I can't do it.
Every nook and cranny.
Every cupboard and empty space.
It's filled with you.
The knife still stuck in the wood at a slight angle; standing to attention like a drunken soldier.
Your chair still exactly where you left it. The soft imprint of your shape still moulded into the cushion as if you were only just sitting there an hour ago.
And that skull...
The skull still sits upon the mantle, staring at me as if it knows.
As if he feels the tearing inside me.
As if he can sense the dull and empty ache inside my mind that suffocates all thoughts... But you.
I can't bear to move a thing.
I told Mrs.Hudson to take a holiday but she refused.
That woman.
Always fussing over me. Nagging on and on that i should get outside once in a while.
That crazy, wonderful woman.
Every morning I wake up to find another mug of tea in the living room.
Another plate of warm crumpets.
Another concerned face smiling at me with an unmatchable love and kindness.
I hate this.
All of it.
Moving sluggishly, I make my way over to the fridge. I've not eaten in days and i should probably check on the milk in case it's mouldy...
My vision is blurred and groggy from endless crying causing me to stumble around the kitchen; bumping into the table where your plethora of chemistry equipment rattles and clinks nostalgically.
Lord do i miss that sound.
And i miss the occasional clicks and sighs resonating from your thoughtful lips as you toiled away at your studies...
My train of thought was disrupted when i found myself standing in front of the fridge, staring blankly at the shiny white door.
Fridge.
Fridge.
Fridge......
Oh right. Open it. Check the milk. Ok John. You got this. Just open the-
Oh....
I wasn't sure whether to laugh, get angry, or cry....
Haha you've left me a little gift, as you always used to...
But did it have to be a fridge full of fingers?
Oh Sherlock. I miss you.
