Sherlock
Watson wasn’t kidding, about the night terrors. I’m already awake, sprawled across the bed in his guest room, staring into the empty closet. At least there’s a bathroom, even if none of my clothes are here. At least I can go into the little kitchen, without confronting all his cups. Koel set a few things on the dresser for me, though I avoided everyone for the rest of yesterday and into last night. I went to sleep at about 6pm, because I’m pathetic. Now, the fog is lightening by shades of grey, when I hear a choking sound.
I shoot out of bed, creep to the door, crack it open. I wait, heart pounding, straining into the silence. There it is again, a wet sound, like a throat held shut. I throw the door the rest of the way open, race down the hall toward Koel’s room. I’m about to br
