Organised Chaos - Sherlock x Reader

XXXV • 35

Flashback

You stood in the lobby of St. Bart's, your face buried in John's jacket, gripping him tightly. After several minutes, you looked up at him through your tears.
"Can we go to the morgue?"
"(N/N), that's not a good idea."
"I need to see him again, Johnny. Please."
John considered this. It wasn't a great idea, he knew. But you hadn't been there when he fell. You hadn't said goodbye to him.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
You nodded, sniffling. "Yes."
He returned your nod. "Alright."
The two of you went upstairs to the mortuary, and you dried your tears the best you could.
"Wait here." John told you, as you neared the door. You complied, staying where he told you.
John went in, his face a steely mask that hid his true emotions behind it.

John's POV:

"Is he cleaned up?" I asked Molly, the pathologist that we had come to know after being here with Sherlock so many times.
She bit her lip and nodded. She'd been crying too.
"Why would he..." She trailed off.
I shook my head, indicating that I had no idea.
"(F/N) never got to say goodbye. She wants to see him."
"I really don't think that's a good idea." Molly said, glancing away.
"I told her the same thing, but she's dead set."
Molly cringed.
"I'm sorry that wasn't the best choice of words." I said quickly.
"It's okay." She nodded, then turned away.
I opened the door and called you in, asking once again if you were sure.
You nodded vigorously.

Your POV:

Molly looked at you sadly. You wiped away a stray tear and stood up straighter.
"I'm ready." You said. You didn't even recognise your own voice.
"Okay." She squeaked, then turned toward the wall of cold chambers. She opened one labeled SH and gulped, then slid out the metal table that he lay on.
She rolled the sheet that covered him down halfway, then turned, incapable of seeing him again without breaking down.
You stepped up to him, almost expecting to see the bright eyes that always greeted you.
You didn't. His eyes were blank, staring at nothing.
He'd always been pale, but now he was white as a ghost. His usually lively curls were limp; his entire being was lifeless.
You sucked in a breath and looked away.
Why? Why? Why?
Your head pounded with unanswered questions. Why did he have to be dead? Why did he do it? Why did you want to see him?
You looked back, refusing to allow your tears to fall.
You brushed a hand over his eyes, closing them. You couldn't bear to see the emptiness of them anymore.
He looked more peaceful now, with his eyes closed.
Now your thumb brushed his lips. You wished so hard that they were still warm, that you could kiss them just one more time.
"I still love you." You whispered, so quietly that you could barely hear yourself.
As you stood there, looking at him, you realised that he had said goodbye.
He had told you that he thought Moriarty might do this to him. For the first time, it dawned on you, that perhaps he hadn't killed himself. Perhaps Jim had forced him. Perhaps he'd had no choice. Maybe he'd had to kill himself in order to save his friends. That is something Moriarty would've done.
Suddenly your anger melted away.
"Thank you." You told Molly, turning away at last. You'd pulled the sheet back up so she wouldn't have to look at him.
She nodded, then slid him back into the cold chamber and closed the door. She then moved over to a box of his clothes and pulled out his coat.
She presented it to you.
"Here." She said quietly. "I think he'd want you to have it."
You smiled gratefully. "Again, thank you."
You bundled the coat up in your arms and buried your face in it. His smell surrounded you, and you felt happy again, just for a moment.
"Come on, sis." John took your arm gently.
You followed him, both your arms still wrapped around his coat.
"Did that help?" John asked, as you walked out.
You didn't say anything, but nodded.
"As long as it helped." He replied.

You'd made your way back out to the lobby and then onto the pavement.
You hadn't taken that into consideration. You could still see his blood where it hadn't yet been washed away.
You felt sick.
"John, can we just walk? I need some fresh air."
"Yeah, of course." He veered you away from the spot, taking you across the street and onto the opposite footway. As you walked, you pulled on his coat and wrapped your arms around yourself. John turned the collar up for you, and you smiled a little.