Into The Dark Water

Carpathia

Hey guys, sorry i didn't update yesterday. I only am now because I'm home sick. And this song is extremely sad, so TRIGGER WARNING. And yes, he sings to AnnMarie, and obviously Rosie would replace her.
Thanks for reading and voting!
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I watch my daughter, our daughter, fall into the icy abyss below.

"ROSIE!!" I scream.

  Sherlock puts his arms around me fast, thank God, otherwise I'd be by her side right now. A crewman jumps in to pull her onto the boat again. By the time he reaches her her skin is light blue, her lips snowy. I hold back my tears, but I know they will only stay for so long. I look over to Sherlock, and he has such a confused expression on his face. Its the same look from when-

No. Don't think about that.

But some force is taunting me, tempting me to remember.

  She begged me to look after Rosie. I promised.

Sherlock must've sensed my anxiety, distress. He turns me around and envelops me in a comforting embrace. I feel the heat radiating off of him, and for a second I forget everything else, everyone else, and just relax.

But no. I can't stay here forever.

Reality comes back with a vengeance, pushing a blade through my chest. As it reaches my heart, soon to be cavity from this charade, I let the floodgates open. Sherlock doesn't move. He stands there, letting me soak up his shirt. I look up at him, seeing no more than a single tear find a path down his features, into my hair. My features harden and I shout.

"THAT'S IT? YOU WONT EVEN TALK? IT WAS YOUR FAULT, ALL OF IT. YOU TOLD HER TO GO, YOU ENCOURAGED IT. FIRST MARY. NOW-"

My voice breaks again, and a blue cloud crowds around me.

"John," he starts.

"NO," I interrupt. "SHUT UP. I REFUSE TO LET YOU TRY TO APOLOGIZE. YOU DONT HAVE 'FEELINGS', YOU CAN'T EVEN BLOODY LOVE.  I HAVE BEEN WITH YOU FOR NEARLY SIXTEEN YEARS, AND OH, I SHOULD'VE EXPECTED THIS."

He just...stands.  I can tell its in his best interest not to cry. And everyone who isn't on a boat yet is staring. Like I bloody care.

We are suddenly and hurriedly escorted into a lifeboat. Sherlock gets in. He looks at me, pleading with his multicolored irises.

No. I'm not doing this $&#%! anymore.

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I waited for the next, and last, boat.  There's so few people on here. All men, too.

I continue thinking about Rosie, and Sherlock, and what I did to both. I wonder what Molly's doing, if she's still here. I think about Mary.

And bloody Jake. He was supposed to leave tomorrow. I can't send anything yet. How will I tell him this? That it was Sherlock's fault? Well, my fault.

My eyes are practically bleeding. My fault. My fault his girlfriend is dead, my fault Sherlock probably hates me now, my bloody fault...

My fault.

The words continue to sing their repeating duet as I sleep.

And the Nightmares roll in.