Lost In His Own Thoughts

I looked up at him standing there on that tall building. He was a silhouette against the dark sky and a giant to all us by-standers on the ground. He said he was a fake. Then he jumped...

This moment kept replaying itself over and over again in John's head. Why? Why did he do it? John was struggling to come to terms of the recent incident involving his best friend.

It was a week ago that Sherlock jumped and John was struggling to sleep. The image of him falling kept creeping up on John like a ghost trying to haunt someone. He really just didn't understand why he did it. John kept telling himself that Sherlock wasn't a fake but it seemed like he was the only one who believed it. 

Tiredly, John dragged himself out of his bed and into the living room. Last week's newspaper was on the sofa underneath one of Sherlock's shirts. He still hadn't got round to removing his items from the flat. How could he? After all, it would just remind him that Sherlock gone. John picked the paper up and read the headline. "Suicide Of A Fake Genius." A single tear rolled down John's face and onto the picture of Sherlock that was on the paper. It landed right under Sherlock's right eye. This only made John even more upset because it reminded him of when Sherlock was crying when he was saying his last goodbye. The last time John would ever hear his voice...

Quickly, John picked up the nearest object to him (his coffee mug) and flung it across the room. It smashed against the wall and landed near to Sherlock's violin. John walked over to where the violin was and picked it up. He would never hear that sound again. It had only been a week but John was missing the sound of Sherlock playing early in the mornings. He didn't care that Sherlock would play the violin when he was thinking- no matter how much it may have annoyed him. He would do anything just to hear Sherlock playing that violin one more time.

It was around 9am and Mrs Hudson came into see John. "What on earth was that crash?" she said looking concerned. She would have expected to hear sounds like that when Sherlock was still there but not John.

"Umm..." John seemed quite embarrassed by what he had just done. "I'm sorry Mrs Hudson. I'll clear that up. Just give me a minute." John went over to pick up the shattered crockery. "I'm just angry. Why did he have to leave?" Mrs Hudson walked over to where John was- making sure not to step on the remains of the mug.

"We'll never know what went on in Sherlock's head and why he did it." She replied. John squinted every time Mrs Hudson referred to Sherlock in the past tense. He just couldn't bring himself to admit that his best friend was gone. "Now," John could tell that Mrs Hudson was changing the topic of conversation to focus John's mind on other things. "Do you want some tea?"

"That'd be lovely. Oh, a couple of biscuits too." John was half expecting Mrs Hudson to reply with "not your housekeeper" but she didn't. Things were just not the same as they used to be.

The two of them sat down next to each other and drank their tea. It was odd- Sherlock not being there. His chair was empty. It felt like a piece of the flat was missing. Like a piece of John was missing. Nothing felt the same without him.

Mrs Hudson left a while later and John was all alone again. This is what it would be like for the rest of his life. Loneliness. Even if Sherlock wasn't talking, John wasn't alone. He was now though and he hated it.

John peered over to Sherlock's chair and started talking. "Sherlock. Please. Just come back. I can't live like this. Without you. Please, just don't be dead." Suddenly he heard a voice.

"John. You can. It's alright. Everything is ok." It sounded exactly like Sherlock's voice but of course John knew it couldn't be. John looked around but saw nobody.