I will never leave you

letter

I heard footsteps. Light.
A beam from a torch.
"He ran in this direction"
Two people approached me.
A policeman in a safety waistcoat and a woman. She was dressed normally.
"Someone is lying there, oh god, is he dead?"
Almost.
"Sir, are you all right? Sir, you're bleeding!"
The policeman leaned down to me.
"Sir, you have lost a lot of blood, madam, call an ambulance please".
"Of course, where do I keep my mobile phone? Ah here it is."
*112*
"Sir, do you understand me? Sir, can you hear me?
I have heard him. But did not answer.
He tried to put me in the recovery position.

Now he noticed. The pistol. Still in my hand.
"Oh my god, are you...? Did you just killed him?"
He was talking on his radio.
"I got him. Probably. He's not responding... Yeah, I'll try... see you in a minute."
He turned back to me.
"Oh you bad boy, thought you could get away."

The lady was just looking, she standed.
I heard sirens.
I understood.
I had to get out of here.
The policeman stood up. He talked to the woman. I took the opportunity to try to pull myself together. It was difficult because I had been lying down for a long time.

But it worked.
Without thinking, I started running. Just along the avenue.
The policeman has noticed my disappearance.
"Hey! You little rat! Stop right there! You won't get far with that arm anyway! ".
He ran after me.
The sirens were getting louder. My running speeded up with the volume of the sirens.

I had the feeling that I didn't feel anything any more. I walked as if automatically. My arm was no longer hurting but I am soaking wet. The rain was still drumming from the sky.

If they catch me now, it will not matter. There was no point anyway. I stood still. The policemen got closer. I turned around.
"I surrender."
Raised my arms, reached into my coat pockets with my left hand to show that was unarmed. Which I was not at all, the gun was still in my right hand. But somehow I had blocked it out. I felt the tea can. A policeman is almost with me.
Stop.
The tea can. The letter. He must knew. If they catch me now Sherlock will never get the letter. And I wouldn't be able to get to him that quickly either. I had to get out of here. What would Sherlock do? Surely he would have acted differently from the start, but it doesn't matter now. What would he do now?

He would shout "vatican cameos", hit the policeman in the face with his gun, kick him in the stomach and run away. No. He wouldn't. I didn't know what he would do. He is, he was too unpredictable. But a John Watson would do. And I did.
The cop wanted to take my gun.
I reacted quickly. I hit him in the face with the gun from below, followed immediately by a solid kick to the pit of his stomach. He collapsed. I turned around and ran. But not down the avenue, through the park that borders it. Sherlock would have done the same.
I ran. The gun still in my hand, blood on it. Why did I still have it? I didn't want it, did I?
Behind the grayling on the right, now on the left. Through the wet grass. The park ended. Which way to the cemetery?
To the right. I thought I was sweating, but I didn't know, the rain is soaking me. I was breathing heavily. But I ran and ran, as if automatically. The gun still in my hand. I could still hear policemen.
So I looked behind me. One was almost with me.
As if controlled: I aimed and pulled the trigger.
The policeman screamed load and sank to the ground.
What have I done? Did I want to kill? I always thought the war would haunt me, but I'm beginning to think I miss it.
I kept running. I was almost there.
There was a line of shouting behind me. There.
The graveyard. Where was Sherlock? I needed to get to the newest graves. Where were they?
I looked around. Small candles burned to the left of the church. That must be it. I hurried in that direction.
I ran straight ahead, over the graves. My foot landed on a gravestone. In one leap I was at the next one.
I ran on and on. The screams became quieter, but they were still there. They will look for me, even here. But I kept running. There. The latest graves.
Where was Sherlock? I can't find him!
The screams were getting louder. I started to panic.
I saw the light of several torches. God's sake, they were going to get me. I kept running and running. I was sputtering.
"Shit!"
I picked myself up again and want to keep running. But stop. The gravestone here. It beared the name Sherlock Holmes.
"Oh, Sherlock, I've found you."
I touched the gravestone. Slowly I traced the letters with my fingers.
"Sherlock, you must help me. Take care of me."

I kneeled down. Very close to Sherlock. My breathing was heavy. Oh my god, I thought I was suffocating. The footsteps got closer.
I pressed myself tighter against Sherlock. Shadows flited through the darkness. I heard them. They were very close, a few metres away from me.
"Sherlock, please, protect me."
I whispered, barely audible.
My breathing becames heavier. My lungs filled only minimally with the cool air. The rain was still falling like a ball of water from the sky.
"Sherlock, please..."
They were in front of me. Sherlock between us. I pressed myself harder against the wet stone.
I was trembling. They were still standing there.
"Go away, go on, get out of here," I thougt and crouched down even smaller.
I thought I was crying.
But I didn't know exactly. It could just as well have been the rain pouring down on my face.
But I was happy about the rain. Because without it, the cops might have heard me. My shallow breathing, my whimpering, my trembling.
So only Sherlock could hear me.
Thanks God for the rain. Thanks Sherlock. They were gone. They had not notice me.

I was alone again, with him.

Slowly I raised my head. No more steps. No torches. No screams. Just Sherlock, me and the darkness.
I stretched my neck back and leaned my head back against the stone. Tears ran down my face. This time I knew exactly that I was crying.

"Oh Sherlock."

I cried. I sobbed loudly. I didn't care if anyone heard me.
"Sherlock" "Oh God!"

The silence was so loud!

I could not hold it any more. I screamed.
"God! Please Sherlock! One more miracle. Dont. Be. Dead."
The gun. Still in my hand. Slowly, very slowly, I raised my arm, but I didn't take my eyes off the gun. It touched my hair, I pressed it lightly against my right temple.
I could finish it. I could be with Sherlock.
Tears started to run down my cheek even more. I contortes my face painfully. No, no! I was not sick after all! This was deranged! The pressure on my bow released. But I could end it! I put the gun back on.
Oh, God! I could not do this anymore! I threw the gun into the bushes in a high arc and went down in despair.

I  was full of rage and sadness.
I rised. My hands went into my coat pockets. The tea can. The reason I had came in the first place. I opened it. Slowly I scattered the ashes of the letter over Sherlock's grave.
"Now you know."
I softly touched his gravestone with my right hand.
"I was so alone, and I owe you so much."
I couldn't take it anymore. I broke down again.
My face contortes into an expression of stabbing pain.
I cried out loud and collapsed even more. Again I leaned against him.
I couldn't do this any more. I didn't want this any more. I just wanted to be with Sherlock.