|John Watson internationally smuggles tea (imhisblogger) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2013-12-27 01:41:00
|Entry tags:||john watson|
What:Losses catch up with him.
Warnings:So.Many.Feels. Triggers for some. Angst, anger, etc.
There were many more losses, but none of them had really caught up with John yet. Everyone was saying he needed time, he needed rest, but they didn't understand. Harry and Rose had been the two people who had been his rocks since Sherlock's death, but now they were both gone. John wasn't a man who loved easily, but when he did let people in he gave them as much of himself as he was able. As many levels of trust his heart would allow. He'd always had trust issues, he never could stick with a shrink long enough to fix them. There was irony for you, but somehow those two had managed his trust. Gained his love, but now he didn't feel that love.
He felt dead inside. His body should have ached and hurt but it didn't everything was just numb. The reasons he kept trying to recover were gone. He filled a shot glass of Whiskey and took a long drink from it. Wincing at the burning sensation. His patients were being looked after by Khan, Bo was also being looked after, everyone was looked after. Nothing but silence and memories filled his temporary room at the Roadhouse. He sank into a chair near by and put his head in his hands. Rose was gone, Harry was gone. War never had a real winner.
Another glass of Whiskey and blank stare at the fire place ahead of him. He'd been doing so well, he suppose it was time for a break down but he didn't want to. He was tired of crying, it never brought them back. He was tired of friends leaving him behind, he was just mentally and physically tired. He'd said nothing of the whiskey bottle to anyone, nor did he have plans to. At the same time, he didn't really care anymore. This was it.
They'd survived, but at what cost? Was it even worth it? He could almost hear Rose scolding him now for his sorry state, but the only thing that did for him was anger him. He gripped at the shot glass and threw it at the floor watching it shatter infront of him. Rose was gone. The most important people in his world were gone and he couldn't save them. He'd lost track of how many times Rose had told him she would never leave his side and he could feel his blood boil.
"It should have been me. It.." His voice broke, tears began to flood his face. He reached onto the small bedside desk where his guns had been placed earlier and he held one. His thumb touching the weapons handle almost fondly. For the longest time he sat there. He was afraid to get close to people anymore, but in that moment he hated being alone.
I'm not okay.
His hand shook and he put the safety back on the weapons and stared into the darkness of his room trying to regain his bearings. Trying to think of anything else but the guns beside him, all he could think of were Rose and Harry. He was not okay. His chest tightened and he found it hard to breathe. A sense of dizzyness washed over him and a short while after, things went dark.