When a vacancy opens for a decent flat in central London, and for such a good price, who are you to decline it?
While expecting a peaceful living arrangement to develop paintings for the gallery you work for, instead you're dragged into unexpected...
When his consciousness regained, after a long moment of failure, Sherlock saw the fire die down after gallons of water showered it. Yet there was no sight of you. "Y/n!"
At last the group saw the remains of decades. Decades of love, family and memories worth millions. The Holmes' felt no loss more than what Sherlock did at this moment. Knees finally strong enough to carry his body, he sprints into the house, ambers of wood still burning within but he rushes around for any sign of you.
Fire fighters were scouting the building for anything salvageable but all were surrounding a large portion fallen rubble. It covered nearly half the the first floor, covering where you once must have stood. Hitting the floor, grief clouding vision, he was unsure whether to accept it or find any excuse to say this wasn't reality.
"No, no, please," tears streamed down his face, heart aching and chest growing tight. His face paled with horror but the tears still burned down angered red cheeks, "Y/n, please,"
Begging, pleading, praying if he had to. He would do it all for the slight chance to see you again. To have you safe in his arms.
He would do side with the demons, leave the angels and make a deal with the devil.
He couldn't lose you.
Not you.
~~~
Molly was the first to be trusted with this case. Rather, she was tasked with confirming the autopsy and theories clouding the grieving and broken.
There, on beds of steel metal, disinfected within an inch of its life, was two burnt bodies. Scorched beyond recognition, it was hard to believe they once were living, breathing humans.
"Tests show this is Y/n," Molly points to one of the coveted remains. "And this is an unknown, possibly the person who started the fire," she points to the other.
While silence was deafening, Sherlock's head was nothing of the such. Whirring possibilities to counter the claims. He couldn't fight the results, but he need to.
He needed you.
"I'm so sorry," she looks at the detective, eyes glossed over in denial. "If there's anything I can do- we can do-" her hands gesture to John, Lestrade and Mycroft in the room, but it was too late.
Sherlock ruffles up his coat, pushing through the metal doors, digging into his pockets.
"Dammit," John curses out, hurrying after. All the way to the exit, he stayed back a little, observing his friends actions.
Icy winds struck Sherlocks face, tears searing like daggers as he took a lighter to the single cigarette between his lips. Ignited, the substance turned to ashes within seconds, fire eating away at it rapidly. He looks down, in his palm was the very packet he promised to rid of.
An omen of death in a way.
What a sorrowful souvenir it was.
~~~
Two years felt like a decade. Two years of forgotten sheet music. Two years of... grief.
It was something he hadn't dealt with properly in the past and now was not the time to start.
He had lost you. The one he... loved. He loved you and never once said it. That was a mistake he would have to live with for the rest of his life.
His meaningless life.
"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson was the only one who had stayed by his side. While John was busied with work, and even his new girlfriend Mary, Sherlock had stayed in 221B.
Curtains shut and doors almost always locked.
Molly and Lestrade stopped by from time to time, trying to console with him, bringing up cases that could peak his interest.
"I don't want any cases," Sherlock mutters under his breath, a cigarette hung from his lips and stubble growing more and more. Drained of all energy, he couldn't even bother to lift his gaze to the two figures at the door.
"Sherlock, maybe you should stop smoking," Lestrade shows his nicotine patches, "Y/n wouldn't have wanted-"
"How would you know what she wanted?!" He suddenly yells, nearly bolting up from his chair. "Y/n is gone, there's not a bloody damn thing that can be done about that now," he sunk back into the leather, "and don't you dare say her name again,"
Mrs Hudson and Molly exchange looks while Lestrade storms off with Molly following close behind. Greg had grown sick and tired, all his resources failing, and efforts insulted and discarded.
"At least try and go out, hm?" Mrs Hudson felt tears prick at her eyes, her small "please?" breaking whatever was left of Sherlock's heart.
"Alright... fine," he waves her off, scratching his head.
"You know... Y/n did love you," Mrs Hudson notes, "no one would care that much if they weren't in love," she picks up some broken teacups, "Y/n wouldn't have wanted you to end up like this,"
While he gave no reply, Mrs Hudson's words lingered at the back of his head. Her hands placing down your small bunny stuffed animal on the table beside him, one of few things saved from the wretched fire.
That was the breaking point; his hand curled around the bunny, admiring its onyx eyes. The wreck he had become wasn't who you knew. Not the Sherlock he knew.
Trudging to the bathroom, he finally saw his state in a new light. With a small pair of scissors in hand, he took a long curl and snipped it off.
This was a new start.
~~~
While he washed up, cut his hair and even put on some clean clothes, his scruff was still there. Slight stubble growing no more than it was now. Scarf and coat? Check. Keys? Check. Wallet for chips? check-
Then there was a soft knock at the buildings door. His heart dropped, looking at the door in dread. A silhouette of a woman is shown. It was so familiar.
Opening the door with urgency, in front of him was none other than...
"Mary?" He looks at her with a tilted head as John ascends the steps as well, standing by her side, "John?"
"Hey, Sherlock," John, adorned with a horrendous moustache, gave a supportive smile like Mary.
"You're both engaged," he notes, stepping back into the flat and letting them do the same. Shutting the door behind him, he glances over the ring and happy couple, stomach-dropping all the same, "congratulations,"
"Oh- well, yes, but John wanted to ask you something," Mary nudges him closer before wandering off to Mrs H.
"Sherlock, listen, I know you haven't been yourself lately- for two years actually..." he stops the mini tangent. "But that's beside the point... Sherlock I want you to be my best m-" three knocks. "Client?"
"I don't take clients anymore," Sherlock says with a huff, walking to the door and swinging it open, angered beyond belief.
"Is there a vacancy?"
~~~
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Omg another chapter??? Yeah you're welcome my loves 😎
