Chapter Twenty-Seven

Sherlock was in the bedroom, probably freaking out.

I stood there, for a long while, just thinking.   Thinking about my child being lost or maybe dead, and Sherlock let it happen.  Of all people.

I needed to go and find him, but where do I start? Sherlock didn't exactly tell me where he lost him, and I'm not even sure if he knew, himself.  I didn't want to bother him now; he most likely felt guilty as hell.

I also thought about Moriarty.  I bet it was Moriarty.  The way he was talking the day before, it had to be him.  Scottie was near and dear to Sherlock's heart, and Moriarty took him away, like I suspected.  I knew it was a horrible idea to take him out, but he would have gone out soon enough, and there was nothing I could do but find him.

I went out that night searching around and screaming "Scottie!" until my throat hurt, and it might not have just been my voice going.

It was like one in the morning when I gave up.  I filed a police report and went to bed.  When I came into the room, Sherlock was actually already asleep, for real, not pretending.  I got in the bed, and I tossed and turned.  I had this aching empty feeling, and I knew it wasn't going to leave me.

In the morning, I naturally left Sherlock alone, but when I did decide to ask him about Scottie, it went completely wrong.

"Sherlock, about Scottie? Well, (large breath) where exactly did you, er, lose him?" 

Sherlock didn't do anything at first, and I wasn't sure if he had heard me.  I cleared my throat and started to repeat, but Sherlock stopped me.

"I don't know! I don't know! I'm sorry, I don't know!"

I was a little surprised at the level of shouting, but I guess I half-expected it.  Sherlock continued to wildly look around and blab random stuff, and it reminded me of that time in Dartmoor when he had a panic-attack from fear.

Soon, though, his breathing got heavier than normal Sherlock freak out.  The random shouting turned into pleas of wanting forgiveness and apology. 

"I so sorry, John.  I didn't mean... I'm sorry, forgive me! I can't ever make this up... Please forgive me, I never dreamed... I'm so sorry!"  And so on.

I had my hand on his shoulder and wanted to tell him I forgave him, but he went on and on without stopping, maybe without breathing.

At one point, his voice began to crack.  I sighed, not out of annoyance, but for reasons I can't explain.  I was indeed getting horrified, and it sounds bad, but think of this: being in the same room as Sherlock Holmes having an emotional break-down is scary.

I wanted to help him, hug him, something, but it was all too crazy.  I didn't want to look at him, his screwed up face of sorrow.  He was breathing in spurts; his face was bright red.  His words were spoken too fast and sounded like nonsense jumbles.  Soon, they were even words, they were more like sounds of plain pain.

Then, came the tears.  Instead of sitting upright, he eventually moved to my lap and shoulder, and my shirt was soaked.

All this time, I was doing nothing but sitting there dumbstruck.  I felt horrible, but there really is nothing you can do during a scene like this.  I started rubbing his back, if that helped.

Sherlock was sniffling in between sobs, and eventually, he slowed down.  He was just crying softly now, glued to my shoulder.  He sounded like a poor whimpering dog.

I had forgotten what I had even brought up that started all of this, and then it hit me: Scottie was gone, nowhere to be seen.  My head hung low, but I didn't cry.  I think Sherlock took my tears.

Sherlock took his head off of me, and wiped his face on his sleeve.  Then, he sat there, pink and puffy, it seemed like he was in thought.  I think he was just realized what he had just done, and was beginning to feel embarrassed. 

I told him it was okay, he was fine, we'll my son back, etcetera.  Sherlock was nodding his head.  When I ran out of things to assure him with, I hugged him, long and tight.  He hugged me back. 

I think this was what we did the rest of the morning, and way into the afternoon.

He was whispering sorry into my ear, and I told him it was all okay.  And I led him to the bed and told him to lie down.  He said he had a bad headache.  I gave him aspirin, and I stayed with the rest of the waking hours, and through the night.

The next day, it was surprising not that awkward, and we smiled at each other, as our relationship grew stronger.  I was feeling good, despite Scottie's disappearance.  We find happiness in the darkest of times, and it usually don't happen, but this time, it did.

Later, I looked, again, and no use.  Sherlock said he'd go out soon, and he usually doesn't go through with promises like that, but somehow, I knew he'd keep this one.