After The Fall

Shape of You

Warnings: mentions of self-harm and suicide

"I want to see her John! I need to see her." Sherlock pleaded with his best friend, John Watson. John sighed.
"Two years Sherlock. Two years. She believed that you were dead." John told Sherlock. Sherlock sighed and placed his hands in his typical prayer position.
"Where is she John?" Sherlock asked, needing to see your pretty face and warm smile. John swallowed, the lump in his throat growing bigger at the thought of his dead little sister.
"Mary! We're going to see Y/N!" John called as he and Sherlock walked towards the door.
"Do you want me to come with? William will want to visit her as well." Mary asks, following them both.
John shook his head as he and Sherlock walked out of the flat. John called a cab and told the cabbie the address.
The ride was silent, John consumed by his thoughts, Sherlock visiting your room in his mind palace. The cab pulled up beside the graveyard and John got out.
"This isn't our flat." Commented Sherlock.
"You wanted to see Y/N." John stated simply as he leads the way towards your headstone with Sherlock following.
Soon enough they both reached your headstone.
Y/N Holmes. Forever in our hearts and minds. It stated.
"What?" Questioned Sherlock, a new emotion he didn't know the name of washed over him.
"A week after you died Sherlock, she started self-harming again. Mary and I, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, all of us tried to get her to stop. She wanted to be close to you without leaving this world because of us... and William. Soon after Will was born, she came to Mary and I asking if we wanted to take Will for the day. We said yes, not knowing what she had had planned for that evening." John stoped, the tears making it hard to continue as Sherlock realized what you had done.
"She didn't..." Sherlock stammered, closing his eyes and swallowing harshly. John nodded, even though Sherlock couldn't see him.
"May I have a moment alone?" Sherlock asked.
"Of course." John replied, turning to walk away. "She loved you Sherlock, named her son after you thinking that you would never come back to her and yet here we are."
I will never be able to hold her again. Or see her smile. Or be the cause of her happiness. Or smell her sweet scent of lavender and rain. I will never be able to tell her I love her. Sherlock thought to himself before he noticed the ring lying on the headstone. He slowly picked it up while tears slid down his face as he recalled Mycroft's words 'sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side.' He suddenly grew angry at Moriarty and himself. If he hadn't faked his death, she would still be here with him, planning their wedding with the help of Mary. He sighed and pocketed the simple diamond ring, walking away from the headstone of the most headstrong, lovely woman he had ever had the privilege of being able to call his fiancé... and away from his son.