But A Memory

There was always the sound of sweet candy or wilted roses flowing through 221B Baker Street. Sometimes, his lips would grow red and stretch from ear to ear and grab my hands, ignoring the violin and spin 'round with me. The sound bubbling from our chests and bursting through our mouths. His laughter was the most beautiful sound; deep and preserved only for me. 

And the way he would hold me. It didn't matter where we were. When Donovan called him 'Freak' and I would go into a blurry rage, he would grab my arm then stretch his own around my chest, bring me towards him, and into a beautiful hug. The kind that was meant to last forever.

Sherlock always tended to hang around the large window in our flat. Sometimes, on rainy days, we would look out the window together. I would point to a body and ask him to tell me all about their lives. We caught many criminals in the process and when we did, Sherlock would throw his arms around my neck and spin me in a dizzying circle. He would smile and his big blue jewels of eyes would light like the stars in the night sky.

Sherlock's eyes were the only thing that showed his expression. And that was only when he was with me. On occasion- mainly when I would discover Harry was drinking once again- Sherlock would make faces to arouse the joy within me. He would turn around and I would go back to reading the paper. But after a few brief moments, I would hear a soft 'John look at me now!' and I would. After a few faces I would break down just let all of the laughter escape. When I laughed for too long, I would begin to choke and a worried version of Sherlock would say my name.

I loved the way he pronounced my name. Jawn. I would tease him for it and eventually he started spelling my name J-A-W-N instead of its usual spelling. He could really be childish if he were in a good mood and he would draw me pictures of whatever he felt like. They were usually gory, but I loved them all the same.

Now, as I hang them on my wall in my new flat, I see the note in the bottom left corner left for me.

John, no matter what anybody may say, it reads. nothing can hold us apart. I will always come back to you. -SH

But everything holds us back Sherlock, for you are but a memory.