The Vibes, my Dear Watson ...

It takes John even longer to be able to tell Sherlock, when it’s John having the bad day.

They’re not particularly good at this sort of thing but eventually they find a way to speak to each other in that soft, coded language that only they seem to be able to translate. John will come home to Sherlock bundled in his oldest pyjamas on the sofa, or Sherlock will notice John making dinner without saying a word, not asking Sherlock to chop this veg or get out plates. A certain silence; a stiffness in each other’s shoulders. It’s Sherlock who finds the actual words, in the end: my mind has gone dark.

The first time he says it, John doesn’t quite grasp his meaning and Sherlock, frustrated at not having been understood, refuses to explain. But a few hours later, while John is standing in the queue at Tesco, he finally gets it: his mind palace has gone dark. Like someone had turned the lights off. And people aren’t afraid of the dark, not really. They’re afraid of what might be lying in wait.

Sherlock is lost, John understands, wandering in his own memories and uncertain of what might be remembered next, afraid of the things he has trapped inside that he might let loose if he can’t anticipate how a string of thought might play out.

John abandons the shop and rushes home; Sherlock is curled into a hard circle on the sofa, trembling and trying hard not to be. Let me, John says, pulling at his long limbs to unfold him. Let me bring you out.

John wraps himself around Sherlock and whispers to him all their best memories, trying to focus on the more recent ones, the ones that have happened since John came home. He whispers and whispers his retelling until Sherlock rolls over and kisses his cheek and tells him to hush and falls asleep with his ear to John’s heart.

After that it becomes as good a code as any other that they’ve had. My mind has gone dark. It means, the spectres of the past are haunting at the corners of my eye. It means, I need to be touched to be reminded that you are real. It means, I need you.

The first time John says it, Sherlock is so surprised he drops a kidney onto the kitchen floor. Sherlock can see his memories in the way he clenches his fist–the limp bodies of war, the echoing stillness of a wrist on the pavement. They leave the kidney there on the floor and instead Sherlock guides John into the shower, where he painstakingly touches every single bit of him, washing him slowly and gently, letting John wash him in return, letting him inspect each and every inch, every single scar, until the water runs cold.

My mind has gone dark, they say without having to say, admitting without admission, asking without seeking. My mind has gone dark. I need you.

Sherlock had been gone all night.

No call, no message, no hint of where he was. John had run through every possibility, contacted Molly, called Lestrade, even in the early morning hours still hoping to find some trace of him. But there was nothing. Only that growing, dull fear in his chest he couldn’t reason away.

When Sherlock finally appeared in the doorway of 221B, he looked as if the case had spat him out. Pale, exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes, and that faintly confused expression, as if he couldn’t quite understand why John was staring at him like that.

John needed only two steps before he was standing in front of him.

“Damn it, Sherlock…” he muttered, his voice rough with relief and anger all at once. “I was worried. Don’t ever do that again. Call me. At least tell me where you are.”

Sherlock only blinked, still half lost in thought, as though he was only now beginning to grasp what his absence had done.

“John, I—”

“I love you, you idiot,” John said more quietly, gruff, almost reproachful.

Grief.

Happy Friday everyone! Hope you are all ready for another weekend of some fantastic reads added to my MFL list this week! Hope you enjoy!! :D

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Find the Exit

It is extremely disturbing. He can’t recall the last time he lost himself in here. In his own Mind Palace, no less. How did this happen? And where is the exit sign? The one reading: 221B Baker Street.

He finds many signs on his walk through the corridors but they’re all wrong. They are pointing at the rooms, the nooks, the cabinets, the books, the floorboards; in short, everything. But not the exit to his physical home.

Sherlock is rarely frightened. Not anymore. Not since John moved into his flat. The feeling of fear courses through his body now, though. His claustrophobia – the mania he hasn’t felt in years – has made a dramatic appearance, making his skin crawl uncomfortably.

“I need to find the exit,” he mutters to himself over and over, like a mantra.

Sherlock almost weeps with relief when Mind Palace John magically appears in the hallway outside the library.

“John,” he whispers reverently.

“Fancy meeting you here,” John quips, mirth visible in all his features.

Sherlock wants to kiss him but that’s not allowed. John is his friend, nothing else. He is as heterosexual as Sherlock is homosexual. Not a great match, that.

When Sherlock decides to ask John for the way out, John has vanished. The space he recently occupied still radiates a warm glow.

Sign-Ups Open for Launch the Ship!

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