I will never leave you

I don't count

They had asked why I didn't came to work. They were worried.

I told them. They said I should take a break. I would get it paid. I didn't said no.

Once he said work was the best medicine. But I couldn't do that. I was not strong enough.

Now I'm here. 221b Bakerstreet.
I went to my arm chair, sat down. Sherlocks coat still warmed my frozen body.

It thundered.

I watched Sherlock's empty chair, imagined him sitting there, talking to a client asking me for my input even if he already knows everything.

I smiled for a moment.

I didn't know what I should do. I stood up.
I went to bed.
Surprisingly, I quickly fell asleep. I still had his coat on.

...

When I woke up it was in the middle of the night. My head hurt.
I have had a nightmare.

I was dreaming about the past. Of my childhood.
Of my parents locking me in my room without food because I was wearing my mother's dress.
About my father hitting me in the face at the dinner table because I was crying and hitting me again and again because I wouldn't stop. About how they told me that it was a sin that I kissed Alex from the parallel class, about my mother that tells me it is disgusting when men love men.

I automatically said: "I'm not gay!"

But at that very moment I knew it's not quite true.

I had to tell him. He had to know.
So I went quietly into the kitchen so as not to wake Misses Hudson.
The table was still full of Sherlocks experiments. I didn't let Misses hudson clean it up.

It was dark. I couldn't see much but my hands. I cleared a small space on the table and fetched my stationery and my caligraphy pen from the shelf and sat down.

Now I began to write.

Dear Sherlock,...

It became a very long letter. I have wrote about my realisation, my feelings for him, my desire to have him back, about the wasted time and about my unused desire to kiss him.

...i will never leave you, Sherlock.

I was still sitting and looking at my letter.
I took it and went to the fireplace. So that only the coal from the letter ends up on the floor of the fireplace.
I collected the wood. My hands turned black. But i didn't care.

Then I gave the letter a kiss.
Held the letter in one hand and a lighter in the other. Sherlock's lighter. It was in his coat pocket.

I held the letter over the fireplace and lit it.
I let it go.
It slowly slided to the bottom of the fireplace and turned to ash until the fire was completely extinguished.

The ash cooled down quickly. I took an empty tea tin, which Sherlock would have used to store some chemical substance, and collected the ashes with my hands into the tin.

It was 2 in the morning. But I didn't care. He had to know it.

I left the flat. The tea tin in the coat pocket.
The door slamed shut and I heard Misses Hudson's door open. But no matter.
It was dark, like always simce that day. There were only a few people on the road. I took a taxi.
"To the cemetery"

We held. I opened the door.
"Mr.? "
I have almost forgot to pay.
"Oh sorry"
I searched for my wallet in my coat pockets.
Coat pockets. This was not my jacket. I still wor Sherlocks coat. Not my wallet. I didn't have a penny.
"Uh, sorry, I'm sorry, I left my money at home, could you wait here a minute, I'll be right back. Then we can go back and I'll pay." I tried to talk my way out of it.

"That's inconvenient," said the taxi driver.
"I have a score to settle with you, Mr Holmes".

"I am not Sherlock Holmes"

"Do you really think you can fool me. Don't try to trick me."

"I don't understand"

"You should put than on a T-shirt", he said while he slowly pulled out a pistol from his inside jacket pocket.

A british army l9a1.

"I still don't understand."

"And this on the back"

Who is this man? I didn't recognise his face exactly. It was too dark.

I reacted quickly. But stupid. I turned around and ran with full power. A mistake. With that gun, he certainly wouldn't miss me. He didn't miss.

BOOM

My left arm turned red.
A sharp pain. But I did not scream.
I slumped down.
I tried to stand up.
It worked. But I was still too slow.

He has already reached me.
"Not with me William Sherlock Scott Holmes!"

He pushed me back to the floor. My face rubbed against the scratchy gravel. He hit me full in the face. Again and again. My face hurt like hell. I tasted a strange, familiar, metallic taste,
blood.
But I had still power. Therefore I turned with a jerk. It worked surprisingly good. His grip loosensed. My arms were free.
He tried to punch me in the face but I blocked. Instead, he got a good punch in the face. He screamed out. I took advantage of his brief stupor and finally released myself from his grip. It was quite hard. My left arm hurt.
He was lying on the floor. I got up and wanted to run away.
But too late.
I felt his hands on my legs, pulled down in a jerk. My body hit the ground hard. Everything hurt. I had the feeling that all my ribs were broken. I groaned, tried to stand up.

Too late. He pulled me towards the taxi.
I tried to free myself but I was too weak.
"Not with me', he whispered.
My head hits the ground again and again due to his powerful pulling.

He pulled me into the back seat.
"I'm going to die", I wispered.
I realize I have said that loud.
"Oh, yes", he said, "you are, I'm going to kill you. But you shall suffer. You should cry out in pain, as I had to."

I passed out for a few seconds. It was hard to open my eyes.

I saw the pistol on the next seat in front.
It happened in a few seconds. I reached for it. It was in my right hand.
I kicked him in the face with my feet. Direct hit. He kiped backwards and was now lying on his back in the street.

I sat upright. But I have rejoiced too soon. The taxi driver was standing again. I felt his cold hands on my neck. His fingernails were digging into my skin. He wanted to strangle me.
I tried to scream, but I couldn't.

The gun was still in my right hand.
It went very quickly.
My arm moved up uncontrollably and I pulled the trigger.
The pressure on my neck was gone. The taxi driver sank to the ground. Blood gushed from his chest. He tried to scream, stared at me as his body approaches the floor.
He tried to say something. He stared at me. His eyes were wide open, I could almost see his whole eyeballs.

It started to rain.
The rain made the blood run down the street.
I couldn't no longer think properly. I ran. Away from the place of death. To the cemetery.
Paradox.
The gun still in my hand.

I quickly put one step in front of the other. The rain splashed under my feet. My left arm was still bleeding.
I have lost a lot of blood.
I stoped walking. An avenue. Cherry trees on the sides.
I got down on my knees.
I didn't know if I will make it. Actually, I should have called an ambulance. But I didn't have a mobile phone. And besides, if I will die, what would it matter? This cruel world. I'd be with Sherlock.

I lay down flat on the floor. My face up. Stars. The rain got heavier. It pelted my weak body.
I closed my eyes. Blood was still pouring out of my arm. But it was getting less. I didn't want anything more. It didn't matter any more.
My life no longer had any meaning. What did I care?
If I have died now, what would be different? The world will go on turning, even without me. I don't count.