Random Fandom Imagines 2

Sherlock Holmes

Your black dress fluttered in the slight wind that was normal for England this time of year. Your gloved hands shook as you watched John speak with tears running down your face. Sherlock watched you, and he knew that when he 'died' he had affected you most of all. It took all of his restraint to not rush out of the shadows and hold you close to him. He had always hated it when you were sad, ever since you were kids and your dog had gotten run over by a car. Seeing you sad made him sad, it made everyone around you sad because your smile made the rotten world a better place. He watched you from afar while your shoulders shook with broken sobs. You sank to the ground and placed a hand on Sherlock's grave, still crying. Sherlock could hear a strangled cry rip from your small body. Mrs. Hudson had tried to comfort you by putting a hand on your shoulder, but you shrugged it off. Sherlock saw your chest rise slowly and then fall. He knew what you were doing. Whenever you had begun to distress about something, you took four deep breaths and told yourself four good things about your life currently. Sherlock had placed a small microphone by his grave as to hear what people would say. He listened to what you would say. You took your fourth deep breath and said "I solved a murder yesterday, I still have John, I'm in love..." you broke off and started crying again. "I'm still in love with a man that's dead." Sherlock had honestly thought she'd figure it out by now that he wasn't actually dead seeing as she was nearly as clever as him but he supposed that she was too blinded by her grief to notice any signs of him still being alive. He watched as Mycroft leant down to help you up, before passing you onto John who hugged her close. You accepted his hug and sniffled a little bit before straightening up. You wiped your eyes with your gloves and then dusted off your dress. Sherlock once again knew what you were doing. It was a coping mechanism that he knew well. You were blocking any and all emotions, becoming a shell of yourself. You would go out and do as he did. You would look for crimes to solve and people to help, but without feeling anything, good or bad. Although he had expected this kind of reaction from you, he had hoped with every fiber of his being that you wouldn't resort to it. He loved you, he loved you more than anything in this entire universe. That's why he had to do it, for you and John and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade. He had to protect you at all costs. He was watching you now, longing to be next to you and to be holding you. John handed you a single, white rose, a flower that symbolized so much between you and Sherlock. When you two first met, you were six years old, helping your mum in the garden and you had given him a white rose you accidently clipped off when your mum wasn't looking. When Sherlock had taken you out on your first date when you were 16, he had given you a bouquet of white roses. When you were hospitalized because of a gunshot wound from a case for the first time, he left white roses by your bed. When you were walking down the aisle, your flowers were white roses. So, seeing you lay a single, white rose down on his grave was the most heart breaking sight Sherlock had ever experienced. You stood again, and John grabbed your hand, leading you away. Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade left next, leaving only Mycroft at the gravestone. Sherlock slipped out of the shadows and made his way over to his elder brother.

"You broke her heart Sherlock." Mycroft stated. Sherlock nodded, bending down to collect his flower.

"I know, Mycroft. But I'll mend it as well. She'll realize in time, she always does."