Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XXXIV • 34

It had been a week now. Kenzie had just left for Scotland, after staying with you far longer than she'd originally planned. You were grateful for that.
You were in the cemetery now, wrapped in his coat and standing beneath the ancient cedar tree where he was buried.
You laid a hand on the shiny black marble headstone. It bore no inscription apart from his name, and not even his full name.
Just Sherlock Holmes.

******
There hadn't been much context, he'd just walked in and said it.
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes." He said, walking into the flat after being out for several hours.
"Excuse me?" You asked, looking up from what you were working on.
"That's the whole of it." He said, "I thought you might like to know."
You'd chuckled. "Well thank you for your thoughtfulness, love." You paused, then, "What's wrong with William?" You'd asked this with a half smile.
"I've just never liked it." He said, but you could see the distance in his eyes. You knew that there was much more to it, but you didn't push.
******
You smiled at the memory.
For anyone who recognised his name, you knew they wouldn't need much else. That name meant so much. If you read that name, you'd know-- it was the name of the only consulting detective, the insensitive jerk, the genius, the sociopath, the occasional git, but most of all, the man you loved.
Well, most people didn't know that last one. But it meant everything to you.
You suddenly felt weak in the knees and slid down, your back against his headstone. That memory had brought back so many more.
His childish excitement about Stauffer's case. His reaction the first time you'd kissed him. The all too recent one of Redbeard's memory.
You no longer felt immensely angry at him. Now you were depressed.
You leaned back against the stone slab and cried silently.
Why? I loved you. I still love you. Why did you have to do it?
These thoughts tumbled around in your head until you fell asleep, right there against his headstone.

John's POV:

"Mrs. Hudson! Have you seen (F/N)?" I called, agitated.
"No dear." She replied from where she'd been washing dishes in her kitchen.
I was becoming increasingly worried. I'd not seen you in hours. I'd texted you several times, but got no reply. I decided to try once more before going out to look for you.
I knew that you'd been thinking about suicide. I didn't want you out of my sight for too long at a time because I knew I wouldn't be able to bear it if you left me too.
I texted you, and when you still hadn't replied ten minutes later, I pulled on my jacket and went out to look for you.
I sent the cab to St. Bart's first, just to make sure.
When I found, to my relief, that you hadn't jumped, I sent it to the cemetery. You'd spent a lot of time there lately. I'd expected you to be there in the first place, but you'd never been gone for this long, and you'd never neglected to answer your phone.
I picked my way through the graves until I neared his.
I saw you there, leaning up against it, and, as I got closer, saw that you were asleep, wrapped in his coat.
It was far too big for you, so it served as more of a blanket.
I could see that you'd been crying. A wave of pity washed over me. This had hit you so hard, harder even than it had hit me. I'd not approved of your relationship with him, mostly out of fright. I'd seen the way he treated other people, and I didn't want him treating you that way.
But it was soon evident that he really did love you, and that you had changed him. He had been learning to demonstrate that love.
When I realised this, I was happy for the both of you. You had proved to be good medicine for him, something for which I was immensely grateful.
As I stood there, watching you sleep, my phone buzzed.

That's when I got the first message.