Alone on Baker Street

Chapter One

My name is John Hamish Watson.
I feel as if I am no longer alive.

It is exactly two years today that Sherlock died, and every day without him hurts me more than the next. I haven't eaten in ages. Half the night I stay up thinking about Sherlock and the other half is spent having nightmares about his death.

I feel as if we jumped off that roof together.
I wish we could have. I'd much rather us die together than have to live a life without him.

Every single item in this dusty old flat holds his memories. From the skull on the mantelpiece to his violin sitting neatly in its case.

I see his face everywhere. The mist of his absence still clings onto the air anywhere I go.

This is my last post on this blog. Seeing the old ones just remind me of happiness I can never get back.

Goodbye, for the last time.

John logged off and shut his laptop lid with a loud snap. He tried to wipe the hot tears that streamed down his face away with his jumper sleeve, but new ones just kept replacing them.

Even after two years, the painful memory of Sherlock's death still felt fresh in John's mind. He was completely isolated from society; it had been weeks since he had interacted with any human being.

But today, John had to go out. There was someone he had to visit.

____________________

As John approached his destination, the brisk autumn wind had already seeped through his wool jumper, making him shiver. He barely even noticed.

He crossed a quiet intersection, and finally he was there: the cemetery.

John gently pushed open the rusty iron gate, and stepped inside. He had been here so much over these past two years he knew the location of Sherlock's grave like the back of his hand. It was the newest headstone there.

John knelt down, and the tears began to fall again. He traced the bold, white letters SHERLOCK HOLMES with his index finger. John then began to speak, although his words were so quiet only he could hear them.

"Sherlock, it's...it's two years today. Since you...you know. I miss you, I've missed you all this time, so damn much."

John's voice quivered, making it harder to speak. But he continued.

"It's almost easier t-to believe you never left me. That you're still walking around somewhere. B-but if that was true...if that was true, it would be hard to forgive you."

John's voice unknowingly started to rise.

"Why did you have to leave me, Sherlock? WHY?! HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO ME? HOW MUCH OF A SELFISH BASTARD ARE YOU TO JUST LET YOURSELF DIE! DIE WHEN I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!!"

With that, John collapsed into a pile of tears.

____________________

John didn't know how long he had been at the cemetery when he lifted up his head. The fact he had admitted his unrequited love to Sherlock out loud was a new wound opened, only pain to add to the massive amount he had to deal with already.

He tried standing up weakly, but his mind started to be foggy. John figured he'd gotten up too fast, and tried to shake off the weird feeling. However, it did not go away. The world began spinning faster and faster and all of the sudden, John felt himself falling and then everything went black.