100 days

Day #95: 9/14/13

This is a Sherlock fanfiction. This one is different, and it may rain on your face. Be warned.

"Go back where you came and look up."

"I'm a fake."

"This is what people do, right? Leave a note?"

"Goodbye, John."

These words echoed in my head as if it was a cavern. 

"Let me through, please, he's my friend." My mouth said. My mind was numb. I looked down at the fallen figure. I pushed through the massive waves of people. I needed to see him. I had to see him. I flipped him over, trying not to uhrt him anymore. I took his pulse. Nothing. He had to have survived. He was bloody Sherlock Holmes! He had to live. He had to. I- I don't know what I would do without him. The EMTs took Sherlock onto an ambulance. I wanted to go with him. I couldn't. I looked down at the small pool of blood, trickling towards my shoes. I fell to my knees. "Why?" I asked. "Why him? Why?" I said, wanting to scream, scream out, but my voice came out small, barely audible.  

His funeral was relatively small. He didn't like people when he was alive, why would he when he was-....

Lestrade was there. Molly was there. Mystrade wasn't. Harry came. Clara didn't, though. Them and a couple of clients were it. Maybe 15 or 20 in total? His grave was away from the others. Ordinary was boring. So, we put his black granite headstone near a large oak. They asked me to say something about him. 

I got out my cards, then put them back. 

I spoke from the heart. 

"Sherlock Holmes was... One of the best men I've ever known. Sherlock, you said that there are no heroes, and that even if there were, you weren't one. You were wrong. I, and just about everyone here, believe you are. I know you are. And now... you're gone." My voice trembled a little bit. "I will never forget you. You've left a lasting impression on me." I shifted the blue scarf I wore around my neck. "I used to only see things. You always used to tell me that. I observe. I view things so much differently, now that I've known you." 

That was a five years ago today.

I stood on the roof of St. Barts. It was 3:15. two minutes. I told myself. It had been too long. I walked along the edge of the roof, waiting. Soon, I would join him. I looked down at my wrist, pulling up my sleeve. The slashes reached up to my elbow, so many my forearm was almost completely red. My other was the same way. I smirked.

"Sherlock, if only you knew just what you've done to me. I miss you more than anyone has ever known. I had hoped you would show up. You haven't. And now... It's too late. Soon, I'll join you. It's absolute hell without you." I chuckled. "So much that hell with you won't be terrible." I pulled out my phone. 

John, turn around.

-SH

No. It's Anderson again. He never quit. He was always so horrible, even after Sherlock passed. He had sent me messages before. 

"Anderson. If this is you, I swear... Oh well." 

My phone beeped again.

John, it's not Anderson. That incompetent fool wouldn't stop you. That's what I'm here for.

-SH

"Sherlock... It's just my imagination. If you are here, you would stop me." I stepped onto the ledge.

"John, please." 

I turned around to see.... Nobody. 

"Of course, John, you idiot. Of course he's not here. He's a figment of your imagination." I told myself. 

bleep.

I'm not a figment. John, please. Don't jump.

-SH

"Sherlock... If you're there.."

"I'm here." I felt an arm on my shoulder. Sherlock was standing there. I stepped down from the ledge and faced him. I took a step forward. He took one back. I took another step, he stayed stationary. 

I lifted up my hand to touch his cheek. Surprisingly, he let me. "Hello John."

I didn't smile. I dropped my hand to my side. I adjusted my feet, looked in his eyes, and punched him right in his perfect cheekbones.