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blank-nova-trash · 5 years ago

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Soldiers, chapter one- Today We Are Ghosts.

Five minutes. Just five minutes is all it took for a life time of pain and moral anguish to be subjected onto us in meer days. Moriarty was definitely part of it but why? How well did they know each other? Why target me, I'm her brother but not the one that locked her up throwing away the key yet, somehow she believes me responsible.

Sherlock sat in the dark, another night where the flames of the fireplace - the only source of light - kept him company as his own thoughts ate his head while he attempted to make sense of the events that still haunted his every breath. Although the fire burned it did not make him feel warm, although his armchair was comfortable as it had ever been his skin still crawled with unease. He sat and thought and thought and thought...going in circles in his mind palace retracing every event, every detail just in case by miracle or mistake he missed something - anything at all since the day he first heard the five pip tone from Moriarty. Of course every time he would slip into these thoughts it left him in the same place with the same questions bouncing off his skull, like a rubber ball against a prison wall. He could not remember the last time he laid eyes on his bed, or on anything that was not his own regret.

"Hello?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open at the sound only to land on a small girl with brown pigtails knees to her chest in front of the fire place, her voice so little echoed loud.

"Is anybody there? I'm alone and frightened."

His breathing became more heavy his eyes never left the girl but his mind took off at alarming speed.

"No it doesn't make sense" he whispered grogily the vibrations of his rusty throat aiding the deathly thumping in his head.

The girl stood making direct eye contact with sherlock but she wasn't looking in his eyes it was as if she was looking straight through him piercing his mind and soul, her body was motionless as she continued.

"I was only curious I didn't mean any harm I just wanted to see how everything ticked."

Sherlock stood in agitation "why involve him?" He threw his arms out to the side emphasis to his annoyance, body slightly shaking in tention, "she was perfectly capable of doing this herself why get Moriarty to play anyone could of been her outside eyes and ears" he was almost spitting his words at the little girl "context?" He spun around flailing his harms "to see how I worked?" He spun around again, walking to the window as he spoke "to see if I was a bastard? make it easier to kill me?" He cocked his head in amusement before taking in a shaky breath slowly turning to face the fireplace again.

"Because I couldn't save her..." he softly spoke it as more a statement than a question taking slow cautious steps toward where Mary now stood in place of the little girl "is it revenge?" His eyes dropped solemn and tears threatened to break free from his bloodshot eyes as an image of John flashed through his mind repeating "is it revenge?"

Footsteps creeked from the hall, instantly snapping him from all thought and he was suddenly in the present again. The fire almost burnt out, natural light from the outside lightly laying on top of the room as the footsteps came down the stairs, John. Sherlock fell back into his seat scrubbing his dry hands over his face a deep breath vibrating his chest. He pressed his hands together the stubble from his beard irritating his skin where they rested under his chin, he crossed his legs making a mask of stone peaceful on his face - something he often always wore - as if nothing happened. As if he wasn't slowly going out his mind with obsession and heartache.

Within moments John opened the door, walking in eyes purposefully glued to a newspaper from yesterday. His eyes flicked up to sherlock and around the full room, he made it a point shaking his head motioning to sherlock with the paper.

"Bloody unbelievable" he States in amused annoyance, moving toward the sofa.

Sherlock opened his eyes slightly looking at him, "what is?"

John flicks open the paper on the table to the last few pages bending over it from his seat continuing to read. "The paper"

Scrunching his eyes, sherlock turned in his chair to face John more clearly "you'll have to be more specific"

"People are actually romantacising the thought of world war three"

"People romanticize everything these days" sherlock replied, rolling his eyes, voice still croaky.

John still didn't look up from the paper as he turned another page "Yeh, well people are idiots."

A small somewhat form of a smile slightly curved on sherlocks mouth "hey, that my line."

John looked up catching the rare view, quickly looking back down at the paper "oh no I'm mutating into a reptile"

Without missing a beat sherlock retorted "oh please you look nothing like my brother."

Looking uo again this time catching his gaze they laughed, ignoring the subtle strain awkward strain. They actually laughed for the first time in God knows when more than that they where actually laughing together.

Both noticing the fact, they relished in it however a small ping of hurt rested in both their chests because they also realised how long it's been since they sat in the same room and laughed without interacting with Rosey. They where still best friends John thought and that would never change but something felt missing like something between them had turned off and it was shocking to feel the light turn on again for a mere few moments. Perhaps this is progress to slowly building the bridge again, sherlock thought.

A smile lay on their lips although small it was there, sherlock wanted it to stay like this because it felt right to have John not fight him. "At least if you're a reptile it would cut our heating bills"

With another small chuckle John replied "well no one will have to worry about heating bills with the atomic radiation from the bombs"

"Quite so." Sherlock smiled and silence fell, it was an awkward silence not because they where uncomfortable but because for once they felt comfortable just sitting and talking about nothing at all for the first time in months, neither of them where worring about anything it was as if last night never happen and they where both okay again.

John coughed sitting back on the sofa, not quite finished with the paper that sat open on the table but his mind was wandering more to sherlock now, he looked at him his eye contact a bit more cold than he intended. He coughed again and softened his eyes. Sherlock felt anxious all of a sudden he felt the atmosphere change, he wondered what John was thinking. A few more moments of silence passed before John spoke.

"So you're up early"

"I was tending to Rosey. She made it quite clear she needed a new dyper."

"Ah I though I heard you talking to yourself"

Sherlock froze, how long had john really been awake or did he even sleep to begin with? Taking a breath he continued "well no, I was just lulling her."

"Ah it's just I thought she was with Mrs Hudson."

"No she's in her crib." Sherlock motioned his hand to the white crib by the sofa near the window

Sherlock was shocked he didn't think he was speaking that loudly was John purposefully listening to him? Why?

John got up to go look at his daughter, as he was looking at her he could feel sherlock looking at him with a inquisitive gaze. He knew he was lying saying he was putting her to sleep, cause he was talking about Moriarty. He may not be the best with emotions but he knew sherlock well and he knew that he was suffering although he thinks he hides it, he just wants sherlock to open up so he doesn't drive himself mad but there's no way to get him to open up without letting sherlock know he already knows... it would scare him away, thinking he's just hurting everyone, again.

He turned round to sherlock breaking him from thought.

"Tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

With a nod of his head he walked into the kitchen clicking the kettle on, arranging the mugs.

"You're up early yourself." Sherlock called through "something on the brain?"

"Nope" John shook his head

Sherlock paused for a minute anxious to ask "nightmare?" His voice a little quieter than before, he thought since they where talking now perhaps they could make some progress.

John let out an agitated sigh, thinking back to just a few hours ago when the night had imprisoned him. "No" his voice a lot firmer than before mind flashing with images. sherlock slowly regretting his choice to instigate the conversation however. "I just couldn't sleep" John faced him with warning eyes sherlock continued looking unphased but his heart was pumping anxiety.

"Don't lie to me John I know when you're lying"

"I'm not lying, sherlock"

"You are wearing outdoor clothes which you haven't slept in but judging by the flattened crinckles at the back you have been sitting in one position for a long time not sleeping but those are fresh clothes, not from yesterday yet, I can smell your body oder you don't sweat unless exercising which you haven't cause you've been in your room all night which suggests vigorous sweating from night terror but you're clothes haven't been slept inas I said. So how could it of been a night terror you ask? well simple you where wearing pyjamas and since it was too early to shower you just put on clean clothes there is slightly damp parts where your body continued to expel moisture in fright as you calmed down."

John shoved his tea into his hand with a threateningly blank face as he said barely above a whisper "shut up"

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but John moved away quickly, back to watch his sleeping daughter, not knowing what to do with his feelings of guilt and anger. Sherlock stared into his tea as various figures appeared before him sitting draped across John's chair.

"You are pathetic little brother look at you when have you ever not known what to say."

He glanced up eyes wandering over to Mary.

"You can't blame him he is hurting just as much as you, be strong"

"You should go about it more delicately, it's not fair to resurface such raw emotion all at once." Molly chipped in sherlock bit the inside of his lip

"Emotion. such funny little things, the cause of all your problems, cut your ties little brother."

"Don't let him slip away." Mary begged

"Perhaps it's already too late." Mycroft replied

"It's never too late as long as he is still here." Molly stated

"Yes he is still here but for how long do you think he will stick around he isn't a little puppy anymore he's started to bite the hand that feeds him." A new voice spoke from behind sherlock, but he didn't move. The figure moved in front of him, Moriarty. "You know he blames you right. He has every right to you know, it is all your fault." He lent over inches from Sherlock face hands either side of the chair

The little girl came out from behind him echoing the words "all your fault."

John turned round from the crib to take a drink of his tea when he noticed sherlock staring in concentration at the air. "What's wrong?" He asked a little too angry not wanting to actually talk but still caring enough to do so.

Sherlock startled from his trance with a cough, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nothing" he breathed. John decided to let it go and sipped his tea, sherlock doing the same he held the cup in front of him studying it "it's just... I much prefered the old mugs, had quite a liking to them." John set down his tea, gave Rosey a small kiss on her forehead as he stroked her little tuffs of hair, with a sigh he replied "yeh well I liked a lot of things before it all got blown apart"

Sherlock stayed quiet, not wanting to worsen anything any further, John continued to sip his tea and adore his daughter while his thoughts scratched scars into his brain. Silence came down upon them however, this was much different from the one before.

Sherlock bit the inside of his mouth, trying hard to ignore the prickling atmosphere, whereas John swimed in his thoughts unable to shake the memories of that fatal night nor the terrors that claimed him as he slept.

At first it started like any other dream- fighting in his war, getting shot but still carrying on through the gun fire to aid his fallen comrade but when he turns the body over its Mary bloody corpse, vastly decomposing in his arms. The gun fire doesn't stop till he screams out her name, when he looks up everyone he ever felt he let down surround him staring and pointing he turns around only to be faced by another gun held by sherlock, their eyes meet and then he pulls the trigger but the bullet goes through him hitting Mary and John turns back to her as another shot rings and a body hits the ground their eyes meet again after her body dissolves into his but this time sherlock's are cold and vacant. John tries to scream out again but no sound will come. All of a sudden he feels like he is shrinking he keeps trying to shout out but no sound, then suddenly nothing else exists but blackness all around him only to wake up in tremors and sweat.

John blinked out of his trance still looking down at his beautiful daughter a tear sliding down his cheek, cautiously he wiped it away sniffing with a deep breath. Turning around for his cup instinctively his eyes flicked up to sherlock who hadn't moved an inch since he snapped at him.

Pushing his guilt to the side he sipped his tea running a hand through his hair, he really should get it cut. John felt bad for how he had been treating sherlock the past while, he had been snapping more and more and not talking to him unless it's for Rosey. At first he thought everything was fine but after a few cases he slowly began to bend feeling he was going to snap. John knew it wasn't sherlock's fault, that he was being a selfish hypocrite not talking to him about how he felt but how was he supposed to? Mary was still a fresh wound, Rosey is a lot of responsibility and that's just the start of it all... he doesn't know how to heal and he knows that taking it out on sherlock won't solve anything but he also felt as though sherlock owed him something- so maybe Mary's death want his fault, but something was.

He didn't know what, but he knew it was something. The something that's been making his nightmares more frequent, the something that makes him not want to eat or leave the flat, the something that makes him too weak to be there a hundred percent for Rosey.

John is a good father, at least he hoped he was good enough. He wished he could be better, so he could do better for her. He sat back down on the sofa sitting his half empty cup down as he then continued to read the paper. Sherlock was sunken deep into his mind palace starting from the beginning his tea turning cold. Something had to come up, something he missed something that could fix everything- it just had to.

The fire burnt out completely now. The sun shon brighter, the normal people started to wake up and busy the streets. The two men dissolved into their own ends of the room giving up on normality and conversation for the rest of the day. The light broke again.

And they were not okay...again.

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