SUPERWHOLOCK Imagines

Imagine: Crying For Sherlock

"Sherlock!" You yell, watching as he stands on top of the building. Tears fill your eyes as he stands there, phone pressed to his ear as he stares down at you. "Sherlock, come down here! Please!" You beg, your voice cracking.

"I'm sorry [Y/N]. I've always loved you, yet I didn't have the heart to tell you. Please, remember me forever and don't be sad," he whispers into the phone.

"Sherlock, please," you cry out, afraid of what was to come. You watch in horror as he steps closer to the edge of the building. A man on a bike runs into you, knocking you over. When you look up, Sherlock is no longer on the roof. You look to the ground where a group of people gathered, their screams echoing around you.

"Sherlock!" You yell, running towards the group, pushing your way through the crowd. You freeze at the sight of his body lying there in a pool of blood. Just to make sure you kneel down and check his pulse, your breath catching in your throat.

"I love you too," you whisper, wishing you told him before he jumped.

"You must move," I man says, grabbing your shoulder and pulling lightly, trying to get you away from him.

"No!" You yell pulling out of his grasp. You lay your head down on his chest, crying into him as you say no repeatedly, wishing for it all to be a dream. You gather his blue scarf in your hands, pulling it from around his neck. It has no blood in it, seeing as most of the blood soaked into his coat.

People pull you away from him as the medics rush to him. You cry as you clench his scarf to your chest. If only you could have told him your feelings. If only you could have gotten the chance to be his. If only you didn't feel as if his death was your fault.

Months pass by, each day more slower than the last. Every time you leave the apartment, which is very rare, you make sure to take his scarf with you. Tonight you promised a friend that you would go to dinner with them at a fancy restaurant. You dress in a simple black dress before wrapping his scarf around your neck.

An hour passes as you sit there with you friend, barely eating and talking very little. She rambles on about unimportant things as you move your food around on your plate.

"More water?" A waiter asks as he holds the pitcher up in front of you. You shake you head no, looking at your still full glass, wondering why he asked in the first place. You glance up at the waiter when you notice he's still standing there.

"Sherlock?" You choke out, your fork clattering on to the plate. You stand up and slap him, anger being the first thing to flow through your veins. You pull him into a hug after, crying into him.

"I thought you were dead. I visited your grave every time I actually left the apartment. I was so destroyed. Why did you do it?" You cry out, clutching tightly on to him.

"I'll explain later," he whispers as he places a soft kiss on the top of your head, his hand softly rubbing your back. You nod slightly as you breathe in the scent you missed so much.