Love You to Death~a Johnlock fanfic

Ending two.

(This starts from after John dies in ending one)
"But this is just pain. Goodbye, my love." He said as I watched as the life flooded out of his eyes. I laid my head down and cried into his chest for at least ten minutes. I had lost track of time at that point. Everything felt like a fever dream without him. So this is what that invision was? I just wished I told him and maybe this could have all been avoided and we could live happily without any worries at all. But of course we couldn't, I'm Sherlock Holmes. I ruined his life for the last time, this time ending it. I've ended so many lives. Way too many. I had a horrible flashback to the incident where I killed someone last. I looked at the blood on my hands. I'd made me cry even harder. I couldn't live like this anymore. It was time.

I grabbed the gun out of her hand, careful not to touch where her hand was and pulled it to under my chin. But then something unexpected happened. She knocked the gun out of my hand and grabbed it, pointing it towards the ground.
"NO!" She shouted, fear and anger radiated from inside her deep brown eyes.

Something unleashed in my soul that just made me so angry. Angrier than I have ever been. My husband was dead. I fucking loved him. He was the only person I ever loved.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH!" I stood up and screamed, tears rolling down my cheeks.
"YOU TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME! I HATE YOU! I WISH I SHOT YOU!" I screamed again, finally breaking down on the floor and curling up into a ball and crying. That's all I could do. Cry. It made me feel so powerless, so useless and unworthy.

The police finally arrived about 3 minutes later, next thing I know I was sitting in the back of an ambulance with a blanket wrapped around me. It reminded me of the day I realized I was in lover with John. The soldier who shot a man for this random detective he just met. Everything felt out of place, unreal. I watched as they rolled him out on a stretcher, in the back of an ambulance and away from me forever. So many thoughts ran through my head. Suddenly, I heard a voice.
"Oh my god, Sherlock! I got here as fast as I can!" Greg said, speeding towards the ambulance.
"What happened..? Is he really..." he asked, with a hurt look in his eyes.
"Yeah.." I pushed out in a hoarse voice.

His phone rang.

"Sorry, I have to take this." He said, walking to the left side of the ambulance.
"Yeah?" He asked. I heard a mumble from his phone.
"Yeah, love. Sherlock's okay, thank god, but uh..."
"John's uh..."
"He's dead." He finally said. I heard a long silence between the both of them. I heard another mumble from his phone.
"Okay, see you in a bit." He said and hung up.

He walked over to where I was.

"Are you okay?" He asked, grabbing my shoulder.
I didn't answer.
"Uh," he muttered, looking the other way.
"What happened?" He asked. Looking me in the eyes this time.
I just turned the other way. I think he left me alone after what happened.

I don't remember much after that. Somehow I got home and on the couch, that same blanket still wrapped around me. I heard Mycroft's voice outside of the door.
I couldn't hear much but this is what I picked up.
"John...my brother...let him...funeral...suicidal...high...seven percent...death." I heard Mrs. Hudson say
"Okay" then I heard two pairs of feet walk down the stairs.

I didn't want to do anything anymore. I honestly wanted to be dead. I lay on the couch for about three days, not eating or sleeping or getting up even once to do anything. Finally I couldn't hold myself back anymore and I know he wouldn't want me to but I just had to. All of these thoughts running through my head had to stop, at least for a few hours so maybe I could sleep.

I got up and opened the black leather case and took out one of the syringes, inserting a needle and putting the end with the needle in the tiny glass that had a cloudy, white liquid.
Just then, I heard a voice.
"Morphine or cocaine?" It whispered in a ghostly and haunting tone.
"John..?" I muttered, turning my head in every direction. I was actually going crazy.

I guess I kind of just brushed it off and went back to my substance abuse, picking up the syringe again and almost inserting it in my vein until I heard his voice again,
"If you ever go near this kind of thing again..." I heard the voice whisper again.
"John, you're scaring me." I muttered, slightly louder.
"Love is always painful..." the voice whispered even louder. It made me drop the syringe and fall to the ground, my head against the wall and my breathing heavy.

"IM SORRY." The voice screamed. By then, tears were rolling down my face and I was covering my ears with my hands and my head was between my knees like I was a little kid again.
"I'm sorry.." I sobbed,
"Please..stop.."
"Please..." this time even louder. Grabbing my hair and pulling some out to calm me down. It didn't work. I felt a hand on my knee.
"Sherlock..?" Mrs Hudson said, obviously scared by this random mental breakdown I was having.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I screamed. I don't know why. I guess I was just fucking terrified. The voice was whispering so many random words in my head. It was so loud too, I couldn't hear anything else.
"I'm sorry, John, I'm so sorry.." I said in a loud whisper. I'm pretty sure I kind of just passed out after that.

I woke up on the floor what I'd guess to be five hours later. My eyes felt heavy and a sharp pain stabbed through my stomach. The first time I'd slept in three days and I had to physically pass out to do it. God, I was pathetic. Something made me think about having to go to his funeral the day after tomorrow. I didn't want to. I didn't want to know that he's dead and gone forever and it was all my fault. I still felt the blood on my hand even though it wasn't really there. I felt the gun in my hands and I felt his hand on my neck. I felt his weak pulse on the my thumb and I felt his blood on my shirt. I felt everything I felt that day.

I finally snapped back to reality and forced myself up on the couch again. God, I was so pissed at myself. That was it, if I couldn't at least get high for just a couple hours I could at least do something else. I saw a pocket knife on the coffee table and grabbed it quickly and rolled up my sleeve. I slid the knife along my wrist, making a red line and blood dripping down my arm. A sudden calmness flooded my body. I kept cutting and cutting and cutting until there were red lines all along my arms up to my elbows and a few on my stomach. The spot on the couch I was sitting on was splattered with blood and so was my shirt. I smiled for the first time in an entire week. Something about seeing my own blood splattered about where I was sitting, similar to his splattered on his shirt and around the floor where I shot him, but brung me a sensation of calmness and relaxation that I hadn't felt in months. I stared at the cuts for a bit longer until I pulled my sleeves and shirt down and stared at the ceiling.