Mortals meets demigods.

Sherlock Holmes

A:N So, I just wanted you guys know that I am a very busy person. My dad was in town and had to leave the second day because of a stupid snow storm in Colorado. If you ever do read this story, I love you and thank you for believing in me. I'm out of ideas and this totally random! OH! I went to my band contest with my solo and got sliver... I ended up crying after it... I know I'm a baby, say anything rude about it, I will not hold back.. Now continue on! 

  "What is it?" she asks. "Why are you here?"
How dare she ask this question? She has to have
seen the news, the papers, heard the accusations thrown
from person to person in the streets, the gossip, the
rubbish.

My breath catches in my chest as I think of the lonely flat
waiting for me, empty of the soft violin;
the landlady in tears, handkerchief clutched in a trembling
hand; the opposite armchair slowly gathering dust.

The rain streams down the window like the
blood ran between the erratic cobbles in the street,
staining the black coat in stark contrast to a
pale, pale face - no longer breathing, thinking,
the arrogantly narcissistic expression no longer present,
gears no longer turning; a blotch of red
matting the dark curls on the side of his head.

I can still see him on the edge of the rooftop, phone in hand -
I can still hear his voice through the speaker confessing his deceit,
overpowering my protests;
his spread-eagled form ripping through the air, his coat a
faulty parachute.
The dull thud. His body bouncing slightly on the concrete.

How dare she ask me this question? She must know. Everybody else seems to.
"My best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead."  (I do not own this)

It has been two and half years since Sherlock Holmes had fallen from the roof of Bart's hospital.  Many people had started to put posters and fliers saying a lot of things; "Moriarty was real." and etc. His death had made former ex-army Doctor John Hamish Watson... 

It was such a dark time for the Doctor. Grieving, and fighting off depression, the dark blood-curling feeling that would ever sufferance. The dark two years was very very sluggish... Gavin Lestrade  tried to help... It never really did help.

This is getting tiring.. Living. Living with himself without his friend..... Until he got text massages from Sherlock.

John.

I know that you think it can't be true, well...I want you to know that I love you..... This is all for you, John.... I almost finished with this life. 

~SH

Do you still go to my grave?

Mycroft tells me you do. 

MY skin in flaring up from all of the torture.. I suppose you wouldn't care anymore. 

John, you need to forget me. No point of thinking  I will return.. Even if I come back, I will be different.

Goodbye John.

(John)

It's been awhile. You got married. 

To Mary.

Damn it, John. I came back for no reason then. I was willing to die for you, but I guess you wouldn't care. I should've listened to Mycroft about staying away from relationships. Damn it! Two years. Two years when I returned. You aren't even overjoyed that I was back. Maybe I should've died for real when I fell from the building. 

Two months now, John. Months that you had forgotten about me. I knew it was coming.. Mary is having your child. I wish it was us that was married. Not to that assassin. You don't even know her real name. 

I went back to the drugs, I couldn't help myself. Everything you did to me, has mentally broken down my barriers.  I /loved/ you. But it looks like you weren't gay.

I LOVED YOU. 

This text is just getting bigger, everyday I add on. I cant believe I am doing this. . 

You believed me dead. Would you want me to be dead? 

Sherlock is actually a girl's name. Couldn't you tell it all was a lie? Just to see you smile again. How draft are you? I fell for you. Pun isn't meant to be there, it is the truth. 

Moriarty caused this. Marriage holds you down. I could ever forgive you. All of those years together and marry someone just met.. 

God, if this is my last words to you.

I love you.

Sherlock Holmes.

*Two years later*

John Watson, was re-reading the text. Silent tears were falling.

For real this time; Sherlock Holmes was dead. He had died of overdosing. 

A:N The poem isn't mine. 

Feedback would be brilliant! 750 words...