Forget

Chapter 1

I jolt up and look around wearily.
Not another one I thought to myself.

Pulling my knees to my chest, I rest my hands and head on them as I tried to forget the dream. They were getting a lot worse, everything I did in the dreamsÇ was pointless and it all ended with a loud cry of guilt.

Guilt that I couldn't save him.

Guilt I didn't see his pain.

Guilt for not being the one that died.

Every night a different dream, all nightmares, each one ending with Sherlock Holmes dying.

I got of the bed and walked into the bathroom. It had been years since I had seen myself in a mirror, only catching glimpse on the Windows. I looked horrid.

There were bags all under my eyes from the fear of and gaining more nightmares. I had a mustache that needed to be shaved, and my face had became shallow, my cheekbones were more define now. What would Sherlock say?

I pulled up my shirt and saw mostly bone. Who would've thought that the death of Sherlock Holmes would turn me into such a sad sack?

I don't care though, I never seem to care nowadays. So not like John Watson, but then again I wasn't the same person I was when he was alive. This is who I am now, a hollow body fueled by self loath, deprived of feelings other than guilt.

I walk to the front door of the flat not bothering to change from the clothes I had worn to bed. I walked outside not stopping to say hi to Mrs. Hudson, and directed my feet to the grave in which he was buried in.

The air was cold as, it chilled me to the bone but I refuse to shiver or to show any emotion that might indicate that I regret not bringing a jacket of some sort.

I finally reached the graveyard. I walk to his grave making sure to focus my gaze forward as to not turn back out of shame, shame that I wasn't in one of those graves. I had tried several times to get into one of those grave but just ended up in the hospital with recommendations to a psychiatrist.

"Hey Sherlock," I said my voice hoarse from not speaking much "so how have you been?" I was met with silence " guess your still refusing to speak to me, that's okay, I get, don't wanna talk to the person that wasn't strong enough to save you. I'm sorry Sherlock, so sorry," I had broke down crying by now "I thought you were fine, am sorry for the words said before you died, I am truly sorry for not being the one that died please forgive me" and with that I walked out of the graveyard.

It must have been funny, seeing the John Watson, commanding army doctor, confident friend of Sherlock, writer of a very popular blog wearing pajamas that were far too baggy to be classified as a size small, crying his sunken eyes out and wiping the tears away with bony skeleton fingers. It must have been very funny indeed.

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This is not my first fanfic but it is the first one I've written online. I am determined to finish this, am thinking 10-20 chapters. Johnlock 4ever -xoxox
~kungfu panda