"John." I froze- Face soaked with tears. I was to the point where I didn't know whether I was hallucinating or not. I didn't know the difference between reality and life. Yet, every hair on my body stood on end. Suddenly, I felt how cold the room is. It was freezing. A shiver ran down my spine, and I shuttered against the feeling. Another whimper escaped my throat, my chest heavy with sobs. I took in a shaky breath, closing my eyes. I tried to relax my shoulders, shifting to lay on my back. I balled my hands into fists, taking fists fulls of the sheets. Why. Why did I have to feel like this? Why did I have to lose someone who meant so much to me. Why did it have to get so bad to where I could hear him saying me name-
"John." Again. Fear washed over every fiber of my being-Did I imagine it that time? Did I imagine it at all? Although I was sure of it, I couldn't help but reply. "Sherlock?" My voice came out uneven, breaking. My throat was caked with mucus and my nose was stuffed. I sounded, and felt, like a wreck. I hastily wiped away a tear, my breath uneven and shaking. There was a long pause, and sadness overcame me while I was certain I was only getting worse. Another tear managed to escape, but I still felt...Odd. "I'm here." A feeling I can't describe washed over me. I instantly came to shaking, every nerve twitched, every muscle ached, every hair stood.
"Stop messing with my head." I said weakly, my voice cracking as I spoke to myself. "He's dead, John. He's not-" I took in a deep breath, trying to collect the little sanity I had. "He's not coming back." I needed to leave this room. The only thing it was doing was making everything worse. I pushed myself up, trying to even out my breathing. I reluctantly slid off the bed, landing clumsily on my feet. I began walking, but stopped. I stood there, in darkness-I wasn't sure how long. Remembering. Remembering the first time we even met-That same day, I saved his life. Mycroft was right, although I'd never admit it. I was quick to trust Sherlock-But he was worth trusting. He saved my life, more than once.
I caught myself smiling-Actually smiling. A genuine smile, remembering the times we'd laugh. I'd tell him 'We shouldn't laugh on a crime scene.', he'd say 'Why not?' Which only resulted in more laughing.
I began moving again, my smile fading now as I began leaving the cold room. I placed my hand on the doorknob, turning it slowly. It creaked open, making me wonder if it creaked when I entered, too. I turned so I was facing the room, making sure I closed the door quietly. I took one last look into the empty, dark room. My chest ached with sadness, and I closed the door quietly.
Soon enough, I was back in my own bed. Sleep did not accompany me for a long time. The hours I lay awake were spent thinking of Sherlock. The hours I spent asleep somehow ended up the same.
