Big Book Of One Shots

"Please..." - John

I could still hear my last plead ringing in my head, when I cried out for Sherlock. His funeral had passed and I had sat through the entirety of it numbly, as if I still couldn't grasp the reality of the whole thing. But I could, oh, I could. It was like a knife stuck into my chest, and every time I involuntarily thought of his face, or in my head heard his name, the knife twisted. The funeral wasn't much at all, it was just a couple of men carrying Sherlock's casket out of the hearse and setting it in a hole in the ground, and shoveling dirt over it. Mrs. Hudson and myself were the only ones present.

Mrs. Hudson was trying to help, talking about Sherlock's science equipment, but all it really did was make things worse. She broke down as well, as she was leaving me to pay my final respects.

It occurred to me that I needed to say something, to tell Sherlock what he meant to me. I could feel an ache in my chest, that was warning me to stop, because I knew I would break down, but I had to say at least something. I owed Sherlock more than that.

"You..." I paused, trying to collect my words, "you told me once that you weren't a hero." I could feel the tears coming but I continued. "Uh, there were times when I didn't even think you were human, but let me tell you this." I had to stop and collect myself before I could say even another word.

"You were the best man," I swallowed, willing myself to continue, "and the most human... human being that I've ever known." The tears were threatening to fall by now. "And no one will ever convince me that you told me a lie."

"There." I cleared my throat, trying desperately to stay strong for another moment, so I could finish what I was saying. "I was so alone, and I owe you so much, but please." I huffed out a breath, feeling the tears trail down my face. I had to continue. For Sherlock. For my friend.

"There's just one more thing." I swiped furiously at the tears streaking on my face. "Don't..." I swallowed, I had to continue. "Be..." Shaking my head, I swallowed harder at the lump in my throat. "Dead." When I uttered the last word, it was hoarse and shaky, almost too quiet to hear. I wondered if Sherlock could actually hear me.

"Would you, just for me, just stop it?" I was crying flat out and not doing anything to stop it. "Stop this." I said, before I completely broke down.

"Please."

The gravestone had no date, no designs, no message, just one name. Sherlock Holmes. That just added to the bleak and almost disturbing beauty of the whole scene. The reality sets in and I'm realizing that I'm standing here and I'm talking to a dead body that's buried under six feet of earth. He couldn't hear me. I needed to tell Sherlock in some way though, even if he couldn't hear me.

I touch the gravestone again to remind myself that this is real, that Sherlock is really gone, and I turn and walk away to god knows where.

(A/N: it is currently midnight and I was being emotional so this happened, hope you enjoy. P.S, comment if I should keep doing author's notes or not, it's up to the one person that reads my stories (thanks bruh). anyway, have a good night)

(THE NEXT DAY [I THINK?]: FUCKIN HELL I'M IN AIKIDO AND I'M SITTING OUT BC I'M SLIGHTLY INJURED AND THE CLASS IS DOING A PARTNER THING AND I WAS TALKING ABOUT SHERLOCK TO MY FRIEND AND MY TEACHER HEARD ME SAYING THERE'S ONLY NINE EPISODES [BC SHE DOESN'T WATCH IT AND I WAS TRYING TO CONVINCE HER TO] AND MY AIKIDO TEACHER THOUGHT I SAID THAT THERE WAS NEW EPISODES AND HE FUCKIN STARTED FANBOYING JFC I GO TO A PERFORMING ARTS SCHOOL WHERE EVEN THE TEACHERS ARE FANDOM NERDS FFS I LOVE THIS SCHOOL)