Rachel

I've been running all my life. Away from the horrid memories of the sacrifices my mother made to protect me, and to protect my name from this evil world we live in...
But everything's changed...
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I've recently found out my mother was murdered by a psychopath; choosing the wrong pill in a game of chance that would give away her secret. That gave away my name.
That cost her her life...
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I heard a man named Sherlock Holmes had solved my mother's case along with others who had fallen of the same fate. I must find him so I can warn him: for he does not know what he has gotten himself into...

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37. Memoirs of Those Lonely Nights

After bidding farewell to everyone, PJ and I start heading back to our apartment. We walk together, our hands entwined like the stars and the midnight sky, our smiles wide and grand, ready to take on whatever may lay ahead.

"How do you feel babe?" PJ asks, a slightly concerned tone in his voice. I could tell he was talking about my visions of Sher- I mean, you know who. Just before I reply, I see something - someone - out of the corner of my eye. Of course, here to ruin the fun, is one last vision of Sherlock, oddly enough holding a tissue to what seemed to be his bleeding, possibly broken nose. It was odd, since I had never envisioned him like this; was it just a metaphor for me finally getting over his death? My best answer: probably.

"I feel okay," I finally reply to PJ, "But...I need to do something. Something important." I let go of his hand. "Wait here." PJ nods, and pulls out his phone, knowing this might take a while.

I turn around and start to approach the image of Sherlock, appearing to be in quite a lot of pain from his nose.

"So, here we are." I begin as Sherlock turns his attention towards me. "The great Sherlock Holmes, still being mourned over by little old me." I chuckle, remembering my promise to PJ on my 16th birthday. "Well, tonight is where your death is finally lifted off my shoulders. The very heavy burden that I have carried for these long two years of mourning. It finally ends..." I look Sherlock square in the face, only to be confronted with a confused look in his eyes. I give a long sigh. "I might as well explain everything, just to finally get it off my chest."

 

"It all started when you died. I didn't attend your funeral; I just couldn't bring myself to. I did visit your grave though - after everyone went away, anyways. I cried so much I passed out, if you would believe it. But when I woke up back in my bed - because John had found me at your grave and taken me home - that's when I started to see you again. At first you were just there, being as stoic as ever, then the next thing I know there's blood dripping from every part of your body, and paired along with the graphic image of your skull being crushed open on that pavement...you could imagine what that could do to a 15-year old girl.

"I remember that I would never stop screaming whenever I saw you, no matter at what place, at what time, I would always scream. I honestly never really knew why: fear, anger, sadness? Maybe all three, I don't really know. Eventually I slimmed down my screaming to reasonable jumps of terror, but that still didn't help the fact that I was still seeing you, even though you were dead. John made the decision that I should move in with PJ, thinking that the reason I kept seeing you was because I was still living in 221B. So I did, but then something... changed...

"PJ & I were moving some of my boxes into his apartment, when I saw you. This time, however, instead of staying in one place like you always did, you walked up some stairs. Even though I had a bad feeling about it, I still followed you. You lead me to a sort of roof-top garden, and you were standing on a ledge, just like you were at St. Barts. You held out your hand; I took it, then you started to countdown from three. On one, you plummeted off the side of the building, and I almost went down with you...but PJ thankfully caught me before I could even move off the ledge. We promised that night to keep it between us and not tell anyone else, even John.

"This happened a few more times, sad to say, but never the less, we still kept the secret. That is until PJ invited Bertie, Dan, Phil, Chris, and Sophie over. I had just walked into my room to get something, when I heard PJ start to cry. I almost ran out of the room to go and comfort him, but then I heard him say..." I pause, looking back at PJ to check again if he was listening, and I blink away the tears while I re-voice the scene...

 

"I can't take this anymore guys..."

"What? Rachel? Why, what's wrong with her?"

"Sophie...there's something we've been hiding from you, from all of you...Rachel, she's...she's been trying to commit suicide..."

"S-suicide? Why would she-"

"Let me finish, Phil. She's been trying to commit suicide...for the past two months."

"THE FUCK?! TWO MONTHS?!"

"Dan! Pipe down; Rachel could hear us!"

"I know, I know Bertie...but two damn months? I think she needs help...a therapist maybe? Psychiatrist?"

"NO. Never in a million years."

"What do you mean, Chris? That's exactly what she needs!"

"Yeah, why are you so protective all of a sudden?"

"Because, Phil, I've actually seen people go through that sympathetic crap people call 'therapy', and it doesn't do shit for anyone."

"You don't mean what happened with Troye, do you? Come on dude, that was like, three years ago. He's over it by now."

"I know Dan, but still...I can't watch that happen to Rachel. I just won't allow it."

"Alright then, let's take a vote."

"Great idea, Sophie."

"Thanks Bertie. Now, if you think that we should get Rachel some professional help, raise your hand...okay, now if you think Rachel just needs time, or we should try and find another solution, raise your hand..."

"Oh, come on guys! PJ, at least side with me on this one."

"Chris, I would but...I think Rachel really does need help."

"...You know what, fine. That's just dandy with me guys. Let's just make Rachel feel more and more like an outcast until we all just forget about her because we all realize she's just a huge freak."

"Chris, you know that's not what we mean."

"...That's the same thing that I said before I took Troye to his first therapy session."

Stomp stomp stomp...

SLAM!

"...He's kinda got a point..."

"Whatever Bertie, it's too late. We already made our decision...I'm going to get Rachel, and make sure you don't even mention this conversation to her, alright?"

 

"After that, PJ started taking me to this counselor named Augustine. She was nice, but then she had me follow a vision I had of you, and I almost jumped off the roof of the building. PJ then told her we wouldn't require her services anymore, and he then started to take advice from Chris. I hung out with him everyday, and I was really tempted to ask about Troye, but I still haven't even been able to ask him about it.

"PJ eventually got me to go to this support group, but I honestly went for the first time today. It was kind of sad to see all of those people there, especially with you nagging me with your deductions of sorts." I take a deep breath, glad to get all these memories finally off my chest.

Now all that was left was the confrontation.

"So, that's all from those past two years really...and before I go back to PJ, before I start my new life with you finally behind me, I just want to ask you something. Something important." Sherlock's eyes flicker for an instant, even as he keeps the stoic look of confusion locked on his face.

"I know you won't be able to answer it, with you being a figment of my imagination and all, but...why? Why did you jump? Why did you ever think you were anything but extraordinary?" A tear finally escapes and runs down my cheek, and soon others follow. "You were incredible. You were the most clever man I had ever met. You were like the best friend I never really had."

A sniffle. I was cracking, breaking down, just like I had known would happen.

Another.

"Why?!" I was screaming, screeching, hoping he would here from where he was burning in hell. "WHY?! WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO IT?!"

Shit; I promised myself I wouldn't do this.

I promised I wouldn't scream.

"Rachel!" PJ calls out, and I turn to see him frozen in shock.

I run my hands through my hair, frustrated with myself. I take deep breaths, in and out, in and out, trying to calm myself, and it eventually works. I wipe my tears, and PJ is soon there comforting me, looking back and forth between me and my conjured version of Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, PJ. I couldn't control myself for a little bit there." I chuckle a bit, but now PJ's eyes were transfixed on Sherlock. 

"Rachel..."

"...Yes, PJ?" I reply, watching the color slowly drain from his face.

"That's not possible..." I hear PJ murmur under his breath. "He can't be..."

I suddenly feel the color drain from my face as well.

I let go of PJ for a moment. I slowly walk towards my supposed hallucination of Sherlock. He glances down at me, and smiles for the first time in what seemed like centuries.

He cups my face with one gloved hand, warm and soft against my tear-stained cheek.

 

"It has certainly been a while, hasn't it Rachel?"

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