In that moment - part i

Note: This story is a soliloquy, it flies between the minds of two people; it is up to you, dear reader, to interpret them as you think is right.

~“In that moment, I exploded. There was nothing that mattered; there was no sense of reality. I simply didn’t exist.”~

Sometime later from the events that helped clear up the matter which he (John) later published under the name of ‘A Study in Scarlet’, I realised that something was happening to me. Before I knew him, my life felt as complete as it could be whenever I was able to solve some difficult crime. But now, each passing day made me feel less and less satisfied about the way I was leading my life. It almost felt as if my life had suddenly lost its purpose. “What was the purpose of my existence?” became a question I was asking myself more often than I liked. What am I supposed to do for the rest of my life? Am I doing all that I can? Or is there something more to life than everything that I was doing all this time? Is there a greater purpose in life than the ones I’ve already discovered? My heart seemed to jump into sudden panicky-rushes and I suddenly began to fear whether it was trying to pump out all the blood it can while I was still alive. Am I going to die?!? I found myself clutching the desk, the railing, a butter-knife and various other objects as I constantly halted in mid-air, suddenly pushed out of a moving train of thought, falling, cold and breathless into reality, only to panic again; breathless, forgetting how to breathe; helpless, knowing I wasn’t helpless at all; wanting to reach out, yet unable to do so; trying to cling on to something while /knowing/ I was about to lose it… lose what??? Not my sanity?!?

All this time, I knew that nobody was aware of what I was going through. After all, people don’t spend time to observe and think about others around them, not usually. Will someone see me? Will someone save me while there was still a chance? I couldn’t speak. I can’t speak. And that’s when I cried, ‘John’. But he could not hear, for I did not speak. I /could/ not speak. My heart froze. No matter how hard I’ve tried, the treacherous poison has managed to seep through: I was in love with my new roommate, who has become my close acquaintance, my closest companion, my only true friend and ally; and unknowing to him, my new reason for existence. My heart now belonged to him, and he didn’t know. Oh love, how painful art thou…?

Days went on and Sherlock’s life became drearier and drearier. He felt like time has somehow halted and that he was slowly crawling through life, dragging himself onwards until one day, he may feel the embrace of death, where he thought he may be finally allowed some peace. These days, he solved crimes just as someone who was swallowing more and more hot soup, when their mouth was already burned senseless.

But of course, John was looking at him, curious as a child, yet much more observant and understanding that he made it imminent. He /knew/ why Sherlock was going along like a train without brakes. He was only waiting for Sherlock to stop rambling about, and halt so he can finally start to speak. He was anxious for his partner to open up, so that he can come in for help; because John /was/ ready to help. He was ready to offer whatever small comfort he could afford to this beautiful creature. He couldn’t help but see how Sherlock remained a child inside, while he was a grown man in physical being. He appreciated each and every second how Sherlock could see through lies and deceit. He wanted to give Sherlock his undivided attention whenever he yearned for it. He loved to share more about himself with Sherlock, but Sherlock never seemed to want to hear about him. So he wrote it down in a diary, hoping Sherlock might, by some chance, come across it and think to glance at it.

To John, Sherlock was amazing. To John, Sherlock was an angelic creature. To John, Sherlock was pure innocence. If he had to describe purity of body and soul, he’d describe it as ‘Sherlock’. He, John, was the sinner. Instead of asking for clemency from the angel, he had sinned, and had fallen in love with it. His sinful heart has even made the virgin step down from her pedestal, and now she was falling, helpless, not knowing why she was falling; not knowing what to do; not knowing how to call for help. His Sherlock was now almost at the breaking point, reaching the ground like a crashing comet, but still he hasn’t uttered a single cry for help. Oh love, how torturous art thou…?

And he fell. He really /did/ fell, right down to the ground. People who were strolling along Tottenham-Court Road, saw a man wandering aimlessly here and there, before he fell down in a faint. They helped him up and he just angrily brushed them all off, and ran away, nearly crying. He /was/ crying, some people said. Their day was marked quite eventful after that episode. ‘The strange man who fell on the street’ was the topic of the day for them. But Sherlock never heeded the town’s gossip; he didn’t care what people said about him and his weird ways. He just ran, ran and ran; at least, his mind did. One moment, he was in a sunlit street; the next, he was in a dingy ally; and then he was on a pavement. The last he remembered was simply climbing stairs. Up up he went, until he found the door. He let it close behind him and stood there, helpless, like a child. He felt quite thankful that somehow, he had found his way back home. He couldn’t breathe, so he gasped a little. He blinked. John was right in front of him, gazing nonchalantly. Uh oh…

~will be continued.