get me to a hospital?" I asked, clutching the rock in the darkness. The man's mustache quivered suspiciously, but he opened the door and stepped down on the ground.
"What happened to you?" he asked, bending down to help me up. Instead of answering his question I took my chance, grabbing onto his neck and smashing the rock into the back of his head. I'd think it would be more difficult to take down a 300 pound man, but his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed beside me. I smiled victoriously, looking around the deserted street to make sure no one saw me. Instead of just dragging him back I jumped into the truck, rotting through the glove compartment for anything of value. Sherlock would need all the help he could get. Instead of money I found something even better, a loaded shotgun. I grabbed it, switching on the safety and stuffing it in my back pocket. Now no one could stop me even if they tried. I jumped out of the truck and grabbed both the man's hands, starting to drag him through the mud and dirt to the cave. It was a surprising amount of effort, I was no heavy weight champion but I needed to get this man into the caves. When I finally got to the mouth of the cave he started to stir, groaning a bit and rolling over. So I just smashed the rock into his head once again, getting a satisfactory trickle of blood down his forehead. The past John would be appalled at what I was doing, he was antiviolence, righteous, but I wasn't him, I was someone completely different. He lived because he had to; I lived to be with Sherlock, no matter what the consequences. I shoved the man down the secret tunnel behind the rocks, hearing him collapse on the rock floor. No big deal, this was all part of the plan. I dropped down beside him, my muscles aching as I dragged him the last couple of feet, into the little room. The book was laying there, still open, the pages blank. This was it, Sherlock was going to live again. I sat at the desk, picking up the pencil once more.
I got one, now what? Stand back and watch. I stood back as instructed; pressing myself to the left of the bookcase in case there was going to be some sort of explosion or something. The light started glowing, but instead of the dull light that was the norm, this was like a second sun burning down on me. I didn't want to shield my eyes but I had to, my eyes felt like they would burn away from my face if I continued watching. I looked away, pressing my face into the rotten wood of the bookcase, knowing that this was the moment I was alive for. This was because of me; I was the one to bring my beloved Sherlock back to life.
"John." a voice, deep voice, his voice. I opened my eyes to see the dim cave once more, some light still shining from the book but dim. Sherlock stood in the cave, the light reflecting around him like a halo, engulfing his beautiful body.
"Sherlock." I clarified.
"Yes, John you did it." Sherlock assured. There were still some pieces missing on him, I could tell the process wasn't yet complete. Some of his side was missing and a piece on his forehead, but in this world, my world, he was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen. I threw myself at him, wrapping my hands around his neck and pressing my lips to his. This wasn't just our souls kissing; this was actually me, John Watson, the quiet kid in the back of the room, able to kiss his boyfriend in real life. Sherlock didn't do anything to stop me; he kissed back with just as much enthusiasm, pulling me as close as possible. This was the moment I lived for, I killed for this moment, and now I didn't have to worry about anything in this sorry world anymore. I had a guardian angel on my shoulder, an angel in the form of a murderer.
"Stop, stop now!" A new voice echoed through the caves, and at first I thought the truck driver had woken by some impossible miracle. I pulled away from Sherlock ever so slightly, not really caring if it was the police or the Devil himself.
"Why should I?" I demanded, still not able to see the person threatening us.
"Because I'm not scared to shoot that guy in the back of the head." The voice decided. Sherlock turned around, still blocking my view and shielding me with his own partially constructed body.
"Don't hurt him!" Sherlock insisted. I stood on my tiptoes to see over his shoulder, and the one person that I really didn't want to find us had found us. It was Greg, and we were both staring down the barrel of the gun in his hands.